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Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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“Mister.”

Stenvar looked up from his meal to find a tall, gray Khajiit at his side, eying him coldly. Just the flash of his eyes made the Nord hireling a little uncomfortable, but he knew better than to let something like that stop him from making money.

“You looking for a bit of help? 500 septims, and I'll watch your back as long as you need me to,” he advertised with a light smile. The adventurer merely shrugged, rooting around in a pocket for the necessary coin.

“Hm. Bhaskara has been working hard these days. Having somebody to lighten the work would not be worthless,” he said firmly, rattling the coins in his hand before handing them over. “You will follow Bhaskara's orders to the letter?”

“Sure,” Stenvar said, standing and following the Khajiit as they braced the cold of Windhelm once again. He still found the Khajiit way of speaking a little strange, but he had picked up quickly that Bhaskara wasn't one to refer to himself as 'I'. The caravan workers he had met that one time had been like that as well. But those Khajiit had been a lot...friendlier than this one. The moment they had made it through the gates, he had turned away and began walking quickly, to the point where the hireling almost had to jog to keep up.

“Where are we heading?” he asked, just a tiny bit awkwardly.

“Bhaskara was promised gold if he was to venture into a cave and find a certain staff. Bandits will be inside, as usual,” Bhaskara informed him, his tone strictly professional. It wasn't anything Stenvar wasn't used to-- sometimes, adventurers just wanted to get the work done, make the coin, and get themselves fed, so it didn't bother him much at first.

At first.

As they walked onwards, he still tried to make a bit of conversation. Each question was answered shortly and with an irritated look over his shoulder, until the Nord settled for falling silent and keeping a few steps behind. Even then, Bhaskara looked over his shoulder again, finally opting for the jab he knew would anger the man most.

“This one has gotten quiet, hm? Surprising. Nords are stubborn fools, do not know when to quit.”

He knew from experience how proud the natives of Skyrim were of their heritage. Sure enough, Stenvar's face had grown darker, and the Khajiit looked back to the road, smirking to himself. Behind him, the hireling trudged along, arms crossed and glaring at his employer's back.

Self-assured, conniving bastard! he thought, infuriated. For everything he had been forced to tolerate over his years as a sellsword, the one thing he couldn't tolerate was an insult of his race as a whole. And from a Khajiit?!

He needed the money, he reminded himself. Truly, living in Candlehearth Hall was a pain, and he'd love to finally have his own home, but he wasn't quite rich enough yet. So, if dealing with a racist pest of an employer was the only way to get himself on that road, it would have to do.

It didn't mean he was going to enjoy it.

*Pounce* OP here. It has been a beast of a day (14 hrs :P) and this was an absolute pleasure to come home to. Fantastic start! My poor F5 key is going to be seeing a lot of action thanks to you. ;)

Multi fills are amazing. You don't have to worry about not getting it 'perfect' because you're not the only one filling it AND you get to enjoy someone else's interpretation of the fill. :D

An odd, chilling wind blew from the mouth of the cave as the Khajiit and his sellsword stood in front of it. Stenvar raised an eyebrow, suddenly cold even with his heavy armor.

“A cave, hm? Bandits, perhaps trolls?” he offered, a hand on his weapon. Bhaskara shrugged, though he could sense that whatever lay inside was a bit more grave.

“Come along,” he ordered simply, striding forward into the darkness and leaving the Nord to hurry behind him. They found themselves moving down a winding stone corridor, stumbling over loose stones as they went, until it opened into a spacious underground room. Bhaskara suddenly dropped to a crouch, unsheathing his weapon, and his hireling followed suit, frowning.

“Do you hear--” he began, only to be silenced with a raised hand. The Khajiit's ears were folded back against his head, and his tail was stiff as he listened. Finally, Stenvar could hear a low chanting as well, unfamiliar incantations moving through the air.

“Damn it all,” Bhaskara hissed, “necromancers. No doubt they are looking for the staff as well. This one has fought necromancers before?” He turned back to Stenvar, who shook his head, and rolled his bright eyes. “Of course not. There is nothing else we can do.” He slunk over to a rock that separated the two groups, and then stood up straight, flying forward with a snarl. Stenvar dashed after him, barely missing a blast of lightning that was instantly aimed at him. The two were quick to slash at the group of wizards, and the cave was soon filled with the sound of clanging metal and the shouts of warriors. Somehow, Stenvar noticed a rogue mage behind the action, his hand filled with dark-colored energy. He looked over to see a previously dead wizard rising to its feet again just behind Bhaskara, and raising its dagger just over the Khajiit's head.

“Hey, look out!” he roared, flinging himself the few feet he needed to send his sword through the mage and kill it yet again. Bhaskara turned in surprise, his eyes widening as he registered what had almost just happened, and watched the Nord turn his focus to the last necromancer standing.

In the silence that followed, Stenvar sheathed his bloodstained sword and turned back to his employer, curious to see what he would make of all of it. To his surprise, Bhaskara merely huffed, nodding shortly and looking around the room.

“Bhaskara's staff is not here. Let us keep moving,” he said curtly, gesturing at the next corridor. Stenvar's fists clenched a little as he followed, biting back anything that would get him fired or killed.

I should leave you here to die, cat. He shook his head sullenly, tracing a finger along the hilt of his sword. He was no fool, and he knew saying such a thing would do no wonders. He had a better idea. He would prove the bastard wrong.

This prompt has prompted some great fills; props OP, and thank you A!A, this is great. I eagerly await an update.

If the first group of mages had been difficult to handle, the second wave was hellish. In the mass confusion, Stenvar could see Bhaskara leaping about almost acrobatically, while he stumbled around almost stupidly in comparison. Still, his sword succeeded where Bhaskara's failed-- he could have a necromancer in half with a single swing, after all, and that was more than that bastard Khajiit could say for himself.

But even so, the crowd just didn't seem to be thinning, no matter how many died. Trying to gather his thoughts again, he flung himself forward, slicing wildly as he did, until he reached a conveniently-camouflaged chest against the wall. Frowning, he pried it open, silently praying that he wouldn't be noticed, and beamed triumphantly. The staff! Clapping a hand over the glowing gem on top, he sheathed it and turned back to the fight--

And instantly felt the sharp edge of a dagger in his side. Sure enough, they didn't take too kindly to having their staffs taken. Collapsing to the dirt below, Stenvar's vision blurred, and his hand tightened on the staff. No, he had succeeded, and he'd be damned if he was going to fail now, but it hurt...

Somewhere, he heard a loud hiss, and Bhaskara flew forward in a blur of gray fur and steel. From his angle, the Nord could only see stomping feet and blasts of magic and eventually the falling, motionless forms of the remaining wizards, and then...silence, save for his own harsh breathing and the Khajiit's quiet footsteps.

He felt the staff pried out of his hand, and he couldn't find the energy to fight against it this time.

He's going to leave me behind.

“This one is not bleeding as much as the wound would make Bhaskara think...this is good.” The voice was accompanied by a pair of hands on his shoulders, turning him onto his back. “Hold still.” If he wasn't so exhausted, Stenvar would have frowned, or perhaps shot some biting remark at his employer, but he settled for laying back obediently and watching him uncork a red bottle and hold it up to his lips. “Now, drink. Drink,” he urged, when the sellsword didn't move. He forced the liquid down, and was rewarded with a pleasant feeling of numbness, and then...unconsciousness.

He woke up again to find himself warm, tended to, and comfortable under thick blankets. Tilting his head blearily, he found Bhaskara seated beside his bed, half-asleep himself, and frowned.

“What's...” he rasped, just loudly enough to snap the Khajiit out of his stupor. To his surprise, Bhaskara's lips turned upwards, almost into a smile, as he observed him.

“Ah...this one is awake. Good. Bhaskara was starting to wonder,” he said, laying a soft hand on the Nord's forehead. “And the fever is fading. Very good.”

“Where are we?” Stenvar asked, forcing himself to sit up and look around. Outside the room, he could hear the buzz of music and conversation, and quickly deduced that wherever they were, it was most definitely an inn.

“Rorikstead,” his employer confirmed, nodding out. “The innkeeper was kind enough to let Bhaskara keep you here until you were healed enough, and Bhaskara did not even have to scratch him.” Stenvar chuckled weakly, leaning back again, and shook his head.

“Well...thank you. I...” he trailed off, not sure what to say, and decided it was best to admit it. “I thought you were going to leave me behind.” Bhaskara frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“That is not Bhaskara's way.” He looked away now, as if it had only just dawned on him. “Ah, I see...this one must have been convinced.” He sighed, unusually demure for the fiery adventurer, and leaned forward a little bit. “Bhaskara was made Thane of Whiterun, you may know. Last year, when the dragon attacked...the Jarl gave Bhaskara a housecarl, Lydia. A sweet woman, very kind, very good with a sword...where Bhaskara went, she went, and it was very enjoyable. But...there was a group of Forsworn, more than Bhaskara had ever seen in one place. Bhaskara has never forgiven himself for letting her lay down her life as she did that day.” He paused, inhaling sharply and letting the words sink in before he continued on. “Bhaskara...apologizes, Stenvar. Khajiit are almost as hard-headed as Nords, truly, and Bhaskara thought that if he was to travel with one who had no meaning in his life, it would be easier to put them on the line...Bhaskara never expected this to happen.” Stenvar shook his head as well, fighting the strange urge to hug the Khajiit with his story out in the open.

“I've had worse employers,” he said, only half-joking. Bhaskara laughed softly, finally leaning up to kiss the sellsword on top of his still-aching head.

“Hm. Bhaskara can only imagine the stories.” Stenvar tugged him back down to his level, kissing him full-on instead and running his fingers along the braids on the back of the Khajiit's head. When he pulled back, taking in Bhaskara's stunned expression, he couldn't help but laugh all over again.

“You know, I still need the money,” he remarked, leaning back, “and you're not so bad for company. How about I stick with you for a while? If you want,” he added, not wanting to get on his bad side so soon after this odd friendship had been formed. Bhaskara nodded, clearing his throat almost nervously, and the Nord wondered if the Khajiit could blush under their fur.

“Gladly,” he said simply.

Usually I don't like Khajiit fills but this one's starting to change my mind about them.
Very wonderful A!A

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