Skyrim: Arga's Story (Fanfic)

Chapter 1: Arrival

The docks of Windhelm were cold, slick with ice, and for most passengers, it was a better than even bet that they would wind up in the river that passed the great city of the Eastmarch. Those that did lost their baggage to the current, carried away from them down to who knew where into the seas off of the coast.

Arga didn't have baggage to lose, nor did he fear the river, but he preferred to stay dry anyway. He stepped off of his boat, leaving the passengers to gather their belongings, and stepped out onto the wooden piers. His black scales shimmered softly in the afternoon sun, reflecting light onto the ice to be reflected again. The wind blew against him, and his clothes barely kept the worst of the chill off, his tail curling around his waist in an attempt to keep some warmth in the scaly limb.

The ice on the docks immediately chilled his feet, and he groaned as he cursed the unknown passenger that had stolen his shoes. They'd disappeared on the third day of the voyage, and despite a full week to try and find them, they'd never turned up, nor had the other passengers bothered to tell him where he might find them. For all the Argonian knew, they had been tossed overboard into the sea.

Thankfully, he didn't have to stand on the ice for long, though the snow covered stone the piers led to was hardly better. It crunched under his toes, sliding between them, and he shivered at just how cold it felt when one didn't even have the leather of a boot to keep it at bay.

One of the dockworkers, an Argonian like him, approached him. “Here to join the other workers, Marshbrother?” he asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Arga said with a shake of his head. “Merely heading into the city to find some work.”

“You'll likely be sent back here,” the other Argonian said. He shrugged. “Luck to you.”

Arga nodded his head in thanks before turning away, walking to the great stone staircase leading from the docks to the city itself. It was thankfully swept of the worst of the snow, so it didn't crunch beneath his feet anymore at least, though the stones were still frozen.

Several Dunmer walked past him, barely sparing him a glance before walking past. They seemed almost uncaring of a new arrival, though considering that Windhelm was a port city, that was understandable. They probably had people coming and going all the time. Nevertheless, Arga nodded his head to them as he passed, a habit ingrained in him after living in Morrowind for as long as he had. The Dunmer of that province were quite keen on reminding outsiders of their place, and the last thing he needed was to offend someone in this new land.

The stairs stretched on and on, leading him further and further from the docks. The Argonian shook his head as he started to pant from the climb. “The Nords must have lungs of steel to make this climb every day,” he whispered under his breath, shaking his head as he paused, leaning against the one of the walls surrounding the grand staircase.

He looked behind him, back at the river and the lands behind. The falling snow kept him from seeing more than a little ways past the farms on the other side of the river, but he could see enough to know that this land was going to be much different from Morrowind. There were no piles of ash, no deformed creatures walking the lands outside the cities. The water and air was cold, and the wind made it colder still. Anyone that lived outside the walls of the cities would have to be a hard person indeed, used to the weather, used to the chill and the dangers. What few people he could see out there wore thick clothing, thicker than the thin layers that he had managed to scrounge before his journey, and all of them at least had fur boots, if not better ones.

There was much he had to learn about this province, the Argonian thought. How strange, that it could border Morrowind, and yet be so different from it at the same time.

Then again, he thought, it didn't have to deal with a cursed volcano that erupted daily, spewing ash across most of an island and a good bit of the province itself. When magic affected the weather and the climate, things were bound to be different.

Having rested for long enough, he started up the stairs again.

Unlike the Dunmer that had passed him by, the Nord guards at the gate stopped him in his tracks, crossing weapons when he tried to walk past them into the city. “Hold, traveler,” one said. “What is your purpose here?”

“I'm looking for work, a new place to live,” Arga said. “There was not much left in Morrowind, and I felt that perhaps my chances would be better in a different province.”

“Another one,” the guard said with a sigh. His helmet covered his face in a way that his face couldn't be seen, but his arms were bare, and both the pale skin and the bunched muscles reminded Arga that these men were not the weaker Dunmer guards of Mournhold or Balmora, but the warriors of the north. These were men that stood in the face of the winter wind day in and day out, only armored in the chest and the legs, their arms bare to the cold, and their weapons in easy reach. Not someone that he wanted to be annoyed with him.

The guard stepped to the side. “Alright, you may enter, but stay away from the Palace,” he said. “Jarl Ulfric has no desire to see your kind around him, and you will be cast out if you leave the Gray Quarter. Understand?”

Arga nodded, stepping past the guards as they nodded back. Several questions rose in his mind, including why the Jarl – the ruler of the city, he assumed – disliked having Argonians in the city proper. Was that extended to the other races that might be here? If so, then that might explain the reason that the dockworkers were mostly Argonian rather than Nord or something else. They would stay where they were more comfortable and welcome.

To his annoyance, the city was completely made of stone, rather than earth. It would have been better if there was earth in some places, he thought; at least the earth wouldn't feel quite so cold under his feet, even if it could turn to mud during hard rains or melting snow. But he made his way through it nonetheless, passing by a few of the elves that remained near the gates. They barely glanced at him before going back to their conversation, something about the Nords and the Jarl. They were quiet enough that he couldn't get more out of them than that.

He was tempted to keep walking, to find somewhere in the city where he could find a little work, but he reminded himself that he was a stranger here. He knew nothing about the city, let alone precisely what the Gray Quarter was. If he did step outside of it – and he was likely to, if he didn't know what it encompassed – then he could find himself in trouble that he did not need.

Swallowing his pride, Arga walked over to one of the passing Dark Elves, bowing his head as he approached. “Sera,” he muttered in respect. “Could I ask where I can find work? A cornerclub, or some sort of inn where the keeper might know of something that needs doing?”

The Dunmer male looked at him for a moment, his face turned up in confusion and surprise. “Sera? I haven't that from any tongue but one of the mer in some time,” he said.

“Apologies if I have offended -”

“You haven't.” The Dunmer nodded, but there was no smile on his face. He pointed up another set of stairs. “There's a place run by Ambarys Rendar up there, called the New Gnisis Cornerclub. You can't miss it,” he said. Looking down, he shook his head. “I wish you luck. You'll freeze your feet off if you keep walking around without some boots or something.”

“I have considered that, sera. Thank you,” Arga said, suppressing his wince as he stepped up on the stairs. His feet were starting to get colder and colder as the seconds passed, and he thought that perhaps the toes were starting to go numb. The stairs were not helping him, either, as he had to curl his toes so that the blunt tips of his claws could give him a little more traction against the ice below. He honestly wasn't sure which he despised more, the ice, or the snow.

He stepped under the stone overhang that covered the door to the cornerclub, taking a moment to rub his hands against each other. Momentarily he considered using a spell for some warmth, but as a stranger, he didn't want to get anyone annoyed or angry at him for using them inside of the city limits. There were so many things about Windhelm and Skyrim that he didn't know yet. Did they allow magic use? Did they allow it for some, and not others? It was just one more thing that he would need to learn.

The door of the cornerclub opened easily, and he walked in on two Dunmer talking with each other, with several others at the bar, drinking. Based on the jugs in their hands, he would say they were enjoying some sujamma, and Arga felt his body crave the drink. The warmth of it, how it would give him some extra strength to work with, was quite appealing.

Pity that I didn't have the septims to afford it, he thought to himself as he stepped over to the bartender. The Dunmer looked up from his conversation with the other mer, and asked, 'A stranger to the city?”

At Arga's nod, he said, “Let me give you some advice, then. You want to head out of here as soon as possible. Head for Whiterun, or Riften, or anywhere to the south or the west that isn't here. Anyone not a Nord is not going to have a good life here in Windhelm.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Arga said. “But I need to have the funds to travel, and at the moment, I have not the money to buy a pair of boots, let alone the septims to travel across a province.”

“I suppose you're looking for work then?” the bartender asked.

“I am, indeed,” Arga said. “Would I guess right that you would be Ambarys Rendar?”

“That would be me, yes,” the Dunmer said. Ambarys leaned back, grabbing another jug of drink and sliding it down the bar with a practiced motion, setting it into the hand of the elf that wanted a new drink. “I can tell you right now, I can't hire you here. There's not enough work for me to keep busy myself, and hiring someone else would only be a waste of coin.”

Arga nodded in understanding, not wanting a job like that anyway. “I was wondering if you had heard of anything that someone needed doing, actually. I had good luck traveling around Morrowind by doing different jobs for people that wanted stuff done that they couldn't do themselves.”

“Hmm.” Ambarys thought for a moment, putting his hand to his chin as his red eyes narrowed. He thought for a moment before putting his hand under the counter of the bar. “I think that the Jarl might have passed something around here...I should tell you, it's a little dangerous, but it is good coin. A couple hundred septims, if you can get it done.”

“Good enough for some danger,” Arga said. “What's the job?”

“Bandit hunting.”

The words took a moment for Arga to really make sure that he had heard them. When he was sure that he hadn't misheard the Dunmer, he sighed, rubbing his head. That was not what he was hoping to hear. He'd been hoping that there was some sort of work around the town – or at least the Gray Quarter – that he might do, maybe even some kind of item retrieval or pest control thing, but bandit hunting? That was something he was hoping he could leave for later.

Beggars could not be choosers, though, and at this point, he was sadly as much of a beggar as anyone he'd ever seen. “Alright, let me see the notice,” Arga said, holding out his hand.

The notice was plain enough, he supposed. It was sealed at the bottom with the sign of a wolf's head, which he assumed was the local lord's seal, and signed with the name Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

Stormcloak...

That word was one that he knew. Even on the boat, they'd heard rumors about the troubles that might wait for them across the border, and the most extensive rumors surrounded a group that were known as the Stormcloaks. Rebels against the Imperials that were still in the region, wanting to pull Skyrim back to being a free land, free of Emperors and Thalmor and all the other things that currently filled it outside of the Nords. If the Jarl was named Stormcloak...well, that was something to consider.

He skimmed the notice, checking the location for the bandits. “Where is this...Uttering Hills Cave?” he asked.

“Go south over the river, and then west over it again,” Ambarys said. “Just keep following the river until you come to a small pass in the mountains, and turn south. It won't take you long to reach it after that.” He arched an eyebrow. “Are you seriously going to go after them though? It seems like a fool errand, I have to say.”

The Argonian looked at Ambarys, then slowly lifted one leg off of the ground. Wiggling his toes and showing how they were just now drying off from the snow and ice outside, he made sure that the bartender got the picture before lowering it back down to the ground. “Right now, I need to do something to get some septims in my pocket. Otherwise, I'm going to go back out there and starve in a few days. I didn't take this long of a boat trip to end up in an alley somewhere, so, this is my way out.” He folded up the notice, putting it in his pocket before standing up. “So, I just go there, deal with them,and then come back here to let you know when it's done?”

“That's usually how it works, yes,” Ambarys said. “Just bring something back from their camp so the officials know that you actually were there, and you'll get the bounty.”

“Alright.” He turned to the door, walking around a few of the more drunk Dunmer in the cornerclub with practiced sidesteps, shaking his head as they nearly fell over each other after a few jugs. It never made sense to him, how they could be so stoic outside of the clubs, so in control, yet how quickly they could become silly, falling down drunk when they were inside of the cornerclubs.

When he had his hand on the door, Ambarys called out, “You're seriously going to walk all the way there, barefoot?”

“Would you give me a pair of boots if I asked?” Arga said, turning around. The Dunmer just looked at him like he was crazy. “That's what I thought.”

#

It hadn't taken long to get back out of the city, avoiding most of the Dunmer that were in the Gray Quarter and ducking away from those that looked like they had something that they had some anger they needed to get out of their system. He knew that look from spending too much time around some of the cornerclubs in the cities in Morrowind, where the Dunmer would sometimes emerge looking for a fight, usually with the first person of a 'beast' race that came along. So far, the Dunmer here didn't seem to have much of that sort of prejudice in their outlook as back in Morrowind, but then again, maybe he just hadn't found it yet.

He ran down the stairs, minimizing contact of his feet against the stone steps, shaking his head as he started shivering almost immediately. “If I had known Skyrim was this cold...”

If he had known that it would be this cold, he probably would have come anyway. No use lying to himself. There had been too many problems in Morrowind for him to stay where he was, and not enough coins to book any other destination that was better than this one.

His pounding feet carried him past the steps, and right past several of the dockworkers. One Argonian carrying some cargo only just avoided bumping into him, and Arga threw a shouted apology over his shoulder. He didn't hear what the response was, because he had reached the end of the pier, and was already in the air. His eyes were closed, and his teeth were clenched, waiting for that moment when the cold would get about a thousand times worse than it already was.

It came with the force of a crash of thunder, a wave of ice cold that hit his body hard. His teeth clenched harder, only barely keeping from gasping at how cold the water was against his scales, and he threw his arms out, pulling himself through the river as fast as he possibly could. He forced himself to remain underwater, feeling the water running over his body, breathing the water that seared his body with the sheer cold that it carried.

The only good thing about swimming in this water was that he could stay underwater for as long as he wanted. Oh, it would eventually lead to him freezing to death if he didn't get out sometime soon, but he could avoid the wind adding to the cold while he swam across the river, keeping the cold from getting worse. However much worse that could be, anyway; even completely submerged the way that he was, he couldn't imagine any way that the cold could be worse.

He swam against the current, getting enough headway against it to be able to reach the bridge across the river. Following along its length, he managed to get to the other side of the river, pulling himself out of the icy water, only to be blasted with the cutting wind. His arms and tail wrapped around his stomach, trying to hold in what little warmth he still had, and he hurried off of the riverbank.

Arga paused at the stables at the edge of the bridge, pushing open the door and hurrying inside, his teeth clenched tightly so that they couldn't chatter. An Altmer turned to look at him as he hurried over to the fire, standing in front of it to get some more warmth.

“If you wanted to buy a horse, we could have talked outside,” the bearded Altmer said.

“I don't need a horse,” Arga said, lifting one foot, then the other in front of the fire, followed by his tail and his hands. “What I need is some warmth after swimming across the river.”

The gold skinned elf looked at him like he was an idiot. “Why didn't you just take the bridge?”

“I was told not to leave the Gray Quarter. From what I saw, leaving the city by the front gate would mean leaving the Gray Quarter,” he explained. Divines, the heat was barely getting the cold off of him. He needed more.

“You do know that -”

Fwoooooosh!

Flames leaped from the Argonian's hands as he pointed them towards the fireplace, a stream of fire from each palm adding to the small fire that lapped at the firewood in the recessed stone. He held the spell for a few seconds, forcing the flames higher, stronger, until it was a blaze more to his liking. Sighing in relief, he dropped his hands to his sides, the spell ceasing as soon as he relaxed.

In the silence afterward, he realized that he had probably overstepped the bounds of decent behavior, and he turned his head to the Altmer. “I'm sorry, sir,” Arga said, bowing his head rapidly. “I just needed more heat, badly, and -”

“It's alright. The fire was taking a while to burn properly anyway,” he said. “So, I am assuming that you will not be buying a horse, then?”

“That's right,” Arga admitted. “Sorry. I just needed to dry off after the river, and this was the only building I could reach quickly.”

“I understand, I understand,” the Altmer said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just leave when you are warm again.”

Nodding his thanks, Arga focused on getting himself warm again. Even with the larger fire, it was easier said than done, and a good bit of his body simply didn't want to get warm. Dry, yes, but the cold of Skyrim was more powerful than he had thought it was. Just being outside had allowed it to get into his bones, and no matter how high the fire was, it just wasn't enough.

Still, at least his clothes were dry again, and he could feel that inner glow of his magic charging back up again. That would have to be enough for him. Stepping away from the fire, he looked back at the Altmer again. “Just out of curiosity, how much are your horses?” he asked.

“Depends on just which kind you wanted, but most of them are at about a thousand septims,” he said. “Why?”

“I was hoping that I'd get lucky enough to find some free horse so I didn't have to walk,” Arga answered honestly, shrugging his shoulders. “So much for that.”

The Altmer had nothing else to say as he left the house, hugging himself as the wind hit him again. Not as bad as when he had gotten out of the water, but bad enough for him to wince at the way that it blew past him. It slipped through the little gaps in his clothes, finding the worst places to chill, and he shivered worse than he could remember doing in years.

Hoping to get his blood pumping and his body heat a little higher, he set off at a run in the direction the high elf had indicated. It didn't take him long to reach the second bridge, and he hurried over it, almost sliding along some of the icier rocks, and he did fall down when he reached the end, his feet going up in the air as he slid into a small pile of snow. It was a bit of luck, he supposed; sliding in another direction would have taken him over the edge and into the water, and out here, he didn't have a fire to dry himself off with.

“There's no way I can make it there like this,” Arga muttered to himself. The snow was deep enough that it would come up to his ankles, and he didn't want to think of how bad it would be further into the mountains. But...maybe if he tried something else.

He looked back the way he'd come. There was nobody to be seen, the falling snow obscuring anything that was further back than the other riverbank. Nobody would see him if he used his magic. While the high elf hadn't seemed bothered, he didn't want to be seen using it, just in case there was some rule that he didn't know about. The Telvanni in particular had strict rules, and he would act like they were still in accordance until he was told otherwise.

Extending his hands, Arga summoned the magic of fire. It was a simple spell, one that he had cast many times before. It came to his hands with practiced ease, flowing from his palm into the snow below. With satisfaction, he watched the snow and ice melt away from the barrage of flames. He shifted his hand as the snow and ice turned to flowing water, slowly burning a path into the white ground.

He followed behind it quickly, knowing that he wouldn't be able to maintain the spell for long. Already he could feel his stores of magic draining away, and while it would come back, it always took time for it to recharge. He needed to cover ground quickly, and he couldn't afford to waste time.

Regardless, it was still slow going. Every time he waited for his magic to come back fully, it left him standing in freshly warmed ground for almost three minutes, feeling his feet get covered in snow again as the snowstorm continued to blow around him. The heat of the flame was put out almost as soon as the spell stopped, the ground regaining its frozen state before he could get his magic back completely, and more often than not, he started shivering before he got on the move again.

When he was moving, on the other hand, he was able to keep quite warm. Of course, some parts of the ground turned to mud under his feet, but that was better than snow, particularly when the mud was at least warm instead of freezing. It squelched under his feet, sliding between his toes again, and he shook his head as he watched his scales turn from black to brown. They would need some good cleaning if he could ever find a place to do it that wasn't utterly freezing.

It didn't take him very long to find the pass that the high elf had mentioned. It was small, narrow, but it was reasonably flat compared to the jagged rocks that led up the sides of the hills and mountains around it. There were faded footprints leading up the pass, too, probably the bandits that he was supposed to deal with. No expert tracker, he couldn't quite tell just how many there were, but he would imagine at least a quartet of them, if they were actually earning enough of a reputation to have a bounty on them.

Though he hated it, he took it slower up the pass, not using his magic to melt the snow out of the way. If the bandits were smart at all, they would have someone posted outside of the mine, and if he made too much noise with his magic, they'd hear him coming from a long ways away. He needed the quiet, the surprise, if he was going to get through this and win.

So he sneaked forward, keeping his head down and using what cover he could find. There were enough rocky outcroppings and ragged trees and brush for him to keep behind them for the majority of the pass, and what little places where there was nothing, there were no bandits to be seen.

Arga started to feel a little more confident as he paused behind one tree, the pass leveling out ahead of him. The tip of a tent was just visible over one snowbank, and he thought that he saw the end of a bow as well. Everything was still for a moment, then the bow moved, coming into view with its owner as well. A Nord, he thought, based on the muscles and the bared white arms. Possibly a Breton, but he was pretty sure that it was a Nord.

The bandit hadn't seen him yet, and he planned to keep it that way. Sneaking quietly across the snow, Arga made his way to the snowbank close to the tent. He could just see over it, watching the bandit patrol around his campsite. The others were probably inside the mine, through that door in the mountainside that the bandit paused by for a moment. The Argonian caught the longing look that the bandit gave the mine, and felt a little sympathy for the raider. It was probably a good bit warmer in there than it was out here.

Then he shoved that sympathy to the side. He needed to deal with the bandits, and then he could get his reward. Deal with them, get the reward, get some damn shoes so he wasn't freezing his feet off every time he stepped outside. That had to be his priority for the moment.

He ducked his head down as the bandit walked backwards him. As the Nord walked his way, Arga paid close attention to the footsteps. Not just the sound of them, their volume, but also just how many that the Nord took. When he was close enough, he could reach over the edge, tug him back, and give him a stream of fire right down the throat if he was quick enough. If he wasn't...well, at least he would be able to deal with the bow, keep the bandit from picking him off at range, and maybe pull a dagger or something off of the guy. Give him something other than his magic to fight with.

Crunch, crunch, went the snow under the bandits boots. Boots. Arga shook his head, dismissing his sudden jealousy from his mind. Not the time to think about it. He needed to take down the bandit, and fast.

Crunch, crunch. Just a little closer.

Crunch.

Arga listened for the next crunch, and blinked as it didn't come. Why had the bandit stopped?

Slowly, he lifted his head over the side of the snowbank, coming face to face with a bow drawn, the arrow head of the readied arrow pointed right at his face. The Nord – he had been right – looked him in the eye with a smirk. “Another milk-drinker come out to try and claim the bounty?” he asked.

The term didn't mean anything to him, but he didn't want to admit to coming out for the bounty. That just seemed stupid. He held his hands up as he shrugged. “Um...I was just passing through the area, and - “

“Gonna have to do better than that, lizard,” the bandit said. His eyes looked up and down Arga's frame, and then blinked in disbelief. “You are seriously traveling like that? No shoes, nothing? What, do you have some sort of death wish?”

“I guess. It would explain what I'm about to do.”

“Don't even think about jumping me. I could let this arrow fly before you could -”

FWOOOSH!

Fire leaped from the Argonian's palm as he ducked to the side, the fire hitting the bandit, but more importantly, also the bow. It burned right through the string that held the arrow before the bandit could release his grip, leaving it useless. Of course, Arga landed right in the snowbank, and he gasped as he rolled to the side, desperately trying to gain a little distance of his own to get out of range of any retribution.

When he got to his feet, it looked like he needn't have feared anything of the sort. The bandit was a little too busy putting out the fire that covered his leather armor to be concerned about pulling out a second weapon, throwing himself into the snow and burying himself half in it. The snow melted, turned to steam from the heat, and the bandit eventually pulled his head out of the snow when he was not on fire anymore. “You'll pay for that, lizard!” he growled, reaching for his waist.

Arga didn't let him draw what he was reaching for. Holding up both hands, he unleashed a longer, steadier stream of fire. It was aimed right at the Nord's face, the fire shooting down his throat and burning out the bandit's vocal cords before he could scream in pain. The Nord tried to roll away, but Arga kept the fire on him, burning away his armor and the skin his face.

Under the fiery waves, the bandit didn't last long. He soon went still, nothing more than a smoking corpse, and Arga lowered his hands, panting softly. The smell...it was absolutely nauseating, and he held a hand to his mouth, keeping his stomach from emptying itself over the snow. Divines, how could a burnt body smell so much worse than a live one? That didn't make any sense at all.

Fighting his nausea, the Argonian walked over to the body. There was no point to trying to loot it; there was nothing left that wasn't either melted, burned, or fused to the bandit's skin. Shaking his head, he kicked some snow over the body, continuing to cover it until it was at least half buried. This way, at least nobody coming by had to deal with the smell, at least until it thawed.

“Well...now for the rest of them,” he said, turning to look at the door to the mine. Hopefully, in the enclosed quarters, things would be a little easier. As long as there weren't any big caverns, places where it really opened up, he wouldn't have to worry about bows or anything like that. Maybe he'd even be able to just run down the halls with fire spraying from his hands, dealing with anything in his way without them having cover to hide behind.

Doubtful, but one could always hope, he thought to himself as he stepped through the wooden door and into the mine.

The first thing he noticed that it was warmer than it was outside, though the ground was still covered in snow, he noticed with a groan. The wind was missing, leaving it a good deal warmer than it might otherwise be. It didn't make it any more comfortable to walk through, but at least it was only one part of his body that was freezing now rather than the whole thing.

He advanced slowly, taking his time to avoid anything that would make a racket. The snow still crunched under his feet, but it was quiet enough that, if he could avoid making other sounds, it shouldn't really be noticed. His fingers twitched, and he kept the starts of the fire spell blazing against his palms. Not only did it keep him ready for a fight without actually using up any of his magic, but it also kept his hands a little warmer than they'd be otherwise. It was just a pity that he couldn't extend that heat around the rest of his body. It really would have felt better.

Eventually he reached a fork in the mine. He paused, shifting to one side, and peering down one turn. It was empty, leading down to a curved tunnel, and half filled with snow. Turning to face the other way -

“Got you!” the bandit sneaking up on him shouted, swinging an ax at his head. He only barely managed to duck and roll, but even that only reduced the decapitating blow to a slice across his cheek. It bled over his scales, dripping to the ground below, but he ignored it.

The bandit pressed the attack, forcing him back, keeping him dodging so that he couldn't bring his hands up to use his magic. Every swing of the ax came far too close to his body for comfort, the bandit moving faster than he could have thought that the big Nord could have moved.

One ax slash caught him across the arm, digging deep enough to really hurt, and Arga reached up and grabbed the wound. He grimaced, looking at the smirking Nord. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Heh, and you shouldn't have come here. Now die!” he said, raising his ax over his head.

The Argonian took the opening he was given, rushing forward in a tackling charge. His uninjured arm and shoulder rammed into the Nord's chest, hitting him with enough force to carry him back against the rock wall of the mine. The blow was hard enough to shake the bandit, and he lost his grip on his ax.

Arga spun, bringing his tail up in a slap against the Nord's cheek while bending down to grab the ax. It was a single handed weapon, but with his shoulder injured, he needed both hands to swing it right. He buried it against the bandit's neck, slicing almost clean through it. Lacking the strength of a Nord, though, he only managed to bring it back to the spine before it was stopped by the thick bone.

Regardless, the bandit was just as dead, his body slumped against the ax holding him pinned to the wall. His blood dripped down to the floor, running over his armor and melting the top layer of snow before freezing to the layer beneath it.

“That's one way to decorate a mine, I guess,” Arga muttered to himself. He squeezed the slash on his arm and shoulder, shaking his head. That could have been a lot worse, but it still hurt. Healing this would take a good bit of his pay, unless he could find something in the mine to heal it with himself. Damn it. He needed that money. Shaking his head in frustration, he looked over the bandit. “Right, let's see if there's anything you have that I can use,” he muttered.

Yanking the ax free and dropping it into the snow, Arga slowly worked over the Nord's body. It was clear that the majority of the armor was too big for him, even if he wanted to look like an over-stuffed idiot, but the boots would be serviceable. Slowly tugging them off, he stepped into them gingerly. They were a bit loose, but if he kept his toes fanned out, they'd work out for him. At least they'd keep him out of the snow, and that was all he cared about right now.

Other than that, the bandit didn't have much on his person. There were a few septims in his pocket, not enough for anything good, but anything to add to his low pool of funds could only help. He pocketed them, and then flipped the bandit over to look at his back pockets.

One thing caught his attention right away. He pulled a piece of rolled up parchment out of one of the bandit's pouches, feeling a little tingle coming from it. A small smile crossed his snout, and he pocketed it carefully. He didn't need to unroll it to know that this was a magical scroll, something that would let him cast a spell without having to learn it first. “I guess that time around the Telvanni was worth something after all,” he said. If it hadn't been for his time there, he wouldn't have what little knowledge of magic he did.

Sadly, there was nothing else worth taking on the bandit's body. It was a pity. He would have liked a dagger or a sword or something, a lighter weapon than the ax that he might be able to use better. Sadly, the Nord had gone with the typical image of his people: mad, ax-swinging berserkers out for blood.

While he couldn't use the ax, it didn't mean that he couldn't use it for something else. He picked it up, dragging the blade against the leather that the bandit wore. It was a bit rough, but as he cut it into strips, he knew that it would make a pretty decent bandage, at least. He had to force the tough leather into a new shape, but eventually he got it wrapped his wound. The blood seemed to slow, and Arga felt some relief. That would help.

“So...probably two more. Please, please, please let this guy have been the hardest of them,” Arga prayed softly. He got to his feet, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of his new boots as he walked through the tunnel to the left. Several pillars of ice attested to the continued cold temperature of the cavern, but he did his best to ignore it. There was no point in complaining about it when he couldn't do a darn thing about it.

Soon he reached a new room, and he paused at the exit of his tunnel. His eyes scanned the room in the light of the fire that lit it from the center, and he saw another bandit. He seemed half asleep, sitting by the fire. Well, at least that would make him easier to take out. Arga wasn't looking forward to the smell that would come from it, though.

He approached him on silent feet, stepping around the deeper snow and keeping to the shallower parts, keeping the crunches of his footsteps to a minimum. The flame of his magic blazed in his palm, and as he stepped behind the bandit, he bent down. One hand grabbed the bandit around the chest, the other around his mouth...and then Arga let the fire loose.

It was the quietest death so far. The criminal didn't have the chance to cry out, nor did he have any chance to struggle as the fire was shoved down his mouth, through his throat, and right into his lungs. He was dead in seconds, with a hole burned through his chest for good measure. Arga flinched a bit, shaking his head as he slowly lowered the body down to lay on its side.

He turned from the body and knelt away from it, holding his stomach. “Ugh...it shouldn't be...that easy to kill them like that...” the Argonian muttered under his breath. “It really...shouldn't be that easy.”

The way that they fell so quickly, the way that they had been alive one second and gone the next...

Slowly pulling himself together as his stomach calmed down, Arga reached into his pocket. Maybe the scroll might give him another option with the rest of the bandits, or the last one, or however many were left. If it was a decent enough spell, it might even end a fight with the casting of it.

As he unrolled it, his earlier smile came back with a vengeance. It wasn't a spell of the Destruction school, or anything that would hurt an enemy. This was something different. Something much less harmful. Well, this was going to make it a little more interesting, he thought to himself.

#

The rest of the mine was quiet. It hadn't taken him long to finish exploring the frozen part – only to find out that the other tunnel out of the room led him in a loop back the way he had come – and then he'd turned to the wooden door that he'd found after killing the third bandit. It led into another section, one that surprised him. It was made of stone rather than wood and ice, and the snow no longer covered everything past the door. While it made him thankful, it also made him just a little bit worried. What might be down there, and why would a mine have something in it that looked like it had been ripped from a castle?

He moved through the stone rooms carefully and quietly, keeping to the shadows as much as he could, even dropping the fire from his hands to keep from giving off light. His eyes darted from side to side, keeping an eye out for any more of the bandits. With three dead, he figured that there had to be at least one more, probably the leader, and the strongest of them.

Eventually, after a slow exploration, he found a hallway connecting to a set of rooms. A casual glance revealed that they were the bedchambers of the different bandits, though they'd probably belonged to miners before the bandits had moved in. Arga stepped into one of them, closing the door slowly behind him, and started looking around.

The place had a set of shelves that were mostly occupied with herbs and plants, none of which he recognized, and had a little chest at the foot of the bed. Curious, he walked over to the chest, opening it.

Inside were quite a few clothes, including some undergarments. Arching the Argonian equivalent of an eyebrow, he pulled one such thing out of the chest, holding it in front of his eyes as he turned it this way and that. It was pink, he was a little shocked to see, and very thin, almost see through. What sort of female would wear something like this?

“Put that back,” a female voice said from the doorway.

Arga turned his head rapidly, dropping the underwear in the process, his hand reaching behind him and clasping tight around his scroll in that movement.

The speaker was the last bandit, a woman in leather armor and a sword in her hand. The point of said sword was pointed at him as she took a step forward, forcing him to take a step back against the wall of the room. “I wondered why all the rest of my group were so quiet,” she said, looking at him through a lock of brown hair that fell over her face. “Did you get all three of them out there?”

Arga saw no point in denying it, but didn't see how bragging could benefit him either. So, he settled for a nod.

“I thought so. You're pretty good...but don't think that doesn't mean you're going to pay for what you did,” the bandit leader said. She took another step forward, the laces of her leather armor open just enough to give Arga a little show as he looked down. “Do you have any last words, Argonian?” she asked.

“Words?” he asked. “No, no words. I would like to do one thing first, though. May I have a last prayer?”

“A religious lizard?” she asked.

“Better late than never,” he said. He slowly started to kneel. “Do you mind?”

She shrugged, pulling her sword back just enough for him to get on his knees. He brought his hands together, concealing the scroll from her as he did. With his head down, he smiled, and slowly unrolled the scroll. His lips moved rapidly as he read from it, even as he heard her stepping to his side. Execution style, she lifted her sword over her head.

Just as she was about to bring it down, Arga reached out and grabbed her by the thigh. She went wide eyed, but the moment for her to react was gone. The touch was all he needed, and the green light of the scroll's spell shot out of his hand into her body. Still, he only held onto her long enough for the spell to travel into her before he rolled forward, just in case she was able to overcome it.

Judging by the way that she had lowered her sword to her side and looked at him in confusion, though, it looked like the spell had managed to overcome her hostile instincts. Arga smiled. “Good, it worked.” The scroll had burned up in his hands, consumed by the casting of the spell, but it was worth it. At least there was one person here that he didn't have to kill. One person that he could just handle and make sure that the contract was still completed.

Now that he didn't have to worry about her trying to kill him any second – and he had checked the spell, it would last at least a few hours – he took a moment to get a good look at her.

She was a Breton, he realized with a bit of surprise. She must have been one of those that weren't so good with her magic, as rare as that could be. He should have realized right off the bat that she wasn't tall enough to be a Nord. Her eyes were green, and she had lean, corded muscles that showed in the thinner parts of her leather armor. Even the rough leather couldn't quite hold back some of her curves, which he saw were quite pronounced. Her hips were wide, rounded, and her body in general was quite nice to look at.

He smiled. “What is your name?” he asked.

With the Charm spell influencing her, she smiled at him. “My name is Beatha,” she said, her voice a little more pleasant rather than the threatening tone that it had had only a moment ago. “What's yours?”

“You can call me Arga.” He held out his hand and shook hers gently. “It's good to meet you, Beatha. I had a few questions, if you don't mind?”

“Go ahead, ask me anything. I like talking with you, for some reason.”

You'll like a lot more than that, with this spell on you, Arga thought to himself, but he kept from talking about it. “I came here because there were a lot of notices about bandits here that needed to be taken care of. What exactly were they doing to get the Jarl to put a bounty on their heads?”

“Oh, that would be us,” she said with a nod. “Sorry if I scared you with my sword earlier. I don't know why I was swinging it at someone as good looking as you, just because you were looking at my underwear,” she added.

“All in the past, Beatha,” he said. “Continue.”

“Well, me and my gang were taking out different shipments to the Palace in Windhelm,” she admitted. “They either come down the road out by the pass north of here, or they come up our side of the river towards the bridge. It's a pretty simple trick to come down and ambush them before the guards know that they're in the area, usually. Probably the Jarl was just getting annoyed at not getting all of the treats that he was hoping to have this month,” she added with a shake of her head. “Spoiled, rotten nobleman.”

Considering the way that the elves and others were treated in Windhelm, Arga wasn't sure that she was all that wrong. “Were all of the shipments going to the Jarl?” he asked her.

“Well, not all of them, I guess. Some of them were going to the merchants in the city, probably restocking their stores or something. We got rid of most of the loot for a good bit of septims, and we were just getting ready for our next raid, actually.”

Well, that explained all of the trouble that these bandits were in. Not only had they gotten the Jarl angry at them, but the merchants in the city. If this was anything at all like Morrowind – and he still wasnt' convinced that there weren't similarities – they had made the biggest mistake they could. The rulers could take losses and suck it up, maybe throw a tantrum, but they generally wouldn't – or couldn't – react to having small things stolen from them. However, the merchants of the city, with all the income that they brought with taxes and other things, could not be ignored, and would not let themselves be ignored. Money spoke, and evidently, it demanded the deaths of this group.

But at least, in this case, he could keep the death toll down. “After doing all of that, I think that it would be a better idea to move out of here, before someone comes around to kill you as well as your gang, don't you?”

“You're probably right,' she said with a little shrug. “I should get out of here before anyone else comes here, someone that wants to kill rather than ask questions like you are.” Beatha smiled at him. “You know, you're alright. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave? I mean, there's still some coin and some potions around here, and you can help yourself to any of them you want, but is there anything else?”

“You know, I think there is.” Arga had been considering the morality of it, but he thought that it would be alright to actually indulge himself. Particularly since she was going to kill him, and he was letting her live rather than returning the favor. “But you have to take off your clothes first.”

“Ooooh, that kind of thing. Okay.” The Breton smiled, reaching for her armor straps.

Arga watched her as she slowly pulled off her armor, taking the leather shirt off and tossing it off to the side, followed by the cloth she wore under it to protect her breasts. They wobbled slightly, the nipples starting to stick up as he watched, and he licked his lips as she continued to take her clothes off. He could already feel his reaction in his pants, but he didn't strip yet, wanting to watch her get naked first.

It didn't take her very long to get the rest of her clothes off. She kicked her boots over to the corner of the room, followed by her weapon and the belt it was on. Her skirt came off after that, and then she was left in just her near transparent underwear, exact copies of the ones that he had been holding a little bit ago. His eyes caught a hint of moisture in the crotch of them, and he smiled. He didn't know if it was the Charm spell or her own feelings, but she was looking forward to this almost as much as he was.

The Breton strutted from the middle of the room to the bed, spreading her legs as she sat down. Rubbing along the wet spot of her underwear, she gestured at him, wiggling her finger for him to come to her.

Well, it wasn't going to happen that way. Arga chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you come here,” he said, pointing to the stone floor in front of him. She pouted, but the Charm spell kept her obedient, and she hurried over. Her naked body kneeling before him, the way that her arms pushed her breasts together, finished the job of getting him hard and ready for her.

Reaching for the knot that held his trousers up, he quickly undid the knot and pulled it open. His loincloth had been pushed out of the way already, and he grinned at her reaction when his cock popped out of his pants. “Looks like you're quite eager to pay me back here,” Arga said with a little smirk.

“More than eager,” Beatha muttered, her voice quiet, her tone eager.

Argonian cocks were probably a little larger than Bretons, considering their different physiology, but even if his eight inches were a little bit bigger than what Beatha was used to, there were other differences besides size. During his life, Arga had seen several different sorts, but he had never seen any cock of man, mer, or Khajiit look like what Argonians like him sported. There was a small knot at the base, similar to a canine's, but not nearly so large. There were also rings around the shaft that swelled, forming irregular ridges that widened what they had to work with.

Gripping his cock around the base, Arga rubbed the tip against the Breton's cheek, leaving his own version of warpaint along her cheeks. “Mmmm, now, why don't you get around to thanking me for warning you, and for letting you get out of here alive, hmm?” he said.

“Gladly,” she muttered. Her mouth opened wide, pulling the tip of his cock inside of her mouth. She bobbed up and down a few inches, then pulled back to the head. Her cheeks pursed inwards, and her tongue moved around eagerly. He felt every little touch around his tip, and he hissed softly in pleasure, feeling the pre leak out of his cock from how hard and horny he was.

She seemed just as eager as he was, and he felt her swallow some of his pre, the suction adding to the already considerable pull around the head of his cock. Her hands remained on her lap as she used only her mouth to please him, sucking along his cock and working her tongue along the bottom of the head, teasing the one area on his body that was more fleshy than scaly.

After a minute or two, she pulled back, his cock slipping free of her mouth with a wet pop. Before he could complain, she darted her head lower, her lips pressing against his balls. The soft touch of her lips, and then the teasing licks of her tongue, was more than enough to make him moan in pleasure. He saw some of his pre drip from his shaft, falling into her hair, and he reached down, rubbing it in. The smell was just enough for him to make out over the other smells around them, and he knew she'd be able to smell it when the spell wore off and he was gone.

“Mmmm, by the Hist you know how to use your mouth,” Arga muttered as she pulled one of his balls into her mouth, licking it and sucking on it. The other felt ignored, but he didn't push her to take it. He wanted her to remember that she had been eager to do all of this, not remember being forced. He wanted her to remember acting like a slut.

Still, there was only so long that he could enjoy just one ball getting attention while his cock and other ball was ignored, and he pushed her head back gently. “Get out of that underwear,” he muttered.

She stood up to go along with his command, and he took advantage of the break to cast aside his trousers and his loincloth, laying them on the stone floor with his boots. His cock wobbled from side to side at the movements, drooling pre all the while, some getting on his scales while the rest dripped to the floor.

Beatha smiled at his cock, and he smiled at her pussy. It was wet alright, wet and eager for anything that might be able to fit into it. The way that she looked at his cock, he wouldn't have been surprised if she jumped him to get some relief, given a few seconds to work up the courage to do it.

But he took the lead instead. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her back to the bed, pushing her down onto it. She grunted as she hit the bed, and she started to turn and face him again. However, he grabbed hold of her and pushed her head down against the rough pillow at the head of the bed before she could do that. “Uh uh...I am going to take you from behind. You don't get to look back at me right now. This is how you can really thank me for doing all I have for you,” Arga whispered.

“Okay,” she said understandingly, and with what he thought was a little bit of eagerness. Maybe she had fantasies of being taken by one of the 'beast' folk. She wouldn't have been the first person he'd seen that was bored of the normal cocks of man and mer. Or maybe she just had to react this way with the Charm spell. Either way, it was good for him. He was going to get some fun, and get his cock into the first warm place it'd felt since he'd left Morrowind.

He grabbed her hips tightly, the blunt tips of the claws on his hands holding her still and keeping her from moving away. Without bothering to look, he ground against her, his cock rubbing between her legs. The wetness of her pussy rubbed against his own spit and pre slick cock, and he groaned softly as he teased himself. Her moans were almost as loud beneath him, and he felt her try to push back against his cock, try to get him to slide it into her before he was ready.

He spanked her for that, watching her ass jiggle slightly for a second before settling down again. Then he did it again, just to watch. “Heh, remember, I'm the one in charge here, Beatha,” Arga reminded her.

She nodded her head, going still as he continued to tease her. As he ground his shaft against her pussy lips, his tail came around. It rubbed between her breasts, teasing them, drawing more moans from her as the dextrous fifth limb played with them. His tail batted at her breasts, circled them and squeezed. It slid between them, thrusting as though she were using her breasts to tease a male. He even managed to rub at her nipples with the rougher side of it, giving her nipples the stimulation that she'd get if someone were playing with them more directly.

It all combined to make her a panting, moaning wreck of flesh, quivering and begging for him to fill her. She couldn't look back at him, particularly when he took one hand from her hips to push her head back down against the bed, but she panted and wiggled her ass for him. She spread her legs further, putting her pussy more on display for him, and she begged him loudly for him to put his cock in her, for her to feel him inside her.

When she was almost whimpering for it, he finally granted her request. The wait was almost better than the act, giving the Argonian a feeling of power that he hadn't had for some time when he was surrounded by Dunmer and Altmer and other elves that constantly reminded others how they were superior, and never would have let him get into a position like this. As much as he tried not to let it go to his head, he couldn't help but feel a little smug about being on top finally.

The thought was rapidly left behind as he slammed his cock into her pussy, ramming himself in all the way up to his knot. Though it wasn't huge, it was just large enough to keep from getting into her easily. It didn't seem to matter to the Breton; she shrieked in pleasure from the six and a half inches that she had gotten, her pussy spasming around his shaft hard. He grunted, holding himself in place to ride out the pleasurable squeezes her passage put him through, shaking his head and tensing up to keep from releasing early.

It took her about a half a minute to get done with all of her spasms, and only when she was done squeezing did he start moving. Her inner walls gave before his thrusts, loosening for his cock as he slammed into her. Her soft little whimpers and moans of pleasure only encouraged him, and it wasn't long before he was taking her hard, his hips thrusting back and forth faster and faster.

Her pussy was hot and wet for him, warmer than the few Argonians that he had been with. Her body welcomed him, and he felt her start to push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he took her. She was so wet that he could feel her juices dripping from her, falling to the bed and running down his cock, flowing over it and along his balls before falling off again. Everything was so good, and he hissed again in pleasure.

She was starting to loosen up for him, he thought as he felt his knot sliding further and further into her with each thrust. It was barely noticeable at first, but soon he felt more of his knot slide into her, stretching her pussy lips further and further apart every time that it went in. It squeezed on him, as though her pussy wanted his knot inside as much as he wanted to shove it in. Her legs quivered in pleasure, and he felt the shivers of a second orgasm go through her body, as well as the squeezing of her inner walls along his cock.

While she was cumming, he finally managed to get his knot inside of her. It popped past the entrance to her pussy, and he felt her tense up at the sudden feeling of fullness inside of her. Her second orgasm, only about half done, suddenly got stronger. Or, at least, the squeezes and spasms along his cock got stronger, and he moaned as she milked his cock for cum, a milking that he could not deny.

He growled as his balls released their load, filling her up. Every pulse of his cock delivered another shot of cum to her pussy, and he grinned as he heard her moan shakily from her own pleasure. Charm spell or not, she honestly loved the feeling of his cock inside of her.

Of course, as their orgasms slowly wound down, he realized that this might be a little problem for pulling loose. The Breton was one of the different kinds of humans, and she had a correspondingly tight pussy. It didn't relax as she came down from her orgasm, and his knot didn't want to go down while it was still inside of a tight female. Pulling on it only made it swell up to full size again, and he shook his head lightly.

Patting Beatha on the shoulder, he said, “Do you have anything that is very slippery around here? I may need a little help pulling out.”

She nodded, pointing towards the shelves next to the bed. He blinked, thinking that he might have missed something, and fumbled about on the shelves.

Eventually he found some sort of bottle, and pulled it down. It wasn't much, he realized, mostly just a slippery sort of syrup that he'd come across in a couple of cornerclubs, but it would do better than nothing. Sticky, but also slippery. It was weird how it worked. He uncorked it and poured it along the valley between her ass cheeks, watching it flow down her hole towards her pussy. A part of him wanted to stay and play around with that, but he knew that the spell could wear off soon, and he didn't want to be around her when she actually woke up from the Charm spell.

It took a little work, but the syrup did the trick. He even got Beatha to clean off his cock before he put it back in his trousers. “Thank you,” he told her with a chuckle. Grabbing a basket from one part of the room, he piled all of Beatha's armor into it, as well as the clothes from her chest. “Alright, that'll do. At least this way I can have something to sell when I get back to Windhelm.”

“Couldn't you leave me something, Arga? I'd like to be able to leave with some clothes on,” she said, still in that cheery, Charm influenced voice.

“Don't worry about it. You can always grab some of the armor from the rest of your gang, and you can wear that,” he said as he got dressed. Assuming they fit her, of course, but that was something that she would have to deal with.

After making sure that he had everything that he could safely carry, Arga turned back to her. She was going to be one of the most pissed off people in the province of Skyrim when she got out of the spell, but for the moment, she was still smiling happily, naked and leaking his cum from her pussy. It stirred a little reaction from his cock, but he squelched his natural instinct to have a second round.

However, before leaving, he did reach out and give her a hug in thanks for the good time, patting her back. “Good luck, wherever you go,” he told her, before walking out of the room, and the mine.

#

The trip back to Windhelm had gone a good bit better than the trip away from it had. Arga learned that it was alright to enter the city from the main bridge, as long as he went directly to the Gray Quarter from there. He learned that the Gray Quarter had a few people that weren't just interested in themselves, and were willing to point him along to the offices of the people that paid the bounties on people like this. And most of all, he found out that the Gray Quarter was just a bit more generous with the bounties when it was someone that wasn't a Nord that took care of things, giving him an additional fifty septims in addition to the three hundred that were offered on the bounty.

After spending some time in the few shops in the Gray Quarter, Arga managed to sell the rest of the stuff that he had picked off of Beatha for a little more gold. Not as much as the bounty had been, but the additional hundred septims had been enough to allow him to buy a dagger for himself, as well as a few small healing potions. The first had gone right to healing the wound that he had taken to the shoulder, while the other was secreted away for later.

Now, he was back at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, clothed in some warm furs and his feet nice and toasty inside of a new pair of boots. He curled and uncurled his toes, the flexible leather moving with their movements.

“Looks like you had a bit of luck with that bounty,” Ambarys said as he handed over a jug of sujamma, taking Arga's septims in payment as he did. “Gonna look for a bit more work around here?”

“No, I don't think so,” the Argonian said with a shake of his head. “Tomorrow, I'm going to take your advice and start finding a different place. Somewhere where I don't have to stick to one part of the city if I don't want to. Got any thoughts about that?”

Ambarys shrugged. “You could head for Riften. Go south towards Darkwater Crossing, and then follow the road south from there so you can avoid the worst of the creatures around Bonestrewn Crest,” he said. “You could go to Whiterun too, but Riften might be a better bet. More people willing to pay for odd jobs around there.”

“Thanks,” he said with a nod. “So, what would the cost of a room be for the night?”