Chapter 2
A/N: I really liked the Dremora, so I decided to write a second chapter for the day. By the way, I'll start answering to the reviews.]
Sdarkness05: Thx for the reviews, my man. Glad you've been enjoying it so far.
"What in Oblivion happened to you?"
It was to the shock of both the innkeeper, and the patrons, that Mithras stepped through the doors of the Winking Skeever inn looking like he'd gone through Coldharbour and back.
Covered from head to toe in blood and gore and clearly not in the mood for explanations, the Altmer chooses to ignore all the looks and hushed comments he gets as he climbs up the set of stairs leading to the attic- pieces of his now ruined armor falling with each step he took. Following on his footsteps, the Dremora pit fighter looks triumphant, holding the white pelt of a Troll Matron over its shoulder, while carrying the rest on his back.
"That was a great battle!" the Daedra comments once the door to the attic is closed, dropping the furs into the floor, before raising up a Soul Gem in his hand. "The beast's soul shall be a great trophy in my collection!"
"Suit yourself." Mithras replies nonchalantly, stripping off the rest of his armor before letting himself sink into the cold water of the wooden bathtub.
In other circumstances, he'd have waited for the water to heat up- now, though, he just wanted to stop smelling like troll.
Killing the beast had been a dirty affair. Unlike its offspring, the Matron proved itself to be extremely resistant to any types of magic, including fire. Alchemical fire from his burning oil seemed to work some extent, but even then, it just kept regenerating the burnt flesh and fur.
In the end, he had to kill it with poison. And by the time it finally went down, it had already made a mess out of his armor, which- unlike his body- couldn't be saved by Restoration magic.
"Fuck me." He curses under his breath, scrubbing the blood and guts off his body with a rough brush. It took him a long time to make himself at least presentable, all the while the pit fighter basked in its own glory.
"Who shall we kill next, mortal?" the Daedra asks, holding its ax up in excitement.
"That damn horse breeder, for being a cheap fuck." The Nord had the audacity to try and haggle him down once he'd come back for his pay, saying it was too much and how it would ruin him. Then Mithras offered to help him see his precious horses again, and the terrified man paid up.
"Then his soul shall be mine! And I shall feast on his heart!"
"This isn't Valenwood. Cannibalism isn't a thing here, apparently." the Mage replies with a plain face. "Besides, those Nords haven't seen a Dremora since the Oblivion Crisis. They might as well think you're Mehrunes Dagon reborn."
Valenwood was a place of good memories, that was certain. Back when the rift between him and his father had not yet formed.
Their division had been stationed in the province to quell a rebellion against the Dominion's rule by a faction of the native Bosmer. While the Wood Elves made for formidable archers, the Thalmor had been brutally efficient in suppressing their revolt.
In general, though, the Bosmer had been pleasant to be around. Despite their fame as savage and barbaric, they proved to be hospitable once one earned their trust. Their women were savage little things in bed too, though his father expressed his disapproval for his young escapades with the locals.
"Good times indeed…" Usually, he was not one for emotions- having long learned to suppress them in his century of life. Maybe it was the North, bringing them back to surface. "I need a drink."
"Then we shall drink!" the Dremora acclaims, barreling downstairs before the Altmer has a slight chance of sending him back to Oblivion.
With a sigh, Mithras gets up from the waters, now red with the blood he'd washed off his body, getting himself a final soak with a bucket, before drying himself up with a towel. Dressed in the simple robes of a mage, he walks down to a bar in silence.
All the eyes in the Winking Skeever are on him, as he moves to sit on a table by the pit fighter. The Dremora grins, his ax resting on the table by his side before his voice booms.
"Wine, mortals! Wine for the Champion of Boethia!"
'That will definitely make the locals friendlier.' The Altmer thinks, rolling his eyes as the tavern's crew jolts back to work. Even the bard starts hurriedly playing a song, snapped out of her silence by the Dremora's call. "Do you need to be so loud?"
"We shall now cower before mortals." The Dremora boasts, scaring the terrified barmaid even further as she serves them tankards of wine. Not sparing the human a glance, the Daedra drinks it all in a single go. "They may come and face our might!"
Shrugging, the Altmer drinks from his mug- surprised that Skyrim's wines could taste even remotely good. He'd always thought Nords preferred mead over anything else, water included. Even with the bard's lute playing, he can hear the hushed comments about 'bloody mages', and the arguing in the back of the counter.
For the first time in the night, Mithras found himself agreeing with the Daedra. "Fuck them."
"It seems like your sense of style hasn't gotten any better."
Looking up from his drink, Mithras meets the eyes of the Altmer he'd spoken to the other day- Taarie. A pretty thing, despite her haughty attitude- and if her fancy garments said anything, a prosperous woman. Which, in his language, translated to customer in potential.
"Fighting trolls out in the wild does that to people." Is his sardonic response, as he takes another gulp off the Nordic wine. "Wouldn't expect a pretty lady like you to understand it."
"I'm sure I wouldn't wish to know it either." Her tone was much like his, though her eyes told him she had interest in their conversation. Altmer learned early that their race rarely expressed their feelings in their voices or expressions, which led to the myth of them being emotionless freaks. "Though I must admit, you do have courage. Few individuals would walk around town with a Dremora by their side."
"Mortals cower as we pass! Weaklings, them all." The pit fighter boasts, making the woman raise her eyebrows in response.
"Nords seem to dislike mages, for some reason." Mithras shrugs. "With or without Dremora, they'd find a reason to complain."
"Indeed…" Tarie comments distractedly, her gaze lost on her drink for a moment, before her gaze meets his again. "Though I'm curious. It's rare that I see a fellow Altmer in town, at least one that isn't a Thalmor official." She scowls at that. "What brings you to Solitude?"
"Work, mostly." He replies with a shrug- that wasn't exactly a lie, but he also had other reasons to come to Skyrim. "I'm an adventurer, guided by the winds of fate. Whether they lead me to Elsweyr or Skyrim, it's up for the gods."
Though some might have more influence than the others, but he chose to omit that bit.
"And a poet too, I see?" she rebukes, arching her eyebrows. "I certainly wouldn't mind hearing some of your stories…"
"And I wouldn't mind sharing them with you."
"More wine for the Champion!"
The next morning, Mithras woke up with the feeling of a warm body pressed against his.
He knew he should probably be out in the wilds, scouring the countryside for monsters and collecting bounties from bandits, or maybe looking for ingredients for his alchemical concoctions- perhaps even exploring ancient tombs in search for tomes or ancient artifacts of mystical power.
Those could wait for later, he supposed.
"Hm." Sitting up on the large bed, his gaze falls upon the sleeping figure of Taarie, whose long, slender legs now tangle with his under the furs. With a gesture of his hand, the fireplace comes to life with a small flame, bringing heat to an otherwise cold room.
Seeing that his partner had yet to wake up, the ever disciplined wizard planted a kiss on her forehead, before getting up and washing off the sweat from last night's escapade.
"And the man of the night appears." The innkeeper, Corpulus, greets with a snort as he walks down the stairs to the salon. "Got to tell, you got yourself a lot of looks when you came in here smelling like a dead troll."
"Better than a troll smelling like dead elf then." The Altmer replies with a shrug, earning a small chuckle from the man.
"That it is. Though don't tell my wife about it. Woman was livid with that stunt you pulled off last night."
"No need to tell. I heard the arguing."
After a few more minutes of chatter, Taarie eventually made her way downstairs as well.
"I do hope you'll remain in Solitude. The city could do with some new blood." She says, as they walk out of the inn into the streets of a waking city. Merchants from all over Tamriel prepare for the day's sales, placing their stalls as the first clients begin to flood into the market plaza. "Besides, I did enjoy last night's affair. I would enjoy very much if we could give it sequence."
Mithras confessed he had to hold back a chuckle- only an Altmer would refer to fucking like a pair of wild animals as an 'affair'. It certainly had been a while since he'd last been with his kind.
"I'll be staying in town for a few more days, so long as there's work. I still wish to see what more Skyrim has to offer." He comments with a shrug. "However, I'll make sure you are the first one I see, when I return."
"I suppose I'll have to make do with that vague promise." The Altmer replies with a small sigh, before standing on the tip of her toes so that her lips could capture his in a kiss. Once they broke apart, she adds with a smug grin. "I shall visit you tonight, then."
"I'll be expecting it." Mithras rebukes, with a grin of his own. He watches her back as she leaves, before continuing on his way towards the city gates.
After all, he needed the money, and those bounties would not solve themselves.
Chapter End
A/N: I like writing in short chapters, since I can just write two in a single day- instead of once in a while, like I do when I publish 30 pages at a time.
Anyways, I'm surprised at how dead the Elder Scrolls fic community is- thought there would be more people reading, to be honest. But then again, maybe it's my writing- I really have no idea.
That's it for this week, with love.
Wildfurion