Zavian trudged into the tavern, huffing a bit as he tried to get more air into his lungs. The trek today was impeded by the sudden onset of snow, a little unexpected for the season but nothing that Zavian was worried about. He pulled off his hood and shook and scrapped snow off his overcoat, the white powder dusting the floorboards like powdered sugar on sweet rolls. The tavern was just a tad too dark for Zavian’s tastes but nevertheless, it was warm and welcoming. A constant murmur of voices filled the space and the tables were filled with patrons. Zavian liked the noise, it was a pleasant change from the hours on his own on the road.

Zavian stowed his pack and belongings near the threshold when something unique struck his eye. Not many weapons outfitted the other packs but they were simple steel swords and shields, but this one had a dull green head with two forward facing spikes and one backward. The shaft had simple etchings in a fishbone shape. It looked extremely heavy and positively violent. “Orcish”, Zavian said. He hadn’t encountered many Orcish weapons in his travels, but they were always distinct and brimming with power. Much like the people who make and wield these weapons. Zavian whistled to himself, appreciating the simple yet effective design.

“Ayee… That be a fascinating piece.” a voice to his right said. Zavian turned and looked at a elderly Nord with a rosy complexion that indicated he was well into his flagon of beer, maybe his second flagon.

“Is it yours?” Zavian inquired.

“Nay, Argonian” the Nord responded, “I, like you, spied it when I arrived. Gave me a right proper bit of willies.”

“I see. Enjoy your drink, friend.” the Nord saluted with his tankard as Zavian headed off to the bar to see about getting a drink himself and a hot meal. While he did he scanned the interior left and right, casually looking for anyone that looked out of the ordinary. Someone wielding an Orcish weapon certainly would stand out in an out of the way hovel like this one. Zavian spotted the solitary form of someone with a massive build in the corner of the bar, energetically eating a leg of mutton. A rather conspicuous bubble of space surrounded them as other patrons tried to give the figure a wide berth. As an unintended effect, this meant that the only spot to sit at the bar was next to them.

Zavian weaved in between the tables and other guests at various stages of drunkenness before stepping up to the bar. The bartender was down on the other end so Zavian took a moment to slip out of his coat proper and layed it across a stool. His burgundy scales gleamed in the low light of tavern, the curves glinting with torch and firelight. A burp sounded from his right as the still cloaked figure attacked another leg of mutton. Zavian counted at least 4 finished bones and two flagons of ale.

“I’ve never been here before, would you recommend the mutton?” Zavian tried to come off disarmingly, hopefully. The figure next to him turned slightly, as if sensing Zavian for the first time. Their cowl was pulled tightly down but Zavian could still see their chin and tell-tale tusks, confirming that this person was indeed an Orc. There was an uncomfortable silence between them before the Orc unceremoniously turned back to their meal and continued eating.

“I suppose that’s a yes, then.” Zavian concluded. There was no response from the other. Zavian exhaled. Inside, his nerves were getting to him. He wasn’t afraid of Orcs, or well, he tried to not be afraid of Orcs, but they were solitary people. Many of them preferring the company of their own kind, it made them unique among of the races of Tamriel. Next to him, the voracious eating did not stop except for long draughts of alcohol.

Zavian, after many attempts, finally achieved eye contact with the bartender, a bony, blond, Nord man. The man made his way down to their end of the bar, grabbing a fresh cup for Zavian.

“Welcome to the Goat’s Grandest, what can I get for you?” Zavian picked up on some mild exasperation, as if he didn’t want to be on this side of the bar. Rather ravenous noises came from his right.

“I’d like a leg or two of mutton. I heard it's delicious." As if on que, the hungry Orc next to him slammed down the finished bone and grabbed another leg, attacking it like a starving wolf.

"Unfortunately," the Nord began delicately, "we are out of mutton." With a brief sideways glance at the hooded figure. "We do have turkey legs instead."

"I suppose it'll have to do." Zavian a little resigned while depositing a few Septims on to the bar top. The wirey fingers deftly pocketed the coins before he headed back to the kitchen to fetch the meal. Zavian permitted himself a brief look to his right surreptitiously. The maw that never seemed to stop accepting nourishment was dripping fats and oils as the incisors tore into the meat. The display made Zavian remember how hungry he was.

The Argonian had been traveling north towards Skyrim's College of Winterhold, on foot. His determination to study under master mages was strong and deep, unfortunately his wallet wasn't as vast. That meant hoofing it since he couldn't afford transportation. He also had to budget his meals scrupulously. He took a sip of the amber liquid that the bartender had placed in front of him. The warm liquid danced on his tongue as he swallowed it down, the effervescent smell of alcohol mixed with something sweet, juniper berries perhaps.

Next to him, the hooded Orc took a long drought of his drink and smashed the flagon down on the counter. It caused Zavian to jump in surprise. The stranger let out a satisfied "Ahhh".

“I require another of this delectable draught posthaste!” a stong, bassy, commanding voice emitted from the stranger, as he hoisted his empty cup in the air. A few of the patrons looked nervously down the way towards Zavian’s end of the bar. The bartender was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Zavian felt the looks of the others on him, a silent beg to fix the situation, as if Zavian had somehow caused it by sitting near the Orc.

“Bartender, where you be? I require more ale, you see.” his voice rang out through the throng of other voices from the chatty patrons, the lower pitch punching through. Zavian felt he could perceptively hear a decrease in the volume of the voices around him.

“Hey, Bartender, your bar is in need of tending!” He shouted out once more, this call a little more demanding. The bartender popped out of the kitchen door frame.

“I am working as quickly as possible, hold your blasted horses!” The Orc growled softly to himself as he lowered his arm and mug. Zavian looked to his left and the Nord next to him locked eyes. The man had a slight twinge of fear on his face. He nodded towards Zavian’s flagon that was still in his hand, still mostly full. Zavion looked forward and steeled his courage. While clearing his throat he turned to the large, intimidating mountain next to him.

“My friend, as you can see, our host has many other patrons to tend to. I’m sure he’s working to tend to all of our needs as quickly as he can. In the meantime,” Zavian slid the mug over towards the pile of bones that littered the countertop. “You can have my drink should you desire it.” Zavian worked his best to keep his voice steady, if only his spells could work on himself. The mountain of Orc looked between the offered beverage and Zavian who tried to hold his gaze. The cowl still shrouded the face of his neighbor but there was still an intensity in peering into the shadow that roused fear in the Argonian. A brief moment later, the Orc bellowed out a mighty laugh.

“An auspicious offering! A fine fortune!” He said, a mighty hand gripped the drink and ripped it from Zavian’s grip. The Orc immediately pulled it to his lips and threw his head back in taking a draught. His hood fell off of his head as he righted after downing all the liquid in one go. Zavian was impressed. The mug needed both of his hands to reach around. “Ahhhhhh!” he sighed out as he again slammed another mug to the bartop. A few drops of the dark liquid dripped down his chin. “A miraculous mead.” he said while turning to Zavian.

Zavian finally got a good look at his face. The Orc had a thick neck, which Zavian thought was standard for his race. His face was broad, the edges of his mouth tipped upwards in a smile, his lower fangs pulling at his lips. His brow was sloped forward which gave him the sense of scowling but his eyes looked light still. It gave Zavian mixed feelings, but he powered through.

“I am pleased you’re pleased, my friend.” He said, returning the smile.

The Orc went back to his plate but seemed stunned that each bone had been completely picked clean. “Hmm, my plate is empty and my stomach feels the same. Bartender! I am in need of more mutton!” He called out again in the same manner as before. Fortunately, he was returning with Zavian’s meal and what would have been the Orc’s drink. He deposited both in front of Zavian.

“As I told you when I handed that last plate to you, you have eaten the last of our prepared mutton for the next three days. There is no more.”

“Preposterous!” the Orc exclaimed. “You told me no such thing!”

“I assure you, Orc, I did. You were completely focused on the food to pay me any attention or pay me for the last two plates. So either pay up or leave.” The Nord, rather bravely Zavaian concluded, reached out a hand towards the Orc. The two squinted at each other in a stare down. Zavian was rather convinced that this was about to come to blows, and he would be in danger. However, after a moment the Orc reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of Septims and practically slapped them into the outstretched hand.

“I would have thought that my charge for the room would have included my nightly meal.” The Orc shot back. His tone was quite aggressive. Zavain felt the customer to his left shy even further away.

“The cost of the room includes one nightly meal plate, and one morning plate. Not the three additional plates that you’ve had.”

“Seems like an error on your part to elucidate the terms of rental.” The Orc bit back.

“I’ve just about had enough of you. Either you sit down and stay as silent as the grave for the rest of the night or you can leave.”

“Why bother granting him a choice?” Another voice piped up. It was only now that Zavian realized that the tavern had gone quiet and that everyone was staring at the altercation unfolding. The new voice came from a young looking, average height Nord wearing a blue cape over some fairly standard leather armor. His two other companions, also Nords, wore the same thing. ‘Stormcloaks’ Zavain concluded.

“Sirs, please let me handle this.” the bartender responded to the new individuals.

“This thing has a head and a half of height on you, about 100 additional pounds of muscle, and a wild temperament of an unbroken stallion. I say we throw him out of here and back into the wilds he came from.” His words were tipped with vitriol. His companions reached to grab hold of their swords on their belts. A log cracked in the fireplace.

“Sirs, please-” The bartender started, but he didn’t get a chance to finish as the Orc stood up from his stool. Drawing up to his full height, it must have been at least 6 and half feet. Wide as a barn and rippling with the strength that Orsimer were known for across Tamriel. The Orc made no motion except to square up to the leader of the trio. The difference in height between them was notable. The two other Nords flanking the leader shied back a step as the two stared each other down.

“The wilds must be where you learned your malignant manners. I’ve met beasts better behaved than you, boy.” The bassy rumble chilled Zavian to the bone, and the words weren’t even directed at him. How the brave, or foolish Nord, stood there and took it without flinching must have been a miracle of the Eight Divines.

“A beast? That’s what you are, Orc” the Nord spat at the mountainous form before him along with actual spit. “Why your kind ventures out of your cesspool thresholds is beyond me? Your presence only seems to foul the air.” The Orc took a lumbering step towards the trio, the other two fled back seemingly unaware they outnumbered him and had weapons on hand. The bold leader held his ground. This situation was turning murderous. A second longer and someone was not walking away from this altercation.

Zavain was scared, but the pump of adrenaline he felt in his blood stirred him to action. He wasn’t about to let someone die in front of him while he sat there and did nothing. He reached for the magicka that sparked like electricity through his nerves and willed it down to the tips of his fingers like his master had taught him. He commanded the magic to take shape into a spell, two of them. Zavian hadn’t ever casted a spell from both hands at once before but he was just reacting at the moment. The air around his palms waved into a green mist as the magicka seeped out of his pores while he held it still. He stepped in between the two individuals who were stepping towards each other. He pressed out his hands till he braced against both of their chests and let the spell fly. A Calm spell, hopefully it would dull their built up aggression for the other long enough to defuse the situation. And also hopefully, no one would be any wiser that a spell was cast on them.

“Friends, friends. Let’s not spill blood, let’s spill ale from flagons raised high in cheer. It is quite delicious here. Let us return to our meals, to our comrades, to more pleasant company. Please, no more of this hostility.” He spoke quickly, desperately. He looked between the two, scanning for any hint, any clue, that the spells had failed. The two aggressors looked at him and he had to fight his instincts to run away. Eventually, the Nord pushed off Zavian’s hand and turned to head back to his table on the other side of the bar. His partners joined in step beside him.

Zavian turned back to look at the Orc, finally noticing the height difference between the two of them. He was tall. Their eyes locked and Zavian gulped and removed his hand from his chest. His brow gave the impression that he was scowling down at the Argonian. He stepped back and cowered a little.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to see that come to blows.” Zavian apologized. The Orc took a look around the tavern before turning back to his seat at the bar. He sat brusquely and the stool sagged a bit under his weight. Zavian gave out a sigh of relief as he took a look after the Stormcloaks who sat down at their table. He noticed that everyone was looking at him, he felt extremely self-conscious as he turned back towards his seat and meal.

The bartender stood where he was half a minute prior stark still, Zavian gingerly seated himself and grabbed his cloak below him for comfort.

“My ample apologies, bartender. In my voracity, it seems I displayed rather beastly behavior to you and your patrons. I’m sincerely sorry.” The Orc bowed his head in contrition towards the bartender. As a shock out of a stupor, the bartender shook his head to clear it.

“I expect no further outbursts.” he finally said.

“Understood.” The bartender walked back into the kitchen and slowly a murmur of voices started back up. Zavian felt his shoulders unclench and unwind. He turned to look down at his meal, the turkey looked delicious, a fine herb rested on top of the fried surface, a creamy scoop of mashed potatoes next to it. It looked so good, but Zavian’s appetite had vanished after the last minute. His hands were trembling. A loud growl came from the giant next to him, Zavian looked and saw the Orc place a hand over his stomach as if to silence the noise. He looked a little lost in thought as he looked at the picked clean bones on the table. With only a little hesitation, Zavian pushed his plate slowly towards the Orc.

“Here, friend. You seem quite hungry still.” The Orc eyes flashed with surprise towards the food and Zavian.

“Are you certain? You have not even nibbled it.” He asked.

“I fear my appetite has vanished and I do not wish it go to waste.” Zavian responded. The Orc reached out and pulled the plate in front of him with a subdued energy but still unrelenting. He picked up a leg of turkey and took a bite from it. He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and taking another bite. Zavian grabbed the mug in front of him and swished the dark liquid before taking a swig. The sweet taste was a bit cloying but hopefully the alcohol would calm his stressed nerves. He sat nursing his drink for a minute in silence, the tavern slowly returned to normal volume.

Zavian felt a nudge from his left. He turned and saw the Nord from before, he gave him a nod and a raise of his glass. Zavian smiled and raised his mug in cheers before taking a swig, this sip tasted a little better. A scrape from his right caught his attention. The Orc had pushed the plate back in front of him, only one of the three legs eaten.

"Please, it would mortify me should you starve while I inhale it." The bass voice rumbled out.

"Oh, are you sure, friend?" Zavian asked.

"I am. Please, eat your meal. I already commandeered your first cup during my devour, it would behoove me to be a bully and steal your sustenance similarly." The voice was kind. Zavian did not argue more and picked up his own leg and bit into it. The meat was tender and the texture of the breading broke along his teeth and tongue. It was very good. Zavian washed it down with a swig of his drink.

He spent the next minute eating and getting his fill. He scooped up the mashed potatoes with a spoon. They were the most fluffy and buttery ever, Zavian wondered what the secret to such deliciousness was. He looked towards the Orc who was staring at the Argonian while he ate, Zavian swallowed a mouthful of food.

"Is there something wrong, friend?" He asked cautiously. The Orc scratched his chin in thought.

"I'm curious how you could so quickly calm such a conflagrant conflict. I was inches from introducing him to my incisors, but then I was ashamed and abashed at my actions. Most curious."

Zavian gripped the spoon in his hand. Had he figured it out, was he mad, and other questions flashed through his mind.

"Perhaps I simply appealed to your better nature" he said with a smile, hoping to get off the topic.

"No, the cowardly cunt deserved a decking for insulting me, my kin, and my kin's communes."

"You thought he was a coward? He stood up to you and let me tell you, that's not a task for a sound person. He was either brave, stupid, or drunk."

"Or all three."

"Or all three." Zavian agreed.

“Then which were you?” He asked

“What?” Zavain cocked his head in confusion.

“If the naive knave was either brave, stupid, or drunk, then you must have been of similar state to stand up to me as well.” 

“Oh, no, no, no, my friend. I was none of those things as I am a coward. A great coward.” Zavian shook his head in disagreement. “A coward who cannot stand the sight of violence. I simply… wanted to avoid bloodshed or worse.” He admitted to the great figure. He pushed the conversation away from his methods so hopefully the Orc wouldn’t ask after his magic. Zavian was certain he would not take it well if he knew.

“A pacifist, then?” Zavain nodded in response. “A magnanimous mission. We all could stand to suffer more pacifists these days.” The compliment took Zavain back, it was odd coming from such a dominating figure. In fact, a lot of what the Orc said was odd.

“Why, thank you friend. I have to be honest, I have not met any Or-, uh, anyone that speaks quite in the way you do.” He said.

“Any one with tusks and tough textured skin, you mean?” The Orc said, picking up on Zavian’s slip of the tongue.

“My apologies, friend. I, I, I did not mean any disrespect to you or your people.” the Argonian stammered out quickly. The big Mer beside him chuckled out.

“No disrespect delivered, friend. I’m knowledgeable of the knack my kin have to combat over declamation. I see it as a kind compliment that my training towards talk has not gone undetected.”

“Your control of alliteration is remarkable.” Zavian complimented.

“Hah! A bard’s bread and butter is in their banter, barely a day goes by without. Many moments to meditate over my methods.” He said with a thump to his chest.

“Ohh, so you’re a bard, my friend?” Zavian asked even more curious about this interesting Orc.

“Aye, Argonian. You can call me Burug Goraz, or Burug the Bard.”

“I am Zavian Caymesh.” Zavian responded with a bow of his head.

“Zavian Caymesh, that’s a nice name. The kind of name that needs knowing.” Burug said with a nod. Zavian felt his face get flush, whether from the compliment or the drink he’s been sipping, he did not know.

“Well thank you, Burug.”

“Tell me your tale, Zavian. What pulls a peace-loving pacifist such as yourself to the war-torn, wild, wastes of Skyrim. Surely you’re not seeking some fortune or fame among the armies.” The worlds were light, Zavian wouldn’t have known he’d drank at least three full mugs had not given him one of them himself.

“No, I surely am not. I’m heading to Riften, a cousin of mine invited me to work with him on a new fishing venture. It gave me the excuse to travel across Tamriel and see the sights.” It was a well crafted lie, one that Zavian had practiced during his solo march across the land. He’d already had enough of seeing commonfolk turn away from mages in fear, anger, or any other such emotions. He really didn’t need another interaction in the same vein.

“Hmmm, the fisheries of Riften. Certainly you care for a far less common career?” Burug asked. Zavian gulped and hoped that the rather eloquent Orc hadn’t seen through his lie.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong. I’m a traveler at heart, but to travel one must have coin. I find myself spending more than I am making so I must find employment lest I rely on begging for my meals.”

“Is there a pox on panhandling from your place of origin?” Burug further questioned.

“Well, no. I just- I would not like to be dependent on anyone. I wish to be able to provide for myself.”

“Sojourning solo, are you?” Zavain nodded a bit sadly before taking down the last of his drink. He had been alone for a while. The farther north you travel away from Black Marsh the more he felt he stuck out like a sore thumb. He became more like a novelty and a thing of curiosity at some of the more remote locations he’s traveled through.

“A lonely life. A joyless journey.” Burug said.

“It has its moments where journeying alone is amazing. But I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t get lonesome.” He thought of the many nights these past months where he camped out in the wilderness and had nothing but the stars and his own thoughts and hand for company. He spent more than once pleasuring himself and wishing for the warmth of another. However, even his few nights in taverns hadn’t awarded him any such luck in finding companionship. Not that he was surprised. Nords were notorious for their xenophobia and he was absolutely not going to break the vows he made to his Master on using magic to manipulate others for his own gain.

“Well, tonight there’s two of us. Together.” He lifted a mug before realizing it was empty. “Oh, one moment. Barten-” he stopped himself from shouting out loud. The bartender looked down to their end of the bar with an eyebrow lifted, a challenge to the Orc to remind him of their agreement. Burug simply held up two fingers and his mug. The blonde Nord nodded once and went back to serving his other customers. Burug lowered his mug and looked sadly into its unfilled expanse.

“Nothing worse than waiting to propose a toast.” He grumbled out loud. Zavian chuckled at the rather silly demeanor the Orc gave off when he’s been quite high-spirited for most of the conversation.

“Stay strong, Burug. Surely we’ll sate ourselves soon.” as he tried his hand at some of the same alliteration his companion has been using all night. The attempt was not lost on the Orc.

“Ohh, an amateur orator are we?” He responded, the mirth returning to his eyes. “Well the competitive contest has commenced, match my mein and I shall witness your wits.” Zavian smiled.

It wasn’t much of a contest, Zavain was not nearly as much of a speaker as Burug clearly was. For every paltry attempt was matched with something just as smart and twice as quick. Zavain tried to drown his embarrassment in his drink but that only served to make it harder on himself. He eventually conceded defeat to the Orc who had downed at least five mugs to Zavian’s two and was showing no signs of intoxication.

Through the night, Burug had told Zavain that he was heading to the Bard’s College in Solitude to further hone his craft despite Zavian’s assurances that he was already a fine bard. Burug assured him that any opportunity to learn was a welcome one. Eventually, Zavain asked about his hammer that he spotted by the door. Burug had told him it was a going away present from his village when he set out on his journey.

“Words will not wound wasterals nor protect your purse.” He said.

“Ever have to use it?” Zavian asked.

“Once or twice. I much rather wield the ‘hammer’ hemmed in my hosiery.” He said with a wink. Despite his buzzed state, Zavian knew this blush wasn’t the alcohol. He’d been getting quite touchy-feely with the Orc as he felt more comfortable with him. A pat on the arm, a nudge to the bicep, a side hug as they sang a song together. Their stools now quite close to each other. It would also be a lie to say that Zavian didn’t find this person quite attractive. His deep voice rumbled his rhymes into his chest and set his heart a flutter, the lonely lizard kept imagining what his broad chest would look like, how those arms would feel around his slender frame. 

He gulped and turned away, "Well, if you swing your 'hammer' half as well as you sing your words, it would make for a wonderful time." Zavian said shyly. Burug laughed boisterously before sliding a hand slowly across Zavian's back and pulling him close. The husky voice whispered into his ear.

"Want to bear witness to how I wield my 'weapon'"? Zavian's breath caught in his chest. Had he heard that right? Had the Orc asked him to bed? For once, Zavian couldn't tell what his metaphor meant? He giggled nervously.

"Ha ha. Wait, you mean you're asking me to bed?" The hot breath of his companion tickled his neck.

"You've been undressing me with your eyes for a while now, as have I with you. I'd like to see if we can separate fact and fiction." A finger trailed down his spine, to his tail as it hooked under the appendage and tickled the underside.

The areas near the base on Argonians are quite sensitive right above the crack in his buttocks. The sensation made him moan and quiver, his package heating up and pushing out as his head was swimming. The finger went up his spine again before being removed. Burug stood up and at his height looked down at his panting companion.

"Upstairs, second room on the left." Was all he said as he turned from the bar. Zavian watched him go and felt a great longing. The Orc didn't turn around as he went to the front and hoisted his big pack along with the warhammer. Each step he took up the stairs was accompanied by a loud thump that felt like the thump of his heart. The Orc never looked back at him, not once. Once out of sight, Zavian turned back towards the front. The bartending Nord was just there cleaning his friend's place of his many plates and cups. The two met eyes for a moment before he shrugged.

"A minute more of whatever was going on over here and I would have needed to tell you to take it upstairs. Not sure what you're still doing down here" he said.

"Uh, is my tab all settled?" Zavian asked while reaching for his purse, trying to keep a sense of normalcy in his voice.

"Hey, you stopped a bar fight from becoming a bar brawl or worse and then kept the brute calm. I consider us even." The Nord said. Zavian thanked him and got up from his seat, grabbed his coat that was still on the stool and quickly walked towards where his gear was by the front door. His face felt too red, he was sure that everyone was looking at him. He tried to tell himself that's his nerves, the nerves that said there is no way a sexy, swole Orc was waiting upstairs for him. But he moved forward all the same he headed up the dozen steps. His pack rattled with his belongings as he ascended.

There were five rooms up the stairs, two on the right and three on the left. A couple of candles gave off a kind glow and gave the hallway a rustic cabin vibe. Zavian stopped in front of the middle door on the left. It was closed shut and he didn't hear anything beyond it, not that he could hear anything but his heart. He raised his hand not sure he if should knock or just walk in. He fiddled his fingers near the knob and again lamented that he can't cast a courage spell on himself, not that he was competent with the courage spell however. Anything to help him be a little more confident in himself.

He remembered his master's words when he first started learning magic from him, "Magic dwells within and without. Seize it with your will and direct it to your path. Magic is not your master, you are its."

Zavian had meditated on those words for years. He felt the wisdom it could grant in other parts of his life. His dedication to learn magic was one such area. Initially, he felt so hesitant to leave home but he had his convictions, he was going to become a mage, a healer, so he could save people. Especially, for people that had no one else. Like himself before his master had come to his hometown. Like downstairs when he stepped between Burug and the Stormcloak.

He willed another calm spell to his left hand, his eyes closed in concentration. The static shocks of magicka zipped across his muscles and sinew. He funneled his insecurities and fears into his hand with his magicka and then released it. He felt the slight drain to his magicka reserves but felt the mental exercise did its job, he felt a little more sober, better. With his fist he knocked on the door, no reason to barge in unannounced.

"Who beckons at my bedroom?" The suave, smooth voice of the handsome Burug was muffled from beyond the door.

"It's me." Zavian responded loudly.

"Me? Ahh, I remember a remarkable rumor regarding me. He was traveling with myself and I. If one recalls correctly, me is mentioned to assume attractive affections and a gigantic genitalia. And now Me is at my door? Delightful!" Zavian laughed to himself in the hallway, his cheeks burned slightly.

"May I enter?" He asked outright as he never received a response one way or another.

"I is also at my entrance? Well, they say that I is incredibly intelligent and devilishly debonair."

"I'm coming in, my friend" Zavian decided rather than continue having a conversation through the door. The handle twisted smoothly and the door opened without a creek. The room that awaited Zavian was warmly lit with a half dozen lanterns put in the corners of the room. There was a dresser, a bearskin rug, a window piling high with snow from the storm, ... And a nearly naked Orc lounging in the bed.

He had stripped down to his underwear, his gear discarded in the corner. Zavian almost dropped his own pack and just stood agape. Burug's body was just like he imagined, each muscle that pushed against his skin was firm and thick, there wasn't an ounce of wasted fat on his body. There was no way this man couldn't go toe to toe with a bear the size of the one that became a rug. Zavian gripped his bag tight in front of his chest and again fantasized about how wonderful those arms would feel around him, how safe he would be.

They stood in silence for a moment just enjoying each other, one clothed and one not so clothed. Eventually the bard did speak.

"Ah, Not Me nor I but sweet Zavian Caymesh, silly me was sure someone else was at my door. Salutations though." The joke and words rolled off his tongue like smooth syrup. Zavian blushed at being called sweet and set his pack down by the door, forcing himself to turn away from the arousing site of the tough green skin on his companion. He pushed the door shut behind him.

"I'm here to take you up on your offer, obviously" the Argonian said while moving towards the bed. Burug lifted his eyebrow in response.

"To witness my weapon wielding ways?"

"And to see how it compares to your mastery of words." Zavian added while standing at the side of the bed. Burug had the most sly smirk at that.

"Hmm, perhaps. You must pay the fee prior to perceiving what's under my underpants." He said. This bard clearly had a mastery of his bedroom voice, Zavian was sure he left a wake of lovers behind him on his journeys, but tonight he was just here with Zavian. He slid on to the bed and crawled towards the larger Mer.

"Oh, well I'm out of loose funds at the moment, hopefully we can barter for something else instead." Zavian tried to match the tone that Burug just used. He crawled up and over the Orc. Burug lounged lazily with his hands behind his head and on his back. Zavian looked down and into the intense eyes that still looked like they were in a perpetual scowl. His legs straddled his torso and his hands on either side of Burug's head.

"In that case, maybe a kiss could convince me." The vibrations of that voice while Zavian was this close were intense, he almost melted on the spot. He wanted this, he wanted it so badly. He lowered himself closer and closer. The alcohol on both their breaths was going to his head. He was closing his eyes and about to plant a kiss on his companion when all of a sudden Burug tilted his head to the side and whispered into the Argonian's ear.

"Of course, you're still overdressed, oh Zavian. I’ve longed to learn how you look less your clothes." Tingles went down his spine and his tail flicked this way and that. Each "L" consonant was lavish, a desire directed at Zavian whose heart was filling with a great deal of emotion for the Orc.

"Oh, why, yes, he he. You're right. My apologies." He giggled like a naive child, he was just moving right along with it and didn’t think too much lest he get stuck in his head. Zavian righted himself and started pulling the hem of his shirt up only to feel a tug as Burug grabbed the edge and kept it lowered.

“Might you allow me?” He said softly, Zavian looked down at Burug. The Orc’s eyes were a light, golden brown. The steady lantern glow shone across his eyes. The rough and ruddy green skin complimented his eye color. Zavian wasn't able to observe it before this moment. He almost got so lost in them that he didn't hear the request. The Argonian's own red-brown scales contrasted the other as it blazed in the firelight.

"You'd like to undress me yourself?" He asked, his arms still pulling the sides of his shirt up. Burug nodded once. Zavian decided to go with it and pulled his rough tunic back down. "Very well, Burug the Bard. You may."

His brow raised eagerly as he heard Zavian's response. Burug scooted himself so that he was sitting up on the bed, their chests were inches away from each other. The Orcimer's large paws patted down the sides of the smaller Argonian. Though it wasn't as intense or direct as the caress of his tail down at the bar earlier, Zavian felt tingles across his scales. The fingers that were as large as sausages were so soft. Again, Zavian felt his surprise at the mannerisms of this Orc. He expected him to be quite forward and demanding, but this. This was better, perhaps Burug caught on to the slight hesitation that simmered in the back of Zavian's mind, perhaps he likes to be soft with his lovers, perhaps he is holding back for later. Whatever it was, Zavian was enjoying the gentle ministrations.

The fingers eventually hooked under the ends of his tunic, the coarse fabric lifted off his skin and up his torso. The heat of their proximity was noticeable to the lizard. He breathed a little quicker. His arms came up to let the other remove his shirt. It caught a little on his inch long spikes and fins but pulled off with little trouble. Zavian kept his eyes closed after his shirt was fully off, he felt a little exposed. He reached for his will and bound his body to it. The Argonian opened his eyes and saw Burug admiring his figure.

The red nomad had become quite lithe during his travels. The combination of physical exertion and limited sustenance kept fat from collecting on his body. He wasn't quite gaunt but he was for sure thin. A fact that was clear as Burug traced along his ribs from his sternum to his sides. Zavian watched the fingers drag across his skin, the pads quite soft as it pulled his scales along. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Well?" Zavian asked, feeling a little self conscious as the tender touches continued.

"Breathtaking." Was all the Orc said.

"Surely you jest with me, friend."

"You had better believe me. Bard, I may be. Liar, I am not." Burug lifted Zavian's head until their eyes met again. In them, Zavian could see the truth. He believed every word. The Orc smiled.

Zavian moved closer, drawn in by the gaze. He closed his eyes and pushed out his lips wanting to pick up on the kiss that was stolen from earlier. A moment later lips brushed against his. The tips of tusks pressed into his skin. Zavian’s lips smooched against the other pair just living in the moment and letting the world fall away around him. A handprint of sensation emerged on his back as Burug sneaked a hand around to pull the Argonian close, deeper into the snog.  Zavian’s hands went to Burug’s chest. The firm flesh felt like rough tree bark and equally as strong. The fantasy of feeling secured in those limbs now a reality as Burug pampered and supported the lizard’s head with his other hand. His earlier hesitations about the situation were sinking away into the horizon as they mashed lips together. As with all things, the moment came to an end. Burug pulled his head back and left Zavian to kiss the air alone for a second or two. The smaller of the two opened his eyes to look back at Burug whose face was cocked sideways, a curious grin on his lips.

“Something the matter?” Zavian asked at barely above a whisper.

“Far from. Simply admiring the beautiful buss, the kindly kisser, and the merry moment.” He said back.

“Oh, surely you’ve had many just like this. A lovely poet such as yourself could charm anyone you want to your bed, I bet.” Zavian countered with a rub to his broad pecs. The arms around him kept his mind from contemplating his own insecurities, he was here, he wanted to keep his mind here.

“You would wonder at how infrequently I invite others to my bed. I find it more fulfilling to favor a small few.” The Orc responded.

“A fine fib.” Zavian countered with a smirk.

“You slander me a second time.” Burug returned with a shake of his head.

“It’s no matter, you’re here, I’m here, I don’t wish to think further from that.” Zavian admitted.

“Certainly, Caymesh. Can’t let the moment go to waste. Nor your proper payment. One kiss received.”

“Oh, yes, now I recall.” Zavian responded since he was reminded of what was being offered. The Orc cradled the Argonian to his chest as he shifted him to the side. He gently lowered the shirtless lizard to the mattress. And now Zavian was looking up at the Orc and the rafters of the building they were sheltering in. The wind of the storm blew through some of the trees outside the window as the two continued to behold each other. Burug’s thick thighs flanked the supine sojourner. Looking down, he saw Burug’s crotch. The smooth canvas looking article was suspended by a drawstring with a little bowtie an inch or two under his navel. Burug’s abdominal muscles blossomed out from his stomach. Zavian had to wonder what exercise routine this gentle giant followed.

“Verily invested in the view, are you?” a mirthful tease came from above. Zavian’s gaze turned upwards with a smile.

“Well, it’s breathtaking.”

“I’m delighted to be described as such.”

Zavian stroked his thighs, it felt like he’d need more than two hands to wrap around one their circumference was so large. He explored his companion’s legs, thighs, hips, and even found the courage to sneak around and feel his chiseled ass. Burug let him explore, just content to be felt up and not looking to rush anything along.

“You’re so strong…” Zavian sighed out, “You must have spent years trying to hone your body into this form. Such power, such stature, such amazement.”

“I have, however it only seems to help ward off welcomes and extract ire from strangers.”

“Then the fools have no idea what beautiful treasures lay beneath.”

“Thank you, Zavian.” The tone caught the Argonian off guard, it was sincere and serious. Looking up he found the face of his lover for the evening, but his expression was a little sad. That wasn’t an emotion he had witnessed upon the Orc yet.

“What for, my friend? What burdens your brow when we’re here in good spirits?” Zavian asked, patting Burug’s thigh in concern.

“For not being frightened by my face or my features. For befriending me. For halting my hotheadedness before it boiled over.” He said. The Orc looked off to the side, back towards the bar, back to the fight, back to more than Zavian knew. A lantern flickered near the bed and caused the shadows of his mounds of muscle to wave and wander. The lizard wiggled his way towards the wall so he could bend up closer to his new friend. He gripped Burug’s hips and planted kisses on his rows of ribs, hoping to ease whatever memories were running through his head.

“Beautiful Burug, my friend. I know not where your mind wanders, but come back to me. We toasted to being together and I cannot follow you where you’re walking. I assure you, I’m more enjoyable company than your bad memories.” He sweetly cooed between a round of kisses. Burug looked down at the Argonian, his face light and jaunty again.

“Too true, there’s much too many of them anyway. I’d rather revel in the good than rot in ruin. You are indeed much better company.” Burug said. The Orc’s hands came to rest atop of Zavian’s at his flank. “Where were we?” He asked, the bass in his voice thruming across chest such that Zavian felt it in his fingertips. Zavian hummed and lightly dragged a finger along his ribs to his sternum and then down before circling about his navel.

“Ohh, if I remember correctly, we were right here.” Zavian coyly responded while hooking a digit into the knot that held his undergarments aloft. A sharp tug unknotted it in one motion. It didn’t fall away, but Zavian blinked in surprise.

“Incredibly impressive, however did you do that?” Burug asked with wonder in his voice.

“Dumb luck.” Zavian quickly lied, the slight tingle of errant magic in his finger still sparking internally. It had been a while since he’d lost control of his magicka like that. ‘My will, not yours!’ he mentally shouted at his finger. The sparks died instantly. He quickly recovered, he figured he was just anxious to see his prize. The thing he’s lusted after since entering the room.

“Ready?”

“Waiting” he got in response. The canvas was pulled down and there it was. Burug’s cock and balls. It was very humanoid, nothing that Zavian hadn’t seen on other Men and Mer before. Burug’s clearly groomed down his pubic hair. The black tufts of hair were short.

“Well, well, someone who grooms down here.” Zavian teased.

“It sounds like you have, uh, seen your share” the normally confident tone had a creeping bit of embarrassment, perhaps a bit of worry. Zavian hummed.

“You sound embarrassed, wondering how you compare?” Zavian looked up at the Orc who was scratching his cheek with a finger.

“Perhaps a little,” he answered curiously.

“Well, if I had to say. You’re here, they’re not.” Burug snorted and shook his head.

“You are most interesting and equivalently irritating, Zavian Caymesh..” he responded with a chuckle.

"Maybe that's my charm" he responded with a peck on his cheek.

"Most certainly is." Zavian slid his palm along Burug's washboard abs and towards his crotch. The two kept their eyes on each other. Just enjoying the company of someone else in this world. Burug slipped his arms around to Zavian's lower back and burrowed down under his pants. They cupped and cradled his ass while Zavian arrived at Burug's package that felt so much warmer than the rest of the Orc's body.

The Argonian fondled and fiddled with his lover's substantial member as his own ass was groped. He hummed and rested his head on to the broad chest, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of another's hands on his body. His breathing got deeper as his libido was awakened finally after all the build up to this moment. His hips pushed back into the paws grabbing at his flesh. The cock in his hand also started flexing and engorging, the heat of the Orc's life blood transferring over. Zavian's own member was pushing against the fabric of his pants, eager to escape its prison.

The smells of their arousal misted into the room. Burug reached full mast and Zavian started stroking the flesh, the heat and feeling of friction between their skin made the bigger one flex his hips and drops of sticky pre pooled on the underside of his scepter. Burug tendered a feel at the base of his tail again, the hyperactive nerves there arced electricity up Zavian’s spine. His breath caught in his chest as the touch continued. He groaned into the pecs before him as his hips thrust back more. Zavian needed to grab Burug’s hips for support, every thought in his head was deafened from the fire burning at the base of his spine and right behind his own sack. It felt amazing, he shuddered and shivered.

“You hear stories of Argonians’ sensitive spots. It’s something else to see in person.” He whispered. Zavian couldn’t respond and just continued to pant. Seconds turned to minutes. Every so often Burug changed his pattern to keep it from growing stale. Zavian’s cock pulsed and he could feel the growing stain of wet that formed on his pants. He wasn’t going to last another minute, but he willed his limbs to move. He reached to the side and grabbed Burug’s bicep.

“Cease, cease, please.” he begged the other. He stopped immediately but didn’t remove his hands from body. Zavian struggled to get some air into his lungs. The fog of his impending climax receded from his mind for a moment. “By the nine.” he moaned.

“Declaring me divine, are you?” the light tease came from above.

“Even better than that.” Zavian breathfully responded. Burug leaned down and kissed the love drunk lizard’s forehead.

“Well your tender touch before was truly intoxicating. I wish to sense it a second time.”

“Well Burug, remove the last of my garb such that we may finish together.” he said with a wink. The Orc’s brow shifted up as he contemplated the offer. His hands moved swiftly to lift the smaller one and lay him back to the mattress below them. He situated himself above Zavian so their faces were a few inches apart. They looked into each other’s eyes. Zavian could feel his stiffness being pressed up against his lover’s stomach and longed to be free of his pants. Burug’s eyes were beautiful and Zavian couldn’t help but swim in them.

The green giant leaned in and planted a small kiss on Zavinan, and then another, and another. And they slowly devolved into a deep make out session, their lips smacking against each other.  Zavain wrapped his arms around and pulled the big guy close. His weight pressed atop the Argonian. The pressure felt so amazing, Burug’s strength kept him feeling so loved, safe, accepted. He could only wish he could offer the same to Burug. A paw pressed into his side and moved down towards his thigh. It grabbed at his pants and pushed them down. Zavian arched his hips to make it easier as eventually the last thing we wore was down near his knees. It was only then that Burug pulled away from the kiss. He panted a little from the endeavor of their kiss. He rested his forehead on Zavain’s for a moment, an intimate touch to help communicate their feelings without words. The Argonian smiled, the Orc smiled back. Zavian snaked a hand down between their bodies, searching for his wand. Burug did similarly along his red-scaled thigh.

The first touch of Burug’s calloused hands along his length startled the over-stimulated mage. It was the first contact it had from another in quite some time, at least since he left on his journey north. Zavain was turned on enough and produced enough fluids to lubricate the whole thing as Burug used only two fingers to tease and tempt moans from Zavian’s throat. To keep from spiraling deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of feeling, Zavian chose to focus on his companion. He grabbed Burug’s hardness and continued stroking it as he did before, intermittently squeezing a little more firm or changing his angle to keep it fresh. He cradled the back of Burug’s head as the two continued to pleasure the other. Burug’s deep groans complimented Zavian’s breathy grunts as they made love to each other.

They were beyond words now, their bodies were their only means of communicating how amazing they were feeling. Burug made small short humps into Zavian’s grip, clearly enjoying the devotion. For Zavian’s side his body flexed and leaked more precum. He had always been productive, all Argonians are. Burug added a third and fourth finger to his grip which just multiplied the area of effect and counteracted the lowered friction as Burug’s hand became coated with lubricant.

“Zavian…” he moaned out.

“Yes..”

“I’m close…”

“As am I..”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Together, they redoubled their efforts. Anything to make the next moment better than the last. Anything to bring even further pleasure to their partner. Burug’s humps got stronger and more erratic, Zavian’s legs stretched and flexed his toes in ecstasy. Wave after wave crashed into Zavian’s mind every time he was stroked down. He gritted his teeth in a futile attempt to hold one just one minute longer, just one second. But his body wasn’t going to hold back any longer. His back went rigid as he crested the wave, pure feeling flooded his brain as he hit his orgasm. Zavian’s cock shot out his load and it positively coated his and Burug’s chest in the off color fluid. Through it all, he tried to keep stroking off Burug who kept up his rhythm on Zavian to extract more and more from the lizard. The dazed Argonian was rewarded for his efforts. A groan from the depts of Burug’s chest, a primal and uncivilized noise erupted. He slammed his hips forward, Zavian just kept his hand still as the Orc bashed against him. Each thrust came with a stream of cum that added to the growing mess that they made on each other. The intensity of their coupling kept their muscles tight and rigid. Neither moved for a short while as their cocks flexed and dribbled out their remaining loads.

Zavian felt a pain in his chest as he realized he had been holding his breath. He forced himself to breathe out and in to bring life sustaining air into his lungs. He could taste the musky odor of their sex, the smell of their sweat, their cum. It seeped deep into his being, the heat that radiated off of Burug, the chill of the damp fluids on his chest, the feeling of fulfillment. His afterglow pushed everything away, thoughts of his future, his magic, his purpose. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the here and now. Being here with Burug was his entire being. Speaking up he looked up into the panting face of his partner. His eyes were unfocused as he was shaking off the last part of his climax. A bit of drool came down from his lip. Eventually consciousness returned to his pupils and he looked down at Zavian, his afterglow showing in the giddy smile that plastered his face.

Burug bent down and light pressed his lips to Zavian’s forehead. The tender expression of a veritable maelstrom of emotions that the two had for each other. Zavian closed his eyes as the light pecks peppered his scales. They trailed off to the side of his head where Burug softly murmured.

“Fuck, Zavian Caymesh. You know how to show a bard a good time.”

“Dropped the alliteration, have you?”

“Sorry, must have cummed my brains out all over your chest. I’m sure it’ll regenerate by the morning. Until then, you’ll have to wait.” Zavian chuckled softly as the words tickled his ears.

“Don’t worry, Sleep is quickly taking me. I don’t think I’ll be talking for much longer tonight.”

“No better way to sleep than right after your balls have been emptied by an amazing partner.”

“Talking about me or yourself?” Zavian joked, turning his head slightly to look into his partner’s face. The answer was there plain to see. The golden pools of his eyes were trained on Zavian. A longing laid in them, a sense of vulnerability. His broad chest dipped down on to the Argonian’s as Burug’s limbs slid out, unable to support him anymore. The pleasant weight of the Orc returned to Zavian as he wrapped limb after limb around the mass above him, unwilling to let him go even as the veil of sleep was overtaking the both of them.

“You won’t.. You won’t leave me in the morning before I awake, will you?” Zavian asked, a stray fear gripping him as his eyes slid shut.

“Zavian, I’d much rather face the fury of all the Daedric Princes, the Divines, and all Deities forgotten and unknown than consider leaving you alone again.” The words comforted the sleepy Argonian who drifted to sleep, unable to to even question what Burug meant by “again”. His dreams were nebulous and formless and he floated calmly down deeper.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Burug bundled the dozing lizard in his arms, having readjusted so that he wouldn’t crush the tiny lizard. He pulled the thick comforter up and over the two of them, Zavian unconsciously nestled close to Burug’s chest as he slept. His tail twitched and flitted across the mattress. Burug smiled and considered how precious that was. How precious the Argonian that eased his loneliness was.

Burug had been alone for a long time. Back years ago, when he went by Burug the Bloody and commanded a powerful group of mercenaries. He was surrounded by wine, men, women, and song. He roared through his twenties, bashing and beating any one who dared to cross him, fucking anything he wanted. The time of his life, he was feared, respected, but never loved. As he hit his thirties, it began to feel.. hollow.

The victories weren’t as satisfying, the sex wasn’t as enjoyable, drink tasted like regret. He fell into rage and depression. He couldn’t figure out what was missing, Burug began to lash out at his companions and colleagues. Great and strong men and women who had been with Burug through some of the worst times and conflicts imaginable. And they turned on him almost instantly. They kicked him out of his troop with nothing more than his trusty hammer and the shirt on his back. The Orc wandered for years trying to find something more to his empty existence. A chance encounter with a wandering bard changed that. It awoke something in him, something that he hadn’t known before. Since that day he devoured any book he could find, any works of literature. He found that he didn’t have a sense of rhythm nor head for song. But words, words he could craft. Speeches and lyrics, playing with his audience, forming entire worlds out of the aether. Joy returned to his life, but not his heart.

He still wandered alone, without anyone by his side. His stature and strength which commanded power and respect before only turned others away in fear. His Orsimer brethren couldn’t understand him when he tried to describe the emptiness he felt from battle. He felt so disconnected still. All culminating in his journey to Solitude, where perhaps someone who shared in his love of words might be able to look past his visage. All culminating in his night here, in his meeting with Zavian.

Zavain was right, the way the Stormcloaks were behaving ignited a flame in his soul, a thirst for battle that he was never able to completely extinguish. They challenged him, and Burug was never going to deny a challenge. But a small, rather unassuming creature stepped between the warring parties. Burug remembered the touch of his palm. The shock as the spell took hold, he was able to identify it immediately. It was one he felt many times over during his time as a warrior. But with it came something else. A stray and wild memory.

A memory of a lonely Argonian, abandoned by his family, his people, the world for his power. His incredible strength in magic that was ever out of control. Wild magic surged from the young lizard without stop. He grew up alone, having to learn to fend for and take care of himself. Scared of himself and scared of his power. Burug did not know how Zavian went from that poor, lost, lonely child to the adult he was now but it didn’t matter. They both knew loneliness. They both knew what it was like to be cast off from others, to be abandoned. Burug had thought that it was a product of his imagination at first. But the more he interacted with the Argonian, the more he sure that it was something else, something real. And for the first time in many years, he felt that there was someone who might understand him, might relate to him. It awakened a different flame in his chest, a desire to protect, to treasure, to care for, to cherish.

Burug hadn’t known fear in a while, not as much as he did as when he whispered into Zavian’s ear asking him back to his room. He got a feeling from the other and he knew he needed to take the risk. And the rest is history. In the present, Zavian was nestled between Burug’s mighty arms. Safe and secure.

“I’ll protect you as long as I am able, Zavian Caymesh. As long as you’d have me.” He whispered to the sleeping form. Content to watch his lover sleep while the lights from the lanterns wicked out one by one.