The dead just kept coming. Priest after priestess, man and woman alike, these mystery orc soldiers, they didn't discriminate. They were heretics in the eyes of Chief Bazrag, or so it was claimed. Bardok was surprised at the amount of hatred he could muster for the chieftain. These weren't his people, and in fact the Orcs were enemies to the Pact. So why did he care so much, why did he continue counting the dead there in the Trinimac temple, holding his great blade as though Bazrag would walk through at any moment?

That was what Solgra wondered herself, watching the grim looking Nord as he sat alone, dark warpaint still striped across his eyes.

She wandered over, sitting close beside him on the floor as the dead were still being accounted for, praying over them in silence and with heavy grief. Eventually she glanced at him, and then her glance turned into a full on shameless stare. "What are you looking at," he demanded.

"You, obviously. I can't figure out why you're here still. Shouldn't you be moving on with your Altmer friend to claim your reward from the king?"

"Reward? Reward for what. I failed here. Most of your friends are dead because of me. Sneaking, it's just not my thing."

Solgra put a hand on his gauntleted arm. "And I'll miss them all dearly. But I am not dead, thanks to you. And neither are the ones you did manage to save. Why would you care so much about priests of Trinimac anyway? Our god is an enemy to yours."

"My god has forsaken me," said Bardok, looking at her for the first time. "I have yet to reclaim my soul from the devil who took it. If I die, I will not be welcome in his honored halls. So I don't much care what god you serve. You were not on the battlefield, you and your people have done nothing to deserve this."

Solgra struggled to find words worthy of thanking this man. She never would've expected Nord honor to stretch as far as Wrothgar. It was only then that she noticed the blood coming from an exposed break in his armor at his waist. She reached for it only for him to grab her hand before she could examine it. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," she said. "My people sometimes use poisoned or contaminated blades. Your wound, it's not clotting as it should. Let me-,"

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"I said, let me help you…" Solgra grabbed his hair, losing her patience with the big stubborn Nord.

"Fine, blasted woman I'm coming!" Solgra left with him in such a hurry that he forgot to bring his blade. And despite how intricate the many pieces of his armor was, she had the straps unfastened just as fast, leaving a confused Bardok sitting and being tended to like a child by this soft hearted orc woman in nothing but his loincloth. She had such strong hands, one holding him still with the grip of a mudcrab, the other as gentle as a wisp's soft light in the gloom of night.

Once his wound was cleaned and a potion of healing in his belly, Solgra left him with drink, returning about an hour later with bucket and cloth in hand. Admiring the Nordic tattoos all over his skin as she washed him, she said, "You'll have to get that one redone." She smiled warily. She still wasn't sure what she was expecting of this heroic Nord. Saving her life was one thing, but…

He seemed calm now, even relaxed. He looked so fierce with his warpaint, but now she could make out the sorrow in his eyes, and the softness from them as they fell upon her.

"The scars are as much a part of the markings as the ink," he said, looking into her eyes once again, confused but with a sort of pleasant bewilderment. "What's… what's happening here? Between us I mean."

"What do you want to happen?" said Solgra.

"I… aren't you mad at me? I failed and I…"

Solgra ran her hands through his wavy blonde hair as tears ran down her cheeks. "I am mad, but not at you, hero. More than that I'm afraid. So many I loved and cared for are gone, and even with Trinimac's light to guide me, I feel the cold of encroaching loneliness. But you are warm and bright, handsome and strong… you saved me and I feel safe around you. But I, I am…"

"…Beautiful and strong, wise and courageous…" Bardok's hand gripped her waist, sliding slowly up and down her silk priest robes. Solgra trembled at his touch, his hardened hands pressing firmly at her clit through the cloth as she braced on his shoulders. "This is okay right? Here in the temple and all?"

"Orcs are not the pious type, and I don't care right now," she said, hitching up her robes before straddling him in his chair. His left hand caressed her neck and head as he kissed, the other gripped her ass and hip as she worked him inside her. Her tusks were a bit of a challenge to work around, but it excited him even more. He enjoyed the tickle of them brushing against his beard, and her breath hot at his neck and on his cheek.

The next thing she knew, she was being carried away to a back room, previously barred off by furniture and now the hosting room to their private rendezvous. She did not know if a Nord would go for an orc woman, and wasn't at all sure of what she was doing. All she knew was that she did not want to be alone tonight. But as the big hairy Nord laid over her, his thick hardness prodding and stretching her for all she was worth, all doubt of his desire for her washed away in the heat quickly building up in her thighs and radiating all the way to her toes.

Her tusks poked his lips a few times in the intensity of their kiss but he didn't at all care and soon dug his bearded chin into her shoulder while his hands gripped under her backside. They were making quite the ruckus, Solgra crying for Trinimac's mercy and Bardok grunting like he were trying to bring down the temple's foundations. His toes curled so fiercely that they almost went numb, and she fished for his ear through his hair, tugging at his lobe as he fought to find his release. She'd found hers several times over and pushed him up some so they could both work to get his, her light green hands gripping his ass as he fucked her to senselessness.

By the time he had, his heavy seed trickling from her freely and pooling beneath her bottom, all of that strong stoic manliness she saw earlier had melted away into a content glow of gratitude as he rested his head between her bosom. She stroked his hair again, smiling like a girl with a big furry hound, and with all the gentleness of a loving priestess tending to her flock. This was not one of her flock however. Right now she was as lost as any of they were, and her comfort had come in the most unlikely source. Every now and then she'd nuzzle him, and her tusks would get caught in his hair. He didn't mind though and laughed happily each time as she untangled his hair from her mouth.

"What do I call you," he said, after a long blissful silence.

"The others call me mother Solgra, but you can call me Solgra."

"I like it," he said, kissing her belly before returning to her lips. He paused at her bosom first grinning playfully. Especially when she whispered something in his ear. "That might be hard, with the tusks and all. How do you lot do that anyway?"

"Carefully, my Nord protector. Trust me."

And trust her he did. He didn't catch up with his companion for a few days. Helping at the temple was hard work, and Solgra made sure to keep him busy during his time there. Very busy indeed.