Exodus
She didn't come in alone. The woman had an entourage of about seven thralls carrying trays heaped with food. Oh god, the smell was almost as overpoweringly delicious as Mauronk's... um... well... nevermind. My mouth watered and I leaned forward in eager anticipation.
"Danni," Mauronk hissed, taking hold of my arm. "She threatened to fetch you another if we didn't... Now is not the time to act. Not until the others are with us."
"But... I'm hungry," I whimpered, unable to take my eyes off the people laying trays on our little tables. I might have noticed that they weren't all human, but what specific races were represented wasn't as important as the food: heaps of meat from who knew or cared what random animals, carrots and leeks on beds of cabbage, big juicy tomatoes and roasted potatoes... My stomach was bitching up a storm. Then I noticed the carriers were all men, working their way in our direction: lovely muscled men in loincloths that looked hastily, and clumsily, wrapped to conceal the ricks of wood they were sporting. Holy crap. I couldn't swear my mouth was watering for food now.
"Danni," Mauronk hissed again, and I looked at him. How could I even think about someone else when not five seconds ago he opened his heart to me? And he was so much more beautiful than them...
"Turn around, quickly," he hastily instructed, practically man-handling me. "On your knees, now." Bewildered, I let him position me, then quite unexpectedly, he rammed his hips against my ass. Oh god, yes! One for the Gipper! Make me beg, you marvelous stud! Oh yes, you can fuck my ass, I don't even care which hole you go for, just give me all you've got, as hard as you can...
Wait a second. I could feel his increasingly hardening penis stroking, but he wasn't actually inside me in any way. God dammit! He was faking it? You rotten son of a bitch...
"Pretend you like this," he breathed urgently, his hands gripping my hips tightly. "At least... fuck... at least until she's gone." His voice wasn't all that steady, probably because he was digging a furrow through my nethers, so close to the glory hole, one slip would take me to heaven.
"Dammit, Danni," he growled under his breath. "This is difficult enough; stop squirming."
Oh, was I shifting my hips a bit, arching my back, maneuvering for penetration? Was I really doing that? Sorry! My bad.
Dimly, my right mind was screaming at me to dial it back, for Christ's sake. This was serious. He wasn't fake-fucking to tease me or because he couldn't resist being in contact with my vagina. That bitch said she'd get me another. She said I could be 'serviced' by the Khajiit, if my Orsimer didn't step up. As long as she thought we were 'on board the fuck train,' she'd leave us be. And she wouldn't be prepared when we staged a revolt.
Sure enough, when she led the over-used studs to our corner and they laid out our refreshments (god, how sick is that?), I could hear the smirk in her voice as she said, "Very good. I was beginning to have my doubts. It does not surprise me you prefer not to look at him. No potion known to man or mer can disguise what Boethiah wrought upon his folk."
Though I was tempted, I restrained the urge to interrupt my semi-fake moaning to ask what the fuck that was supposed to mean. I thought the Orcs worshipped Malacath, for crying out loud. What's this Boethiah shit? Hell, all I could remember of Boethiah was a book you had to steal way back in Morrowind: Boethiah's Pillow Book. I didn't remember the titles of many books, but that one stuck out. Right alongside The Lustful Argonian Maid. Volumes one and two. For the serious collector.
It figures. I forget highly important works like the phylogeny, but I remember dirty books like those. God, I'm an asshole.
Mauronk growled in response, but said nothing coherent. That would probably have taken too much attention away from his diligent attempt to fuck me without fucking me.
No sooner had the door closed and the partiers departed for more partying (yeah, the Bitch looked like she'd thrown her dress back on just for propriety's sake, like that has any meaning for someone like her – you could tell by the bite marks on her shoulders and the mussed hair that she'd been turned upside down by one of the guys she brought in with the snack trays... or several of them at once, I wouldn't be surprised), then Mauronk got off me and vaulted off the bed. I collapsed face down, but kept my butt up a little... just in case. Hope, even drugged hope, springs eternal.
"Do not eat the food!" Mauronk barked at the others. I forced myself to sit up and watch him. The first bed he went to was the Khajiit and Redguard's, and the first thing he did was grab that horny-assed Dar'Zher by the mane.
"Get off her," he snarled through clenched teeth. Excitement stirred and my loins quivered; he was so forceful! Then I felt an answering rumble of nausea. Concentrate, Danni.
"This one is not done," the Khajiit growled, pinning his ears back and baring his teeth.
"This one is fucking finished," Mauronk snarled back, and added a firm hand to the cat's throat. "Get off her, or I break your neck."
"Your words have wisdom, Orc," Dar'Zher rasped uncomfortably, slowly disengaging from the Redguard. "And your hands have much strength."
"Eat and drink nothing," Mauronk warned, and left them alone as he made the circuit, interrupting the others.
I watched him, every move he made, and listened to every word. My god. Where did that kind of discipline come from? He must have swallowed the equivalent of an atomic bomb; I could hear him behind me, getting really close to orgasm just rubbing against my underpinnings. Then he just... buried it. He was the same way in Helgen; the place was chaos, admittedly, but he kept a clear head. He could've knocked Ralof out of the way and taken charge easily. And I would have followed him, as these people seemed eager to do now.
"Listen to me," Mauronk said once he had everyone's eyes on him, "I have a plan. We will make what weapons we can from the things in this room. The bottles are one; the wooden trays are another. Anything we can get our hands on. Can any of you cast?"
"I can," the Dunmer woman said, raising her hand. She looked done-in, taking deep breaths like she'd just run a marathon. Or stopped running from something that wouldn't give up the chase.
"Good. We will benefit from your skills," he replied kindly, and I noticed something else. Mauronk was being particularly solicitous to the women. Maybe he considered their victimization more profound than the men's. I wasn't so sure; the guy next to the Dunmer couldn't even raise his head, and just kept his hands clasped between his knees. The Nord, now that his dick was no longer buried in a lizard's hind quarters, looked like he was going to be sick. The Redguard woman was sick... again. Their bed seriously needed a linen refresh.
My eyes flicked to Dar'Zher, the only one whose name I knew. He was idly stroking his dick, like he was thinking any minute now the annoying Orc show would end and he could get back to business. I had to do a double-take; I've never seen a domestic cat's penis, or a lion's for that matter, but I had no idea they were barbed. What the fuck is that? No wonder the Redguard was in tears.
"Are any of you fighters?" Mauronk asked, scanning the crowd. "We will need to fight to get out of here, I have no doubt."
"Why must we?" Dar'Zher purred. "This place is good for Dar'Zher. There is good food that he need not steal. Warm bed, warm body..." He glanced at the Redguard woman huddled in a shivering ball. "All for some fucking. Dar'Zher does not wish to leave."
Mauronk didn't appear to have any patience with that sort of shit. He marched up to the Khajiit and knocked his hands away from his dick. Ouch; that must've hurt.
"It is not fucking you have been about," the Orsimer snarled furiously. "You have been raping this woman. You will stop."
To his credit, Dar'Zher's kitty eyebrows bunched uncertainly. "But... she begged for it..."
"She was drugged!" Mauronk roared, thumping Dar'Zher's shoulder and nearly sending him across the room. I'm sure he wanted to. "So were you. It is in the food, in the ale... All of you are affected." He turned, meeting the shocked eyes of everyone in the room in turn.
Dar'Zher seemed to rally and growled, "Yet your mind is clear. Is that because Orsimer are less... reluctant? Because they are not troubled by the cries of their victims? Is it because they lie, steal, murder and rape without care...?"
It only took Mauronk a couple of strides to return to Dar'Zher, and only a couple of seconds to have the cat pinned to the wall by the throat. "I have never raped," he snarled close to the Khajiit's face, "but I have murdered. Several times. Do not tempt me to commit another one."
Not gonna lie, that little tidbit made me a smidgen nervous. Like a deer caught in headlights. Several? Did he count bandits in that several? Jesus, Mauronk... who the hell are you?
Now's not the time. Mauronk's threat, true or not, did a pretty good job of informing the Khajiit what sort of man he was dealing with. He shut the hell up about racial slurs from that point on.
"As I said," Mauronk continued, releasing Dar'Zher and addressing the rest of us, "the food and drink are likely tainted. Do not touch any of it. We will escape, but the effects of what was given to you must wear off. If you need to relieve yourselves, manage it on your own. Do not use one another."
"You will lead us, then?" the Nord asked in a hollow voice. He seemed to be pleading, hoping someone would take charge.
Mauronk nodded. "Yes. I will take her down when she comes. She must be questioned first; that is most important. We need to know what resistance stands between us and freedom."
"It does not matter," the other man growled, his fists clenching angrily. "None shall leave this place. For what we were forced to do... there will be a reckoning." He didn't look up, but I didn't think he really required agreement at this point. His tension was high, like if we pointed him in the direction of ass, he'd rush right in and kick the shit out of it, with or without backup.
"I never thought I would agree with an Imperial dog," the Nord muttered. "At least you were partnered with something palatable..."
I didn't need to see any of the women flinch to leap to their defense. "Hey!" I snapped. "Knock that shit off, or so help me, I'll bury this gourd in your ass." I waved the aforementioned food item for emphasis. "Don't you dare treat this like an unfortunate round of spin the bottle. Some sick fuck put these ass-tards up to trying to cross-breed you, all right? They were making you rape each other to see if you could produce little half-breed kids. There's no such thing as 'you're lucky you got that one' in this scenario. Got it?"
The Nord swallowed and looked away.
"Are we clear?" Mauronk interjected. "When she returns, alone, I will subdue her. You men... come help me with these plates. If we snap them along the grain, we may be able to make serviceable daggers..."
I let the menfolk distract themselves with weaponry, and went to the Redguard. It was like an unspoken woman thing; the Dunmer and Argonian followed me, and the four of us huddled on the bed together. The Argonian discreetly covered the vomit with a blanket.
"Are you okay?" I asked the Redguard quietly. She was shivering all over, to the point of convulsive twitching, and I could hear her choked sobbing. Dammit, this was going to be difficult. Unsure what else to do, I rubbed her back.
"No... no one... will... will believe me," she whispered haltingly. "My... my hus-... husband... We... we... we wanted... chil-... children..." She dissolved in tears, and it just broke my heart.
I also looked at the sheets. There was blood streaked here and there, some dried, some fresh. I had to cover my mouth or I'd throw up myself. That barbed penis... God, cats suck. She probably thought she was ruined, that her inner workings were mangled. I kind of doubted it; those weren't particularly long spikes, but they still must have hurt like hell. The Dunmer didn't say a word; she just laid her hands on the Redguard's hip and began murmuring a healing spell.
"You'll be all right," I told her, though I'm sure I didn't sound particularly convincing. The Argonian's eyes closed and she bowed her head, nodding.
"There is reason why some races do not mix," she said. "For Khajiit and Argonian alike, only we may endure the pain of union." To my surprise, she looked at me with what I had to interpret as sympathy, because she said, "At least we do not bear lasting marks of what was done to us here. You, I am afraid, shall wear your shame for always."
Excuse me, what?
"I will tell no one of this," the Dunmer said quietly, her spell complete. "We will slay all who dwell within, then burn the inn to the ground. Let the flames take our humiliation and pain to the gods." A cold look crossed her face. "I will face Sanguine alone in Oblivion if he dares seek vengeance for the deaths of his followers. Their lives are forfeit."
"Just to be clear...," I ventured, but the Redguard was speaking again.
"How could I... I didn't want... I didn't. It hurt... it hurt so much... yet I... I couldn't help myself..."
"Hey, it's okay," I said soothingly, pretty much giving up my original idea to qualify the whole gigantic set of teeth marks on my shoulder. Probably not a good idea after what these ladies just went through. "They gave you a drug to make you want it. Make your body want it, not your mind."
"Indeed, that is the case," the Argonian joined in. She likewise stroked the Redguard's hair. "None of us wanted this, not even the men who coupled with us."
"Raped," I corrected. "You can't deny..."
"I do not," she countered, "but who is the rapist here? The men were coerced in the same manner as we were. Except of course, the Orsimer. But his kind are not known for passing up... opportunities." Once more, her reptilian eyes flicked to my shoulder.
"It is the followers of Sanguine who stand accused," the Dunmer concluded firmly. "By my hand, they will die. Then I will raise them up again and slay them a second time."
That idea kind of... Well, heebie jeebies didn't entirely cover it. I shuddered a bit. On the other hand, I saw what they went through. Pure chance landed me in the familiar arms of Mauronk. Had it been anyone else, I would be lying in a puddle of puke like the Redguard. Who was I to stand between these women and their vengeance? Who was I not to stand at their side in solidarity for their suffering?
Hell hath no fury, man. You go, girlfriend. I'm right behind you.
The sound of wood striking stone echoed in the room. The Redguard struggled to sit up, wiping her tears and joining us in looking toward the noise. Probably anywhere else, at any other time, the sight of four naked men snapping wooden platters into shards on a giant stone rose would have caused a titter or two.
Well, three naked men and a giant cat. His angry little soldier was still peeking out of his thick crotch fur, pretty much commanding the eye to look at it. God, that was freaky as hell. I forced myself to note his coloration instead of lingering on his private parts. He was like a big grey-striped tabby cat, except on his head was additional greyish black hair done up in braids. He was apparently a dandy; there were several rings in his ears and clamped on the braids. He even had a mustache with gold rings.
The Imperial man brought a bunch of the broken wooden shards to us. He still couldn't look any of us in the eyes. "Here. Tear off strips of cloth and bind the handles. To protect us." Awkwardly dumping the armload on the bed, he headed back to the other boys and helped Mauronk with his latest project: converting an iron candlestand into an unadorned metal rod for striking and, no doubt, stabbing.
"It is unfortunate there are no better ingredients here," the Dunmer grumbled as she got up to fetch a sheet from my bed. "I should like to craft an agonizing poison for these weapons."
Smirking, I said, "Do you really think that's necessary? I mean, it didn't sound like you or the others were intending to let them live long enough to enjoy your work."
For the first time, the Dunmer smiled. "I would have them suffer for every minute, every hour, every day I spent in that man's bed. But I also wish to be quit of this place with all speed. I must content myself with their bloody deaths, swiftly if needs be."
The Argonian took the sheet and, using her teeth, started several tears. She began ripping the sheet into strips. "Blame the followers of Sanguine, not the Imperial. It was not his choice."
The Dunmer met her eyes. "I am not... angry with him. What of the Nord? Are you as generous to him? As understanding?"
She slowly lowered the sheet and her brow furrowed. "When one is a slave, one does not question. One does not defy. One... endures." She glanced up at the Dunmer. "There are some who have used us before. We are not made for union with those who are not Argonians, but... they have tested us. Curiosity, mostly. For we are slaves, and who would we tell? Who would believe us? Who would defend us?" She shook her head and resumed tearing the sheet. "At least in this, the Nord was not master. Not of me, or of himself. I know the difference."
My mind leaped back to that stupid play about the horny Argonian maid. The game only gave you a few pages laced with double entendres of the extreme groaning kind. Really eye-rolling stuff. Now I wondered if the real version, in full, here in actual Tamriel, might not have kindled a little bit of kinky interest. And since both Khajiiti and Argonians were so often enslaved...
Ew. I got a queasy feeling in my stomach, and my heart went out to the Argonian. She was rolling with this punch because she'd been punched so often before, it was routine. God, point me and my lame archery skills where you need me to start shooting, honey. Just, you know, don't stand anywhere between me and the target. I'm still not all that good at it.
We wrapped the wooden dagger-like contraptions the best we could. At least we were doing something; it took our minds off the waning effects of the potion. Still, every once in awhile, someone's hand slipped down to do a little maintenance work. Mine included. Just a little grope to take the edge off. By the time the bottles had been broken, the plates had all been dumped and turned into stakes, and three of the half dozen candle stands had been converted into heavy quarterstaffs, we were all feeling a lot closer to normal. Normal enough to resume our places, that is.
I couldn't help sighing with relief. Dar'Zher for all his apparent horniness was sitting apart from the Redguard woman, unable to say anything or even look at her. The Nord and the Argonian were similarly quiet. Not a word came out of the Dunmer or the Imperial, either. Mauronk was stationed with his ear to the door, a stake in his hand, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long. Thankfully, because OSHA never sent a fire marshall to Skyrim, the door opened into the room, allowing Mauronk to remain hidden for a moment.
The Bitch came in alone and I had to stifle a laugh at her dumbfounded expression. There was broken glass all over the floor around the rose. Food was spilled randomly around the room, because nobody considered neatness when they emptied the platters and started pounding them into pieces. The three other couples were sitting idly on their beds, not engaged in any sort of physical contact at all. The fourth couple was one Orsimer short. Oh my, wherever could he be?
Right up your ass, sister.
Mauronk came up behind her and wrapped his muscular arm around her neck, and aimed a stake point at her heart. Because she was wearing that slut dress, there wasn't even a semi-comforting layer of cloth between his weapon and certain death. She gasped with shock and instinctively grabbed his arm with both hands.
"We've got some questions for you, bitch," Mauronk snarled next to her ear. Everyone started getting off the beds and closing in.
I've never really seen that kind of terror in a person's eyes. It struck me that, while she was undoubtedly a reprehensible pig of a woman, she wasn't a warrior. She used drugs and thugs to put us down here. I don't think she even used magic. She certainly didn't call upon it now.
"Please...," she begged, quickly losing her former grip. Not the one in charge anymore, are we? "Don't kill me."
"No promises," I told her.
"How many more are in this place?" Mauronk continued. "We have seen you, and seven men. How many more?"
"That is all," she replied tremulously, and the Orsimer jerked his arm tighter.
"No lies!" he barked sharply. A small amount of blood welled up around the dagger point.
"Twelve!" she cried, and I heard a trickling sound. Holy crap, he made her pee herself. "There are only twelve."
"Where are they? How far underground are we? How do we get out?" Mauronk pressed on.
"Slay her," the Dunmer demanded. "I will raise her, and command her to lead us out. Your questions are pointless."
"I want to know if they are worthless piles of shit like her," Mauronk retorted, "or well-armed warriors. Answer!" He jerked his arm again, and the woman broke down in tears.
"None are armed," she sobbed. "They practice the rites of Sanguine. It is the hour of joining. I was... I was just... I came to ensure you had eaten before taking part..."
"Joining," the Imperial repeated. "What does that mean?"
"Probably that they're fucking," Mauronk suggested. "Are they? Is that what they're all up to right now?"
"Yes!" the woman cried, squeezing her eyes shut. "Do not hurt me, please. It was the scholar. He demanded it."
"Where is he?" the Nord broke in. "I would have my hands about his throat. Is he in this place?"
"No, no, no," the woman sobbed, then she started babbling. "He is in Cyrodiil. I do not know where. All we have are letters from him; he has never been here. He engaged our services; he promised a grand temple for our use if we helped him. He wished for us to gather folk of particular races and encourage them to procreate. That is all, I swear!"
"Encourage them to procreate," I repeated thoughtfully. "So... instead of hosting romantic dinners with candlelight and expensive wine, you drugged us and made us rape each other. That, I think, is a very broad interpretation of your original mission, bitch."
"Enough of this," the Dunmer growled, and using her own stake, she drove it into the woman's gut. That set off a sort of frenzy like one would see after the chum hits the water. Mauronk quickly released the screaming, convulsing woman and stepped away. The other six swarmed her.
All I saw were weapons rising and falling in quick succession. I couldn't see the woman anymore. In fact, I couldn't even watch; turning toward Mauronk, I nearly dove into his arms and hid my face against his shoulder, trying not to hear. Even without the woman's screams, since she probably died really quickly, it was horrible listening to the sound of wooden stakes and glass bottles piercing and cutting flesh and muscle.
Everything went quiet, but I just wasn't ready to turn around. The Dunmer, true to her word, started murmuring a spell. The air around us got cold and tingly, like frost was descending really fast. The others backed away, and I finally stole a peek. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Just like in the game, when you raise someone from the dead, they sort of have this weird magical glow about them. That's pretty much where the resemblance ended. The bitch was barely held together, it looked like. Her chest was torn apart, breasts just... gone. They'd split open her gut, letting her intestines spill down. There was a great deal of blood down her legs, leading me to believe a few of those stakes were driven home in a particularly private place.
I had to close my eyes and look away. That was the sort of thing I was certain to have nightmares about.
"Are you all right, Danni?" Mauronk said quietly. All I could manage was a nod. Then I felt him stiffen.
"What is this?" the Nord asked tightly. "Let her go. She is no longer yours to rape."
Reluctantly, Mauronk withdrew, his head bowed. "Apologies," he muttered.
My heart and gut clenched hard. We didn't have time for me to defend us or get into a lengthy conversation about what he meant to me. I hugged my middle, feeling sick. These people believed the sort of thing that was between me and Mauronk required drugs to accomplish. I guess it was the thread they were clinging to so they didn't go insane. Gods forbid they should ever, under normal circumstances, consider the possibility that they might be interested in someone from another race. Denial was safer, and we weren't really helping by being 'friendly.'
Probably foremost on their minds, though, was the assumption that not an hour ago, he was raping me. I had to swallow the reality that if they saw me so much as touching him, it would do more than just disgust them from a simply racial point of view. They'd likely kill him, thinking they were defending me from further indignities. God, I just wanted out of here, and away from them, as quickly as possible.
"This way," Mauronk growled, hefting his metal rod and leading us out the door. The nightmare on legs was urged to follow in his wake, and we came after. Right outside our private den of iniquity was a slightly smaller room with several wardrobes and chests. We ranged out, opening drawers and prying open lids. Thank god, they were full of our clothes and equipment. Maybe I'd gotten used to being naked, like I probably would if I was at a nude beach and everyone was letting it all hang out, but it sure felt good to be back in my leather armor, holding that longbow, a quiver full of arrows on my back. Everyone looked a ton braver with real steel in their hands as well.
They weren't all in armor, either. The Nord, Argonian, and Redguard were all dressed in civvies. The Imperial wore steel like Mauronk, and the Dunmer wore one of those obviously enchanted robes mages get off on. Dar'Zher wore rags, like he was a prisoner or dirt poor or some kind of indigent guy when he was 'volunteered.'
The Dunmer made Bloody Mary lead us beyond the dressing room into a long hallway. It was obvious that the reason why nobody heard her screams was because up and down the hall were shut doors. They weren't particularly well-soundproofed, though. You could hear pretty clearly what kind of activity was going on behind each one.
"This one first," Mauronk ordered, and readied his sword. The walking corpse dutifully opened the door.
It would be cold-hearted and bloodthirsty to say the horrified looks on the faces of the three men piled on top and inside of the one woman in the room when their fearless leader walked in, were comical. I could see into the room, but I didn't enter, nor did I ready my bow. There were five pissed off people standing between me and a clear shot; it was safest if I didn't shoot at all.
I wasn't entirely surprised to find Dar'Zher hanging out with me in the back row. This didn't seem like his cup of tea, either.
Bringing up the rear gave me a good view of the mayhem, though. Mauronk, being the first one into the room, speared through the clusterfuck going on, pinning the DPing trio to their bed. The Imperial nailed the third man with his sword, then they proceeded to hack the screaming bodies to pieces.
Well, Mauronk didn't. He retreated to the hallway and opened the next door. An unearthly cry greeted him, and he roared right back, then launched himself into the room with sword raised. The Dunmer joined him, and I peeked over their heads.
Wow. A dremora. Some people have the kinkiest fantasies. As expected, the Dunmer celebrated the victory by carving the daedra's heart out. Alchemists and their ingredient harvesting. Damn, is this really the right time, lady?
As we barged into the next two rooms, where slightly more sedate one-on-one activities were going on, I had to wonder why all the noise wasn't alerting them to the wave of death rolling up the corridor. By the time the last room was reached, replete with two men engaged in some really amazingly acrobatic mutual buggering, it was clear that we hadn't been the only ones partaking of the 'special brew.' When Mauronk was getting pounded into the ground, I only had sex on my mind, after all. Obviously one of the effects of the drug, once it peaks, is to drive all good sense out of you.
Well, in the end, I suppose it didn't matter. We made it to the end of the hallway and ascended the stairs to the inn. Bursting out of the room with its concealed door leading to more sin and debauchery than you could possibly stomach, we found ourselves in the common room with three startled people.
After the trail of bodies we left behind, I was worried these folks would be added to the pile, but Mauronk at least had his head on straight, and he stuck an arm out to stop the Imperial from carving a path to the door.
"Who are you?" the Orsimer demanded.
"We...," one of the men said hesitantly, scanning us uncomfortably. Oh, right. Most of us were covered from head to toe in blood splatters. There was a mutilated corpse lurching precariously in front of us. We had that wild look in our eyes that urges retreat. "That is... there is a storm outside. We sought shelter..."
"This isn't it," Mauronk growled. "We are going to burn this place. Get out. Now."
The travellers didn't need to be told twice. They gathered up their things and bolted out the door faster than you could say 'Bob's your uncle.' We weren't far behind them. But when we emerged into the snowstorm, I realized (without a trace of disappointment) that Bloody Mary wasn't with us.
The Dunmer faced the inn and began conjuring up what would be one motherfucker of a fireball. The wood caught magnificently and we had the most enviable campfire in all of Skyrim. I wasn't sorry at all to see the end of this place. I could've used a hug from my man, though. Even just a reassuring arm around the shoulders, telling me it was over. Instead, I hugged myself. What else could I do?
"The closest town is Winterhold," the Nord said quietly as we watched the smoke and flames reach toward the heavens. "From there... we may find passage to... our homes."
"May we find forgetfulness as well," the Redguard added.
"Please... this one begs... humblest apologies...," Dar'Zher ventured awkwardly, but the Redguard jerked her head away.
"Do not speak to me," she hissed. "Ever."