Disclaimer:Once upon a time there was a narrator who took it upon herself to screw up every story she could get her hands on. With complete and utter disregard for the opinions of others, authors and fans alike, she made it her mission to corrupt any good plot line or character development she had the means to. With the help of her tech-savvy computer and her skills of destroying anything she put her mind to, she quickly set to work on annoying the crap out of everybody. These are her stories
Markarth seemed like the perfect place to go on a romantic date with a serial killer. Namira's finest littered the hold, and their creations in the local inn filled the Reach with the most mouth-watering aroma. It was a place of luxury and lavish to jarls and bandits alike.
"The novelty wears off after an hour," some hapless Nord argued. His head suddenly detached from his neck and went skittering down the cobblestone.
Inside the Silver-Blood Inn, two armored Nords sat with their hands intertwined over a wooden tabletop. They smiled at each other all gooey like, an unfortunate side-effect of being struck stupid in love. Ulfric's smile widened as he stared into the twinkly pupils of his lover. Hands calloused by war caressed each other, knuckles and hair smoothed by thumb pads and chipped nails.
"It's been a long time since we were able to spend time alone - just the two of us - without this damned war distracting us. And now that we have a moment to relax, all I want to do is show you my appreciation for your constant support and affection."
Galmar Stone-Fist grinned shyly at his jarl. "What did you have in mind?"
Standing and pulling his housecarl to his feet, Ulfric simply said, "Let me show you." With one finger hooked to another, he led the older man into the back of the inn where the bedrooms were.
Closing the wooden door, the men relished in their solitude with a deep and noisy kiss. Slobber washed out the sides of their mouths. Dew drops of spittle found homes on their beards. Ulfric pushed Galmar up against the wall and forced his tongue further down the man's throat.
"Oh, this is so nasty," the narrator protested, squinting at her works in distaste. "Seriously, why these two? There is nothing kosher about this."
The couple got louder, intent on drowning out the narrator and her Haterade. Galmar began to moan loudly, throwing out "fucks" and "shits" like sprinkles on a 7-year-old's ice cream.
"This really makes me nauseous," the narrator declared, refusing to continue the scene into its inevitable conclusion of sex. Instead she rerouted to a more dramatic subplot.
"Ulfric," Galmar sighed, pulling away from his jarl, "There is something I must get off of my chest."
"Besides your shirt?" Ulfric flirted.
"Besides my shirt. Ulfric, I have a confession." Galmar took a deep breath, hoping to delay the big reveal as long as he possibly could. But he knew he had to say it; he'd made it this far, and he'd be damned if he chickened out now.
"Ulfric, I'm pregnant," is what he would have said if this were an mpreg. But it isn't. Yet.
What he actually said was, "My sweet, you know how we are so super racist against mer?"
Ulfric nodded. "What of it?"
Galmar looked at his feet, shifted his weight onto his left leg and dragged the toe of the right across the dirt of the floor in front of them. "Well, while I may appear fully Nord, I am merely a half-breed. My maternal grandda was half Altmeri. I am one-sixteenth an elf."Galmar started sobbing. "I know you can't love me as I am -"
Ulfric slapped him and then licked his tears away. "Don't be foolish. I've known for quite some time that you are part elf. Your cheekbones are too high for a proper Nord. I had wondered if you didn't know, but I'm glad that I don't have to break the news to you."
Galmar sniffled wetly. "So you don't hate me?"
"No, of course not. I find it a little exciting, actually, that you're a wee bit elfin." Ulfric put an arm on either side of Galmar, trapping him against the door. In a husky voice, he said, "It's sexy."
Galmar caught his lips and pulled Ulfric deeper into him. And then they lived in sin for a few hours.
Meanwhile in Karthspire, the Forsworn prepped their state-of-the-art catapult to send reinforcements into the Reach. They were going to bust Madanach out of prison!
"You are sure this catapult can reach the Reach?" one Forsworn asked another.
The second Forsworn shrugged. "Probably. I'm no physician, and I didn't build the thing, but I have faith that our men will land safely in the streets of Markarth."
"That's suicide!" The first one cried.
"Really, now?" A hagraven put her hands on her hips in motherly disapproval. "You have such little faith in the old gods. Perhaps you don't belong with the Forsworn."
The man shook his head fervently. "I do have faith! But I have logic, too. And logic says that these men will splatter against whatever surface they encounter."
"Bah!" the camp shouted at the infidel.
"As a show of good faith, I'll go first," the hagraven said, climbing into the hollow semi-sphere.
"Are you sure about this, m'lady?"
The hagraven scowled at him. "If you love me, let me gooooooooo." The catapult operator let her loose, and she flew through the air with all the grace and poignance of a bird lady.
"Next!"
Meanwhile in Markarth, the hagraven landed delicately on the steps of an abandoned house. She scuttled to the side and prepared to assist the next 8 members of the jailbreak crew. As they arrived, she gently guided them down with magic. No one in the Reach paid the flying people any attention.
When her Briarwood arrived, last, she gave him the final instructions he needed and then departed the group to signal the residential Forsworn for the attack. Lighting the roof of Understone Keep on fire, she finished her job and then sought refreshment at the Silverblood Inn.
Inside, all the customers were shuffling awkwardly. A horrible racket like two horkers fighting to the death over a piece of ore filled the common room. The hagraven followed the noise to a wooden door. She banged on it roughly and slurred their mothers.
The door opened to reveal Ulfric Stormcloak, strutting in his birthday suit. The hagraven took in the full effect of the man, brushing a stray feather behind her ear. "Hubba hubba."
Ulfric smiled and pushed the door open wider, revealing Galmar lying prone on the stone bed. Galmar looked her over and asked Ulfric, "She join?"
Ulfric turned his gaze inquisitively to the hagraven. "Well?"
The hagraven nodded enthusiastically and headed into the room, the door closing behind her.
"Thank God - I did NOT want to write that!" The narrator declared.
From his spot by the fire, Cicero cackled madly. "Ooh! Cicero cannot wait to tell the Listener this bit of juicy gossip!"
In conclusion, that is why you should never feed the homeless.