Love and Nightshade Ch. 01

"Khajiit woman. I am truly sorry." She looked into his sympathetic eyes, and felt a sense of respect for him. He was apologizing even as blood began to trickle from his mouth.

"Tell that to your people in the after-world." She murmured quietly, and watched as he fell to the floor.

Ralof whooped and ran over, snatching a key ring from the Imperial so they could open the door and escape. Xiomara followed him through winding tunnels and to the torture room where they aided a couple of Stormcloak's as they fought the torture master and his bookie.

Xiomara made herself busy with snagging and looting whatever gold and valuables she could find before the group carried on. On an end table she found a tattered book titled 'the Dragonborne', and snagged it as well, thinking it could perhaps shed some light on the dragon which was currently pillaging the town. It seemed an eternity before they finally reached the end of the keep and emerged outside, having dodged cave-ins and other Imperial's trying to escape.

There was no sign of the dragon when they emerged, and the two other stormcloak's took off in search of other survivors of their kind. Ralof turned to her.

"Why don't you come with me? My sister lives in Riverwood just a ways from here. She can get us cleaned up until we figure out our next move."

"Our next move?" Xiomara asked tiredly.

"Well. That's up to you. You might think about joining up with the Stormcloak's. You're not much for battle right now, but we'd get you on score." He offered a smile and turned to leave. "Are you coming?"

Deciding that she didn't want to stick around for the dragon to come back, she followed the man and they began their trek to the town of Riverwood as the sun started to set behind the voluminous mountains of Skyrim. Xiomara thought to herself of the badlands of Elsweyr, and how the mountains there did not seem so ominous. She resolved to find a way to return to Elsweyr and her sprawling ranch home, and damn this silly nord nation once and for all; but first, she would slit the throat of the Imperial trash that had done this to her.

**

The duo made the trek to Riverwood relatively unscathed, aside from a light skirmish with a pair of wolves. Xiomara met Ralof's sister and brother in law, and their son who looked up at his uncle with moon-eyes. The cat smiled inwardly at this; mainly at the boy's enthusiasm for warrior-hood and not for any particular affinity of children.

The family offered the both a place to stay, but Xiomara politely refused. Despite this, they offered the key to their home and told her to take what supplies she needed, and to wash up with the kettle they had boiling on their hearth. Ralof escorted her to the home and had the good grace to leave the little cabin as Xiomara gladly washed up; taking special care to scrub the blood from her tightly spiraled, blazing orange ringlets, where the Imperial had cracked her in the skull. She said her good-bye's to the family and they pointed her in the direction of the Riverwood Inn; Ralof pressed a septim into her palm before she left.

"Remember what I said, lass. The Stormcloak's are always looking for people to join our cause." He met her eyes steadily. "You may be petite, but I saw the blood lust in your eyes at Helgen. I fear for any who cross you."

She nodded at this, offered her thanks once more, and padded toward the Inn. The sky had darkened by now, and stars twinkled brightly in the sky. Xiomara admired the view for a few moments before taking a deep breath and pushing open the door of the Inn.

Inside, a bard played a soft tune on a lute, while a spattering of patrons sat on either side at tables lined against the wall. A large hearth sat spitting fire and embers and heat in the middle of the room. Xiomara approached the counter at the opposite end of the room, her gaze meeting that of the man tending the bar. He was handsome, with long ruddy brown hair and a square jaw line; his build was stout and firm, like those who spend their days toiling over firewood and livestock. He kept his gaze on her, even as a blonde woman, the proprietor from the sounds of it, barked at him from a few feet away.

"Orgnar! Did you hear me?" The man's spell broke and he turned to the woman.

"Yeah, sorry. You need me to re-stock the mead barrels. Gotcha." His voice was deep and strained.

"Good, then you don't have potatoes in your ears." She quipped, and turned on heel to greet her new visitor. "Welcome to the Sleeping Giant, what'll ya have?" She asked the cat with a stoic expression.

"I need a room." Xiomara replied, offering the septim that Ralof had given her.

The blonde eyed it, plucked it out of the Khajiit's palm and dropped it into her skirt pocket.

"This way, please." Xiomara followed her to a small room on the left. "Name's Delphine. I run this joint. If you need anything ask me, or Orgnar the oaf out there."

Xiomara nodded and smiled politely at Delphine until she left the room, then closed the door behind her and fell into the bed, suddenly feeling as heavy as a bushel of stones. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she woke with a start, and jolted out of the bed and through the door. The Inn was mostly dark except for the hearth, which had quieted its flames after the last of the patrons had either retired or gone home.

A door opened beside her and the man named Orgnar appeared. "Something wrong?"

"I...I just needed something to drink, is all." Xiomara offered plaintively.

"Ahh, well, you've come to the right spot." Orgnar walked past her to the counter and produced two mugs which he began filling with mead. He scooted one across the counter toward her.

"Did I wake you?" She asked quietly, not wanting to awaken the other patrons or the proprietor.

"Nah. I'm usually awake until pretty late. Sometimes people wander in here at the strangest hours." He took a swig of his mead. "What brings you to Riverwood, if you don't mind my asking?"

Xiomara sat at the counter and took a sip of the mead. Oh, how she would have killed to have a sip of Skooma at that moment.

"I came from Helgen." She murmured.

Orgnar nearly spit his drink. "Helgen!" He rasped. "Where the dragon attacked?" Xiomara nodded. "By the gods...." She looked at him and he shook his head. "Well, at least someone survived. Riverwood's in danger now, because of that dragon." He leaned in, his voice deep. "You should go to Whiterun and inform the Jarl. Riverwood could use some more muscle around here in case things go sour."

Xiomara released a breath and took a long drink.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Orgnar eyed her. "The Jarl won't care about your past." He offered, obviously included in some Skyrim knowledge that she was unaware of.

"What do you mean?" She hissed softly.

"Helgen is...well, was...The execution capital. You're obviously not in the war or you wouldn't be sitting here with me. That means you're some kind of criminal."

She snorted. "I was framed."

"That's what they all say." Orgnar retorted. "In any case, you couldn't have been that dastardly a criminal...or maybe you are. But, either way, you're here now, and you have valuable knowledge that could help all of Skyrim." He stared intently at her.

She matched him. "Why should I care for Skyrim? I've been in this land no more than a day and look at what's happened."

"You don't have to care...But, I think, somewhere inside of you, you do."

And then he was silent for a long while, sipping on his mead.

"Is there anything to eat?" Xiomara questioned at long last, rooting around in her satchel for some of the pilfered gold.

"Put that away." Orgnar scolded and pulled out some dried meats. "You're clearly famished. It's on the house."

Xiomara looked up at him, accepted the meats, and devoured them with little grace. When she was finished she took a long swig of her mead and stood.

"I appreciate your hospitality."

"Just remember that not all of us nords are pea-brained goliaths. No matter how much our bosses might like to think it's true."

Xiomara smiled at him. "Is there any way I could talk you out of another mug?" She scooted her mug closer and he re-filled hers and his own.

"What's your name, anyway?" He asked.

"La'Xiomara." She replied.

"And I suppose you already know mine." Xiomara grinned and nodded. "Anything else you need?" Orgnar questioned genuinely.

The Khajiit nibbled her lip glanced down to his chest and trailed back up to his eyes. "Just one thing." She purred, and turned toward her room.

She took the few steps to her rented doorway and turned back at him, raising a brow. Orgnar blushed, finishing off the dregs of his mead and followed. Once inside the room, Xiomara pushed the door closed and inched his back against the wall, purring and nuzzling his neck. The broad bar keeper awkwardly placed his hands on her hips, craning his head back as her course tongue lavished his flesh.

"I, uh...you know, I've never been with, uh-"

"A Khajiit?" She whispered with mild annoyance.

"Well," He swallowed. "I was going to say as beautiful a woman as you, but that's true as well, I suppose." Orgnar looked down at her, and found her blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I see." She purred and resumed her administrations upon his neck.

Xiomara snaked one hand around his neck as the other trailed slowly down his chest and to the top of his pants. She slipped a finger into his waistline and he tensed at the sensation. Her tongue continued a voyage down his neck to his clavicle, lavishing him greedily. He groaned through gritted teeth, lolling his head back once more as she began lifting his tunic and journeying across his broad chest and hard nipples. The Khajiit continued her trek down his sculpted abdomen and hovered at his chiseled hips.

Slowly, she inched his pants down as he held up his tunic, looking down at her intently. Xiomara glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as she let his pants fall to his ankles. His member sprung from the cloth, bouncing before her temptingly. She wrapped a hand around the staff and pumped it a few times before daintily lapping at his ballsacs. He hissed and groaned, bucking his hips forward under her administrations; she purred steadily upon him.

"Alright." He moaned to her finally, as her teasing began to rise. "Enough of this."

Orgnar stopped her and helped her to her feet before kicking off his boots and guiding her toward the bed with his lips and hands. He found it easier to kiss her than imagined, and once he discovered how to maneuver around her sharp teeth it became thoroughly enjoyable. His hands ran over her silken dread-locks and over her neck, enjoying the supple feeling of her velvety fur. He stopped at her breasts and looked down as he removed her tunic; he didn't want to miss a moment of this glorious opportunity. Her breasts were a magnificent thing of beauty; his palms could not cover the whole of them, and they were soft and pliable. He ran his thumbs over the pink flesh, his fingers kneading her mounds with great care.

The nord bent to taste her and swirled his tongue about the nubbins lavishly. She let out a satisfied moan and arched her back, giving him free access to as much as he desired. He pressed his face between her supple breasts and moaned with raspy delight. After Orgnar had filled himself on her chest for the time being, he began ascending lower and inched her pants off her defined hips. He looked up at her; she was panting with excitement, her eyes closed and head rolled back. Her knees were together, feet still in the air from aiding his removal of her pants; gently he ran his hands up her silken, long legs and pried them apart, revealing a tender, glistening pink entrance.

He moaned softly and spread her further, dipping his face into her essence. The nords tongue circled and swayed against her clitoris and slit; Xiomara grabbed the pillow from the top of the bed and pressed it against her face to muffle her cries of ecstasy. The Imperial at the caravan had left a painful ache in her, and with everything that had occurred in the last couple of days, her steam was ready to blow. Orgnar worked her dutifully, enjoying the sweet taste of her womanhood before slipping two fingers inside her. She panted and writhed on the bed, finally throwing the pillow to the side and grasping her breasts with heated gasps.

"Ugh...Nord....Fuck me." She rasped at him.

No sooner had she uttered the words than he was upon her, his tongue thrust into her mouth and his manhood at her entrance. She grasped his back, taking care not to gouge him too deeply with her sharp claws, and urged him on. Orgnar plummeted his cock inside her dripping snatch, and groaned at the excursion, pumping slowly and deeply. Xiomara urged him further, moaning throatily into his shoulder. He kissed her and nudged her head back so that he could suckle once more from her breasts as he continued thrusting inside her. She was panting and wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper as he increased his intensity.

"Yes..." She hissed. "Yes, that's it. Just like that."

He groaned against her breasts and continued as she steadily climbed to that pinnacle of ecstasy. Heat rose from her hips to her cheeks and back down to her toes, which curled behind him as she cried out, forgetting herself and digging her claws into the flesh of his back. Blood trickled from the puncture's, but this only intensified Orgnar's lust as he felt her womanhood clamp down on his member from the pique of orgasm. He buried his face in her neck and groaned with satisfaction as he crammed his cock to the hilt and filled her with his hot essence.

Orgnar remained there for a moment, panting, his balls still quivering from exertion; the Khajiit was purring softly, her eyes closed with serenity. He lifted himself above her on his elbows and peered upon her face. Of course, he had immediately noticed the exotic woman when she had entered the Inn earlier that night, but he'd had no other chance to study her intimately since.

Her eyes were large and rounded, with lashes long and glimmering; her nose was as black as the spots and speckles that adorned her, as were her ample, pout-y lips. She was graced with a long and slender neck, a petite figure, and lightly toned musculature; the spots trailed all over he body.

Orgnar felt eyes upon him and looked up. Xiomara was peering at him behind tired eyes, and he sheepishly grinned.

"Orgnar!" Orgnar dropped his head onto her shoulder and heaved a sigh, as he heard his boss calling.

"It must be morning." He murmured against her and made to get up.

Xiomara did not stop him, and languished in the bed.

"Hey, I had a nice time." Orgnar directed at the Khajiit as he slipped his pants and boots on. "I hope you're not too embarrassed by my walking out of your room this morning."

The cat laughed graciously.

"I do nothing that embarrasses me." She remarked, staring at him plainly.

He smiled at that and lifted his shirt over his head.

"Well I'm going to have a hell of a good day to that." He replied, pulling the tunic down over his broad chest and smoothing it into place.

"As will this one." Xiomara purred sweetly. "But, before you go, I must ask. Where is Elsweyr from here?"

Orgnar chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment.

"Honestly, I'm not sure." He responded apologetically. "But, I hear there's a Khajiit caravan heading toward Whiterun. You may be able to catch them there."

Xiomara smirked. "You are cleverer than they credit you. Thank-you, Orgnar. For everything." She gave him a final once over for good measure and he blushed, smiled at her, then left with a nod; Xiomara could hear Delphine's admonishments from outside the door, but couldn't care. Orgnar, clearly, was used to taking a thrashing from the proprietor, and it was not Xiomara's fight.

She sighed satisfactorily and dropped her head to her pillow, content to rest the day away before leaving for Whiterun. How clever he was, she mused before drifting off to sleep, to get her to Whiterun in that way; she supposed it was Orgnar's hope that she would visit the Jarl with word of Helgen and Riverwood.

Xiomara hoped the caravan would be there when she arrived, and that Orgnar had been truthful. If he had been, she would consider speaking with Jarl, she decided. If he had lied, however...

She would slit his lovely throat.