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Olfssen pulled his cloak over himself. The icy winds sliced through him as if he wore nothing but his birthday suit. Each heavy breath let out a puff of steam from his lips. Winters in Skyrim were known throughout the land as the coldest of Nirn, but even for a true son of Skyrim, Olfssen buckled under the weight of the howling winds.
He looked up and saw the Throat of the World looming behind him. The tallest mountain in all of Tamriel, maybe even the world itself, perfectly divided the country in half. Olfssen could barely make out the sun setting beneath its peak, reminding him that he was on the eastern side of the mountain and close to his destination.
The nord felt for his satchel hanging off his side. Inside were important, coded documents, orders written by General Tullius himself for their spies in the Stormcloak city of Riften. Olfssen had one mission: to infiltrate the city undetected and deliver the message.
It seemed so trivial now that he was about to freeze to death.
Olfssen collapsed to his knees. His entire legs were swallowed up by the snow. He wasn’t even certain if he was following the road anymore. The last sign he saw was back in Ivarstead and he was certain that was miles behind him. In the great white haze of the blizzard, he can only see the faint outline of the Throat of the World be swallowed up in the storm. All was ice and snow. An empty landscape as barren as a blank canvas.
Olfssen cried out for help but his words were lost to the winds. He pushed himself to his feet, limbs cloaked in sleeves of snow, sapping what little heat he had. Olfssen reached for his amulet only to realize that it was not there. He had forsaken his amulet of Talos his father had given him the day he became a man. The Empire no longer worshiped Talos and their high elf ‘allies made sure that any heretical worship of the deity was swiftly punished. He had thrown the amulet down a well and no one was the wiser.
Olfssen choked on his own breath as if the air had frozen solid in his lungs. Was this his punishment for forsaking his faith? Was Talos himself punishing him for being weak? The man-made god, who climbed the seven thousand steps and etched his name into legend was a symbol all nords stride to be like. It was the pride of their homeland to be the birthplace of the Empire. Now that he was gone, their once great country was tearing itself apart.
Rumors of the Stormcloaks marching to Solitude were on the lips of every soldier on this side of the Throat. New soldiers that were stronger than anything the rebels had summoned before. Any battles ended with massive imperial losses. Theories were tossed around. Some think that the leader of the Stormcloaks, the mighty Ulfric, made a deal with the wizards at the College of Winterhold to imbue his men with their mystical power. If not for Ulfric’s seeming disdain for magic, Olfssen might have believed it to be true. Others believe that the rebels had hired mercenaries from across the world to bolster their forces. Oflssen wasn’t sure of that either. As a nord, he knows how prideful his people can be and in the battle for Skyrim’s soul he can’t fathom that the Stormcloaks would be willing to ask for help, even if they desperately needed it.
It had to be the work of the divines. There was no other way to explain it. Talos himself walked among the Stormcloaks, leading the rebels to victory.
Olfssen took a slow step forward and heard a soft crunch beneath his feet. Looking down, the snow was so thick that he wasn’t even touching the ground anymore. For all he knew, he was walking along the surface of Lake Honrich and was about to be plunged into its icy depths just a few short miles off of Riften’s port.
It would be a fitting end for one such as him. Lost and forgotten just as his god would be in the eyes of the Empire. Olfssen closed his eyes and thought of home. The distant memory of the sun shining on his face. The great plains in which he played with his brothers and sisters. He clung to those memories and prepared himself for the end. A nord’s final thoughts should be of home.
Olfssen’s eyes shot open. His heart pounded like a war drum. All sense, all capacity for possibilities and consequences had left him. He broke into a sprint, dragging his soaked boots through the snow, ranting and raving like a madman. Better to be captured and tortured by the rebels than to die in the snow.
Olfssen clasped his hands together and a small flame burned in his palm. Without any viable fuel, he had no chance of starting a fire but he could make himself seen.
He held his hand above his head and let loose a pillar of fire high in the air. As quickly as he had summoned it, the flame died out producing little more than a meek flash of light.
Sapped of any strength he had left, Olfseen collapsed face first in the snow.
“Talos… forgive me…” He muttered one final prayer as the snow shrouded his vision in endless white.
The crunching of snow beneath boots. Heavy footfalls grew louder even as the storm lashed out with its winds.
“I saw it here!” A deep, gravelly voice shouted over the storm. “Something shot fire into the sky! I know I saw it!”
“Sister, we’re low on potions! We need to turn back or we’ll freeze! We’ll barely make it back to Riften as we are!” Another, slightly lighter but equally rough voice shouted. Olfssen didn’t recognize the accents. He only knew that no man could have such a voice.
Something kicked Olfssen in his side and then a pair of hands grabbed his waist and lifted him up. His savor’s sharp, pointed claws dug into his side, but not enough to break the skin.
“Ha! I knew it! You owe me a drink for that, sister! You’re not the only one that can find lost things!” The first voice let out a hearty laugh as if achieving victory in a friendly game.
“By the hist, Ja-Zura! Look at him!” The second voice spoke with genuine concern. A pair of scaly hands slid over Olfssen’s cheeks. “He’s freezing! We have to return to the city at once!”
“I’ll race you there!” Ja-Zura smiled, bearing her sharp, dagger teeth.
It was unmistakable who Olfssen’s saviors were. They were argonians. The mighty reptilian people of Black Marsh. But what were they doing here this far north and in the midst of a blizzard, no less?
Ja-Zura tucked Olfssen under her arm and sprinted out into the snow with her sister not too far behind. Olfssen couldn’t get the best look at the lizard folk, only that the one carrying him was considerably larger than the other. She shook the ground with each heavy stomp, sending a cloud of snow with every step. She dashed across the winter white with the ease of a pebble tossed across the lake’s surface.
“Here, skinny. Take this!’ Ja-Zura held a bottle in front of Olfssen’s face. Olfssen reached out, weakly clasping the bottle in his hand and bringing it to his lips. It tasted like frost salts and moon sugar, leaving an overstimulating buzz as the thick potion crawled down his throat.
Suddenly, the chill was gone and Olfssen blinked as a sudden rush of warmth filled his whole body. He let out a cough, finally able to breathe comfortably once again.
“A little potion of frost resistance sure does clear your senses! Don’t worry, skinny! We’ll get you somewhere nice and warm!” The argonian barbarian hollered, pumping her fists in the air in victory over the storm.
It wasn’t long before the trio were standing at Riften’s gates. But something was off. There were no nords guarding the entrance to the city, instead there were two mean looking argonians wearing the heavy tunics of the guards save for the helmet. The guards nodded to Ja-Zura and opened the gate without a word.
Within the walls of Riften the storm seemed far away. The air, while still carrying a fierce chill, was manageable and almost comforting to Olfssen. It reminded him of the gentle winters he had spent with his family throughout his childhood.
The city itself wasn’t much to look at. It could be generously described as a massive slum with a large portion of its citizens pushed to live in the frozen canals. The buildings above were a bit grander, if only a little to hovels below. They were tightly packed, with winding alleyways that tempted tourists with a free knife in the back. Riften was never the richest city. Olfssen even heard rumors that the fiendish Thieves Guild operates somewhere in the area. The thought made him tug his satchel ever closer to himself.
“Ough.” Olfssen coughed again. His senses steadily return to him. His legs ached from the running. His fingers were numb from the cold and despite drinking a potion his body still shivered terribly.
He at least got a better look at his saviors. The one currently holding him, the argonian named Ja-Zura, was a behemoth of a woman. Red scales with a tuft of green feathers beneath the hood of her cloak. Olfssen could see a pair of horns sprouting from the top of her head, curving back like the durable horns of a mighty mountain goat.
She could have been a tall goblin for all Olfssen cared. She saved him. If not for her, then Olfssen would have surely froze to death and forgotten right at the moment he said his prayer.
The revelation struck him like a greatsword to the face. Had Talos heard his prayer? Had the Divines spared him from certain doom in the form of a luscious exotic warrior of Black Marsh? Olfssen wasn’t certain, but he wasn’t against the idea. He had heard stranger tales of the manners in which the Divines enact their will, this was simply the first he had personally experienced.
The other was a small, pudgier lizard with scales of deep purple. She pushed through the front gates huffing and puffing. A steady cloud of steam poured from her mouth as the out of shape argonian fought to catch her breath.
“How is he doing?” She asked, reaching for a bottle on her belt and downing in a few greedy gulps.
Ja-Zura looked down at the nord tucked beneath her arms. “He’s getting warmer. Why don’t you light a fire for us, oh, Waves-Her-Hands.”
Waves-Her-Hands rolled her eyes. “Or we can go to the inn.”
“Aw, but lighting stuff on fire is more fun! What’s the point of having magic if you’re not going to use them?”
“You of all people should know that I take the responsibility of magic seriously! I will not squander my gift on cheap thrills and conveniences while we have alternatives.”
Now it was Ja-Zura’s turn to roll her eyes. She pulled Olfssen up to her chest, carrying him in a bridal carry against her. “You’re no fun. Come on, skinny. Let’s warm you up.”
The Bee and Barb inn wasn’t the cleanest inn in Skyrim, nor was it the most pleasant smelling with the stink of the canal seeping up from the floorboards, but it had a burning hearth and thus Olfssen felt as though he had been carried to Sovngarde in the arms of a beautiful warrior.
Ja-Zura sat him down and pulled up a seat beside him, with Waves-Her-Hands needing an extra seat to herself to hold her considerable girth. Her cheeks flushed red as she pushed two chairs together. The wood beneath both lizards groaned as they slumped in their seats. Olfssen suddenly felt small between the two.
“Three of your finest meads! And I mean the good stuff!” Ja-Zura hollered at the green argonian sweeping the floors. He grumbles something to himself and heads to the bar who was also being worked on by an argonian.
Olfssen looked around. Most of the patrons here were argonians. There was hardly a nord in sight. The few that were were wrapped in the arms of their scaly patrons, laughing and drinking in celebration of something Olfssen wasn’t aware of.
Their meads arrived quickly. The label “Honeybrew” was printed in big bold letters on the bottles. Olfssen reached for his while Ja-Zura grabbed the other two. With a swift bite, she popped out the corks and poured both bottles into her open maw, chugging them viciously. If Waves-Her-Hands was bothered by having her drink stolen, she didn’t show it.
“Sir, you haven’t told us your name.” The purple lizard spoke in a soft, but rough voice that appeared to be a staple of her people.
“Olfssen. Olfssen Frostfire.” Olfssen took a sip of his drink. The honeyed mead soothed his throat and warmed his belly. He could feel the sensation returning to his fingers by the minute.
“Heh, Frostfire. You nords have funny names!” Ja-Zura chuckled, before slamming the two bottles down. “Hey Keevy! Two more meads! On the double!”
“You’re lucky you pay your tab! That’s more than I can say for most of these riff raff!” The pale scaled bartender glared at her patrons. Every customer quickly averted their gaze from the mistress of the inn.
“Don’t be too hard on them, Keevy! They mean well! Like this brave soul, right here!” Ja-Zura wrapped her arm around Olfssen’s shoulder, smushing his face against the barbarian’s soft muscles. “We found this handsome lad out freezing his nonexistent tail in the snow! And guess what? He blasts a giant fireball to get our attention! Really earning the name Frostfire, aren’t ya, skinny?”
Olfssen blushed at being called handsome. He swallowed the spit in his mouth and spoke. “Y-yea. My family has a history with magic.”
“You’re a mage too? A proper one?” Waves-Her-Hands slit eyes softened to dark green orbs.
“Yep! All the men in my family study fire magic while all my sisters study frost. Hence the name Frostfire.”
“Hmm~ Means you men are all nice and warm~” Ja-Zura slowly licked her lips as her next set of drinks arrived. Just like the last ones, the crimson argonian gulped these down just as quickly with no signs of slowing down. Olfssen had never seen another nord, let alone an argonian drink as much as her. She was sucking down bottle after bottle like she hadn’t had a drop to drink in days. He was transfixed by her endurance. A true warrior both in heart and in stomach.
“Did you study at the college?” Asked Waves-Her-Hands. The pudgy argonian silently waved over to the green scaled waiter. He nodded, walked to the bar to retrieve a cheese wheel and brought it to their table. “I haven’t had a chance to visit it yet. Is it as good as they say?” Waves-Her-Hands cut a slice of the cheese wheel and took a large bite of it.
Olfssen shrugged. “I… don’t know. I enlisted before I had the chance to attend school.”
The two argonians fell silent, eyes wide wight a mix of fright and what Olfssen could discern as pity. Ja-Zura set down her drinks and hugged the skinny nord, smushing his head against the welcoming curve of her breasts.
“You poor poor thing.” She whispered in his ear, holding Olfssen like a child would hold their favorite toy.
Waves-Her-Hands patted his arm. “We’ve heard stories about the war. We didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”
“Cute boys like you shouldn’t be fighting for the Stormcloaks.” Ja-Zura spoke with a slight slur. The heavy scent of her breath told Olfssen that the mead she just had were not the only drinks she had devoured that day. “You better stick with me, handsome. Can’t have you wandering off in the cold again.”
Olfssen’s heart skipped a beat. He had just announced he was a soldier deep in enemy territory to two complete strangers. But there’s no way they could be Stormcloaks, surely. The prideful nords would never allow it.
“Um… of course! Lucky for me, I don’t believe I’ll be leaving the city anytime soon.”
“You got that right!” Hollered Ja-Zura. “You’re staying right next to me, magic man!” She scooped Olfssen out of his chair, seating him firmly in her lap. The large argonian rested her head on top of his, loudly humming her satisfaction to all that would hear it. Olfssen saw a few argonians glare at the barbarian with considerable envy, before downing their drinks and returning to their business.
Olfssen found himself leaning up against the barbarian’s chest. Her breasts made for the perfect pillows to lie back on. He felt dwarfed by her presence, but he never felt safer. The outside world couldn’t touch him as long as he was in Ja-Zura’s grasp. The warrior that fought through the lethal cold just for him and downed more drinks like a true nord would. Despite being born on the other side of the continent, Olfssen knew he was in the presence of a kindred spirit. A nord at heart despite her scales.
“Forgive my sister, she often overindulges herself. Do you mind helping me bring her to our room?” Waves-Her-Hands requested as she scarfed down the last of the cheese wheel. Olfssen was too distracted with all the physical affection he had been receiving to notice that the pudgy lizard had decimated her meal.
“Sure. It’s the least I can do.” Olfssen tucked himself under Ja-Zura’s arm while Waves-Her-Hands grabbed the other. Together the trio climbed the stairs up to the Bee and Barb’s modest guest rooms. The doors were concerningly packed together. Olfssen questioned if the crimson behemoth he was carrying could even squeeze through the door let alone fit in the room.
Ja-Zura squeezed Olfssen closer to her. “You’re much warmer in here than you were out there~” She smiled. Her red cheeks flushed a shade deeper. The smell of honey and mead whiffed from her breath.
She squinted at him, trying to put the words to the thoughts bouncing around her brain. “Why was a soldier like you out in the snow by yourself?”
“Um…” Olfssen swallowed.
“Yes, I’d like to know that too, if you don’t mind, Olfssen. We’ll have to report your rescue to our chieftess.”
“Chieftess?”
“Our Chieftess!” Ja-Zura cheered. “Thickest leatherhide in Black Marsh! Ah, it was her idea to come up here and help you smoothskins clean up this whole mess you got yourselves in! But they never told me I’d be saving damsels in distress like you, Frostfire!”
Ja-Zura hugged Olfssen tighter, leaning more of her weight onto him. The nord fought to stay up right as much as he could, his face sandwiched between the lizard’s biceps and breasts. Waves-Her-Hands did her best to aid him, but it was a losing battle.
Ja-Zura tumbled down to the ground, taking Olfssen with her. The giant lizard crashed on top of Olfssen, pinning the small nord against her bulky, muscular frame. Her breasts cradled his neck, while her soft body smothered the rest of him like a giant, heavy blanket.
Ja-Zura’s nostrils flared. “By the nine, you’re warm. Way better than those potions.” She nuzzled her snout in between Olfssen’s shoulder and neck.
“Ah! I’m sorry! Forgive my sister! She’s drunk!” Waves-Her-Hands grabbed Ja-Zura to pull her up, but the massive argonian only squeezed Olfssen tighter.
“Go away… can’t you see we’re sleeping…?” Ja-Zura whacked her sister with the tip of her tail.
“Sister, you are embarrassing yourself! This is like Vardenafil all over again!”
“Those dunmer wouldn’t know a good time if it punched them in the face! Never did like those pointy-eared pricks.” Ja-Zura ran her finger over the edge of Olfssen’s ears as if discerning if he was secretly the world’s palest elf.
Her warm breath blew on his face, warming his still thawing cheeks. Olfssen’s own warmth was clearly doing something for his savior. Ja-Zura held him with an affirming touch, like he was precious cargo delivered straight into her arms. His body heat seeped into her, warming the two of them up together. The blizzard couldn’t be furthest from their minds.
With that little distraction, Waves-Her-Hands managed to get Ja-Zura up to her feet with practiced discipline. “I do apologize, Mr. Frostfire. My sister is not yet used to your nordic customs.”
Olfssen wanted to say that getting drunk and getting overly familiar with a stranger while drunk was a time-honored nordic tradition, but didn’t feel the need to stumble over Waves-Her-Hands’ apology. He found it oddly comforting to be in Ja-Zura’s embrace. His recycled warmth was one that he was reluctant to leave now that he had almost parished without it.
“I love nord customs! They make the best drinks! Nothing sweeter than honeybrew mead! Not like that swill the Blackbriars serve. Disgusting!” Ja-Zura stuck out her tongue in disgust and in an impressive feat of drunkenness, forgot to put it away. She turned to Olfssen, dragging the long, pointed organ across his face. Her spit was wet and warm, smelling overwhelmingly of honey.
The barbarian licked a tuff of Olfssen’s hair and smiled. “Hmmm, you don’t taste too bad, cutie. Is it true that they say blond nords are made of honey? Because you’re just so sweet~”
“Me? You’re the sweet one. I would have froze to death if it weren’t for you two.” Olfssen said as he helped thread Ja-Zura through the door to her room. The bedroom was as small as Olfssen figured they would be. The walls closed in around them, barely enough room for Olfssen to squeeze in with Ja-Zura taking up most of the space. With the help of his fellow mage, they managed to lay Ja-Zura down in the bed that was barely too small for her. Her legs hung over the edges, like an adult trying to sleep on a child’s mattress.
The effort left Olfssen winded. Waves-Her-Hands handed him a small green bottle.
“Stamina potion. It’s what I use to keep up with this one.”
Olfssen quickly took a hearty sip and the fatigue left him.
“Thank you.” He said, handing the bottle back to her.
“Keep it. I have plenty for myself.”
Olfssen tucked the bottle in his satchel, right beside the secret orders he had been sent to deliver.
“You said you were a soldier. What captain did you serve under?”
Olfssen froze at the question. His mind was empty of answers. He had nothing. Nothing to sell the lie that he was Stormcloak and not an imperial spy deep behind enemy lines. There would be no rescue if he was caught. Even if the blizzard were to part this very instant, he was too deep for a proper platoon of soldiers to invade the city and rescue a measly courier.
“What business is it of yours or your chieftess on which captain I serve?” Asked Olfssen, contemplating if he can outrun the pudgy argonian should the need arise.
“Just a formality. There are still men missing out there. The arrival of the storm complicated matters. That’s why me and my sister were out there.”
“You were conducting a search and rescue? But for what purpose?”
“Is it enough to say because we could? As I said, the conditions of the war traveled far. When our chieftess heard of troubles your people faced, we journeyed all the way from Black Marsh to lend our aid.” Waves-Her-Hands gazed out the window. Snowflakes pelted the glass before quickly melting as another snowflake eagerly took its place. “It wasn’t too long ago that our people pushed back the forces of Oblivion back through their demonic gates while the rest of Tamriel was just barely hanging on. It put some things in perspective for us. While I will always call Black Marsh home, I can’t sit idly by and allow more strife to stain this beautiful land you have.”
Waves-Her-Hands pulled the hood of her robe down. A small silver circlet was wrapped around her head. The emerald jewels embedded in the pristine metal glowed with magical energy, like fireflies were dancing within the gemstones.
“When the storm clears, would you like to accompany me to the College, Mr. Frostfire?”
“You want me to go to the College of Winterhold? With you?”
“I do. You might not think much of it, but in your state it must have taken considerable strength and will to cast that fireball. A lesser mage wouldn’t have been able to summon a spark. I think you have talent and it would be remiss of me to allow such talent wasted on something as trivial as war.”
A chance to go to the College. To learn real magic with real mages. No more scraping the leftovers of the town court mage or running dangerous errands for the General for his magical talents. He would be able to bring pride to the name Frostfire once again.
“Yes! Yes I would!” Olfssen grabbed Waves-Her-Hands’ hand, his fingers sank into the softness of her grip. It wasn’t too different from Ja-Zura’s. “Thank you for this opportunity!”
“Considerate thanks for putting up with my sister. She struggles to remain as composed as I.”
“It was nothing. Your sister is wonderful company.”
“First time I heard someone say that. You nords really are something else.”
“Something good, I hope.”
“Better than good. Something wonderful.” The lizard mage smiled. “I should go. I’m sure the next search party will need some potions of the cold. You have a good day, Mr. Frostfire.”
“Please, call me Olfssen.”
“You have a good day, Olfssen. I look forward to studying with you in the near future.” Waves-Her-Hands plodded downstairs and out the door. A brief chill cut through Olfssen, reminding him of the furious cold that roamed the outside. He stepped back allowing the warmth of the inn to fill him and soon the frost was a distant memory.
“Ugh…” Ja-Zura tossed and turned in her bed. “Close the door! It’s too cold in this ramshack of an inn…” She groaned. She reached down to the floor, searching the blanket that fell just out of her reach.
Olfssen slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Better?” He asked.
Ja-Zura began to settle.
“Much better.” Her tail stretched outward, the tip sweeping the floor looking for something. When the scaly appendage touched Olfssen’s ankle, she seized it wrapping her tail around his leg.
“You’re not doing anything important today.” She said more as a declaration.
“I guess I’m not.” Said Olfssen, following the tail to its source as it pulled him closer.
“Come here.” Ja-Zura held her arms out, ready to embrace him. “Come one, I’m not going to do anything. I just want to make sure the cute smoothskin I saved stays nice and warm.”
Nothing looked more welcoming to Olfssen at that very moment. A beautiful warrior asking him to spend the night with her? It was a scene out of a fairytale. With the phantom chill of the blizzard still haunting him, Olfseen slipped inside, surrendering to the woman that saved his life.
“You got warm hands~” A low rumble rose in Ja-Zura’s throat. She wrapped her arms around Olfssen, pulling him into her plush side. Her strong muscles held him close, as if some unseen force would pull him away unless she squeezed him tight. “You’re staying right here with me, skinny.” She whispered, letting her intentions be known.
Olfssen looked down at his satchel. The messages inside were still tucked away safely. The spies would be waiting for him to drop them at the designated spot. The winds bashed against the window and a sudden chill overcame Olfssen.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’m all yours for the day.” He said, letting himself sink into the mattress with his savior on top of him.
“Good. A handsome man like you shouldn’t be out in the cold.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
“Hmm.” Ja-Zura nodded, brushing her cheek against his. “All you nords talk a big game but you’re all warm softies once I get a hold of you. You’re the only one that didn’t give me that ‘sons of Skyrim’ skeever shit.”
“Isn’t that the motto of the Stormcloaks?” Olfssen curiously asked. He still wasn’t sure where her allegiances lied, but something told him that he wouldn’t care no matter what she said. This mission would be his last. He could already picture himself in the great library of the College, pouring over ancient tombs and learning spells with the best and brightest in all of Skyrim.
“It was, but once our chieftess seized the city, we put you smoothskins in your place. And your place is right here ~” Ja-Zura pulled Olfssen under her, cuddling him against her soft scales. With a flick of her tail, she draped a blanket over them, swaddling them in their shared warmth. “Nothing will hurt you now that I’m here, Olfssen. I’ll keep a good man like you safe.”
Olfssen didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go out for another second alone in the cold. He was content to stay here with this exotic woman from distant lands who saved his life. Talos himself had sent her to save him and for that he was eternally grateful. He was already planning on returning to the drinking well of his hometown and fishing the amulet out. If the Divine are kind it would still be there. He promised to never take it off. He’d preach the glory of Talos, consequences be damned. He was a son of Skyrim and he would never forsake his traditions again.
Olfssen’s mind caught up with him as the gravity of what Ja-Zura had said hit him like a runaway carriage.
“Wait? Seized what now?”