Just caught up with this. Great so far!

I thought it was harsh on Samara to be ditched by Alda, but hey, can't mess with destiny. At least she found a new 'friend' in Blanche.

Blanche obviously isn't experienced in combat, regardless of her arcane skills. Shakh on the other hand was quite the warrior. Typical orc, I guess.

I liked the way you gave a bit of life to the bandit Blanche healed. Usually bandits are just "snaggletoothed ruffians with hive-minds!". The life of a bandit can't be that great though, even if you love killing that much.

Yes, too bad that Samara lost Alda, but I’m glad she has found a new friend in Blanche. The thief, healy-mage and orc muscle made for a fun team in search of Welkynd stones.

Oooh, you did bring this here from the FF site! I did try to post a comment there, but it never showed up! Maybe you have to be signed in to comment there, and I can’t remember my password on that site. So glad to see you posted it here too!

Like Burnt said on the FF – LOVED the Ravaging Jak dialogue!!! That had me rolling! Also as Burnt said - SO glad to see you back writing!

[she slid into the seat next to Samara and opened her book. She pointed without looking at the passage].

"Read this."


Samara leaned over. "I gasped softly as he caressed my inner thigh- Blanche, what in the hells?!"
[She found the passage she had meant to show Samara and pointed].

"I can't read." Samara said.

ROFL!!! Samara won’t read unless the text is X-rated, ROFL! My kind of girl, lol.




The introduction of Suleen was very interesting! (as was the not quite unexpected scene between Blanche and Samara) Great Write !!!

Oh good, you found it

Oh, nuts, I didn't realise this was here!!

That's what I get for not being around....

Right, off to read!

I had been updating this story elsewhere, but didn't get very far, so here's a chapter right now.

last time: Samara and Blanche did it. They had the sex. We also got a taste of blanche's compassion towards others as she saved a bandit.

This time: Well that honeymoon phase didn't last long.

---

The weeks passed by in a blur after they got back from Hrotunda Vale. Blanche spent whatever time she had free with Samara, who spent her free time in bed with Blanche. The time between afternoon and dusk was bliss for the two women, who spent their time exploring new things and enjoying their discoveries. One such pleasing discovery for Blanche was that Samara was actually talented at Illusion and Destruction magic. Blanche was determined to expand Samara’s skill, and gave her lessons whenever the two of them came up for air.

“I don’t want to get up,” Samara yawned one afternoon. Blanche rubbed the area above Samara’s navel gently with her fingers, tracing the intricate and colorful tattoo that wound its way under her breasts. Blanche traced the leaves of the green vine on Samara’s skin as if she were drawing it out herself. She kissed the colorful nightshade on Samara’s ribs, making the redhead sigh in delight.

“Then don’t,” Blanche shifted closer to Samara and kissed her cheek. “Stay here, with me.”

“Mmmm, tempting.” Samara rubbed Blanche’s bare shoulders as the blonde tried to pin her to the bed. Blanche leaned down to kiss her, and ended up getting flipped onto her own back. She let out a light sigh as the redhead kissed the nape of her neck. The sheets and bed Samara’s estranged father had gotten her were far more comfortable than anything Blanche herself own, despite her mother’s riches. Blanche had helped buy Samara matching furniture, though Samara insisted she didn’t, knowing she would be the target of many thieves.

“I really should go,” Samara said as her kisses traveled lower to Blanche’s breast. A hand and mouth worked together to make the blonde purr.

“I don’t see you running out the door,” Blanche said breathlessly, gently running a hand through Samara’s hair before her head went lower. Samara made a satisfied sound that mingled with Blanche’s own startled gasp. Waves of pleasure shot through her legs and up her back as Samara used her mouth and hand to make the waves stronger. Soon, Blanche’s body was rocking against Samara’s touch.

There was a knock on the door, making Samara pause slightly.

“Don’t stop!” Blanche pleaded as she caught Samara’s lips with her own. The redhead let out a longing sound.

“Could be important,” she murmured between kisses.

“More important than this?” Blanche’s hand traveled down and made Samara gasp. The knocking became more insistent as Samara’s breaths quickened.

“Just a moment!” Samara’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual. Blanche giggled into Samara’s mouth as they eagerly kissed.

“Samara.”

The voice made Samara stop and push Blanche’s hand away. She quickly slid into some pants and a light shirt, wiping her face.

“Samara-” Blanche protested before Samara flung the door open. A tall, fair-skinned Nord woman with raven hair looked down at Samara.

“Alda?” Samara’s voice was shocked.

“You’re in danger,” Alda said, authority in her voice. Blanche felt panic rise in her throat, but Samara responded with anger. Samara’s wrist was in Alda’s hand, blocking the slap that Blanche hadn’t seen her try to deliver.

“Samara, stop.”

“You think you can come here a year after you abandoned me, and tell me I’m in danger? Who do you think you are?!” Samara’s chest heaved, and her eyes blazed. Alda only blinked calmly back at her.

“Trust me, Samara. You need to get out of the city, now. Did you hear about Bruma? That’s about to happen-”

“No! There’s no way you could know about that!”

“Do you not remember what happened back in jail?”

“Jail? You were in jail?” Blanche’s voice was incredulous as she came up behind Samara, no longer content with listening on the bed. The sheets were wrapped around her naked body. Alda gave Blanche a strange look.

“Who’s this?”

“What do you care?” Samara snapped, finally yanking her hand away. Alda’s stern look didn’t budge.

“Because I love you. Now get out of your house, before this city is destroyed.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

”Samara!”

Alda’s voice startled Samara, and she recoiled slightly. Alda took a deep breath.

“I was there when the Emperor died. In order to protect you, I had to leave you.”

“You were there?” Samara looked uncertain.

“Yes. I had to find his bastard son so the Dragonfires could be re-lit. Those Oblivion gates? They’re going to open one right in the city, like they tried to do to Bruma. I’ve been closing gates left and right as fast as I could, but it’s too much for me. Mehrunes Dagon will be attacking the city soon, and if you died…”

“But where could we even go, Alda? If there are gates open like you said, then there’s no way any of us are safe.”

“There is one place, near Bruma. I’ve given this some thought, Samara. I could sneak you in, you’re capable of being undetected for as long as you want.”

“And Blanche?”

“Who?”

“My girlfriend.” She pulled Blanche closer, unaware of the uncomfortable look she had on her face. Alda’s eyes were cold as steel.

“One of you, that’s all.”

“Then I’m not going.”

“Samara!”

“No, you’re crazy! You left me to follow someone you SAY was the Emperor, and disappear for a year, then come back and DEMAND I leave my girlfriend behind, and come with you Bruma? No. Get out. Get out of my house.”

“I paid for this house, too! My name is on the deed!”

“I declared you dead six months ago, Alda! This place is mine!”

Alda looked shocked, the expression finally breaking the steely gaze.

“I see. I don’t know what I expected. You are the master of moving on, Samara.”

“I am very uncomfortable,” Blanche blurted out. She turned red when the two women looked at her. Alda turned her gaze, once again calm, back to Samara.

“Goodbye, Samara. I was hoping you’d come with me, but it seems I go alone to Paradise.” She turned and left, and Samara shook her head.

“She’s absolutely mad!”

Blanche closed the door, still looking uncomfortable. “What did she mean by Paradise?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Samara dropped the sheets around her body, and Blanche let out an appreciative sound as she surveyed her lovers tattooed body. Along with the vines depicting nightshade, the petals of the blossoms exploding in arrays of blues and purples along her hips, stomach, and ribs, she had tattoos of Ayleid and Dwarven script on her body, single words that were supposed to mean words of encouragement. Blanche wasn’t going to tell her that the words were not only entirely incorrect, but misspelled as well.

But Blanche’s favorite tattoo of Samara’s were the dragon wings on her back, a red and black, along with a small wolf on her ankle. The wings went from her shoulders to the swell of her rear, magnificent in detail. They were slightly torn, with holes here and there, as well as ragged along the edges. Blanche looked up at Samara’s face finally.

“You’re going to hate me for this.”

“What?” Samara poured herself a glass of wine, filling the cup nearly to the brim.

“The Arch Mage wants to send me to Vahtacen.”

“Where?”

“It’s an Ayleid ruin. I…may have started taking more classes at the University instead of working at the Temple.”

Samara wasn’t sure how to feel. Two emotions crossed her face; confusion, anger, then confusion again. Blanche raised her brows.

“Samara?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know! I thought you would think less of me if I stopped working. I thought you’d be angry that I can afford to go to University, and you can’t.”

Samara knew what she was feeling then.

“Excuse me?” Her offense showed on her face. “Blanche, you’re not responsible for my feelings. I would have been happy for you. But now I’m angry, and hurt.” She set the cup down and crossed her arms. Blanche had her gaze cast on the floor as she began dressing.

“Where are you going?” Samara demanded. Blanche briefly glanced up, then kept dressing.

“I have to go pack. He wants me there within the week.”

“Fine. Go. I don’t care,” Samara huffed as she turned around, picking the cup back up. She only turned back around when the door closed, finding herself in an empty shack. She downed the rest of the contents of the cup and sat on her bed, fuming.



Wow Liz, that was awesome.

Alda's reappearance was brilliant, some fantastically powerful dialogue there.

And then Blanche too? With even more powerful dialogue?

Fantastic!

And needless to say, I like the way this part started

But poor Samara, she must feel like she's been hit by a truck. Or whatever the Cyrodiilic equivalent of that is.

After the cozy start, Samara and Blanche each got a surprising piece of news. Funny about the misspelled tattoos. I know a guy with a gorgeous arm piece that’s missing a letter. One tiny thing, I thought it was Blanche who was wrapped in the sheet and Samara dressed when Samara answered the door? At first reading when the sheet dropped afterward I thought the wrong person had the tattoos.

I’m glad you’re continuing this here!

I see the mistake. Samara went to the door naked, and Blanche had the sheets on herself, but it sounds like Blanche had tattoos. My bad.

You have Samara quickly putting on some clothes and wiping her face before she answers the door, which is great because it made me (and maybe Blanche, I thought) think that Samara wanted to hide the fact that she had just been up to her ears in girlfriend while at the same time the person at the door had flustered Samara enough to make her forget said naked girlfriend was still right there in the bed. Having both Samara and Alda dressed while Blanche wrapped herself in a sheet added to Blanche’s sense of awkwardness and vulnerability, which is also great for their interaction. I just got confused when Samara dropped the sheet.

I tend to think too much about the characters, lol. I should have just been thinking, “Naked chicks, woo!”

[censored] you're right XD

This has been written for a really long time and I had forgotten about it, lol

Also thanks for the welcome back lol. Don't feel weird about pointing stuff out on THIS story, cuz this one is the one I'm actually spending time on.

---


Thunder rolled in the distance, the sound resonating in Samara’s chest. She sighed and woke up, her red hair curled in a few places from sweat. Blanche had been gone for nearly two weeks, a time frame Samara could do without. Sliding from bed, she laid on the dirt floor for a moment before suddenly sitting up.

A loud explosion shook her house, and Samara threw her door open in time to see the sky was as red as blood, boiling angrily with molten lava. Flecks of star bursts winked in and out from behind the tumultuous waves of reddened clouds.

It was horrifyingly beautiful.

The beauty was soon forgotten as she realized the sounds of screams were piercing the air. The air was hot and thick with sulfur and blood. Members of the Waterfront, people she had known her whole life, were running from armored monstrosities and creatures from nightmares. Horned, humanoid creatures with blackened teeth and faces wielding hateful-looking swords cut down people she had cared for over the years. Blood splattered on the ground, and sizzled on the molten armor of the horrific creatures.

She closed her door.

Inside the darkness of her house, lit slightly by deceptively rosy light, she slid her armor on, the soft leather shimmering with enchantment. Out of everything she did, this armor was the one selfish thing she did for herself. It hid her identifiable curves, giving her slimmer, smaller look. She tied her hair back and slid her mask on, her vision sharper and clearer. She sighed as she slid her greaves on, feeling the rejuvenating effects of the spell strengthening her limbs, opening the valve of her magicka more, letting it flow easier. Her boots strengthened her legs and made her limbs more flexible, and her steps quieter.

She threw open the door, her steely resolve dissolving when the figure of a man stood in her doorway. She took in a breath to scream, and nearly instantly a hand covered her mouth.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “Don’t draw attention to yourself!”

She struggled, pushing away. She seethed in anger when she saw his face.

“What are you doing here, Imbel?” She spat.

“No time,” his elven armor gleamed in the roiling red light. “Can you fight?”

She looked at the dagger with disgust, but took it anyways. “Not with this, not very well. I only use my hands and a bow.”

“Just like your mother,” he muttered before checking behind him. The monsters were still occupied with other victims. “That won’t do well with them. They’re from Oblivion itself, and their armor will burn you, and the arrows will bounce off. Follow me, and keep out of sight.”

She obeyed, grabbing her bow. “But-”

There was a roar as a large, dark-furred beast began tearing its way through the dremora. Jakben grabbed her arm and pulled her along. Samara swore she heard him say “Westley,” but before she could really absorb the situation, they were running past the chaos and into the shadows.

“Where are we going?” The volume of Samara’s voice didn’t matter over the screaming and odd, pulsating, humming noise.

“The Temple! We’ll be safe there.”

“We should stay out of the city, make a break for an old fort I’ve got cleaned out.”

“You mean Fort Homestead?”

“How’d you know?!”

A dremora saw them in its peripherals and turned towards them. It pulled out a sword that seemed to be made from hot coals and blackened steel and walked towards them.

“Jakben-” Panic was in Samara’s voice as she reached behind her to grab an arrow as Jakben’s elven shield blocked a blow meant for her head.

“I forgot my arrows!”

“Just stay back!” He grunted as the dremora pushed him back with sheer strength, sending him a few steps backwards. A strangled laugh, almost gurgling, came from the monster’s throat as it advanced on Jakben.

“Why don’t you stab it?” Samara offered.

“What a wonderful idea! I should have thought of that!” Jakben spared an eye roll before the dremora attacked again, mercilessly beating on Jakben’s shield. He cried out through gritted teeth as a crack was heard. The dremora gurgled in laughter once again.

“Foolish mortal! I have wounded you.” The voice grated in Samara’s ears like steel in a dying man’s throat. “Prepare to-”

There was a small, unprotected area at the base of the neck that Samara had noticed. Once the dremora turned its back, she plunged the dagger into its throat. She hissed in pain as the armor burned her skin, causing her wrist to blister up nearly immediately. It fell to its knees, then fell over. Jakben looked relieved.

“Thank the gods! I thought I was done for!” He groaned as Samara helped him up, looking around cautiously.

“Do you feel that?”

He nodded. “The air changed. We need to get to the Temple.”

The air rumbled with an energy that Samara had never felt before. She rushed on with Jakben, the energy pushing and pulling at what seemed to be their very souls. She felt her very essence jump as a bright, fiery explosion littered the sky with embers, two gargantuan figures, one shaped as a bedazzling dragon, and the other as fear incarnate, swung and bit, clawed, and lunged, crushing the districts beneath them.

Everything stopped as the two battled, and Samara suddenly had an instinctual feeling that they should be nowhere near the city. She grabbed Jakben’s hand, ignoring the startled look on his face as she pulled him away from the city. Bodies littered the districts as they sprinted between alleys, dodging swinging axes of Mythic Dawn agents and dremora alike. Suddenly Jakben slowed.

“Where’s your lover?” The raging battle was near-deafening, but Samara heard him, just barely.

“Not in the city!” They reached the gate, which was ajar after the guardsmen abandoned their posts. Once they were out, the air seemed thinner, more calm as a final burst of light blinded everyone in the city momentarily. Both Jakben and Samara covered their eyes as the entirety of Nirn filled with deafening silence.

This is the last fully finished chapter I have saved, which means I'll need to start planning the next chapters. Luckily, I have found a planning technique that works for me and has been helping me plan out my chapters for my non-fanfiction related stuff. Mkay bye lol

~~~~~~~~~~~

The fires crackled in the old fort as Jakben turned the small deer he had killed on the spit. Samara sighed heavily, lying on her belly as she flipped the pages of her book too quickly to be considered reading. The scratchy sheets of the bedroll made her reach down and relieve an itch on her bare calf.

“We’ll head back soon,” Jakben said as he settled onto his own bedroll.

“Is there anything to return to?” Samara shut her book, the worn pages snapping shut. A single page shot out as the binding creaked with the force. She sighed again and crawled over to retrieve it.

“If there isn’t, there’s plenty of cities to make your home in.”

“No, there’s plenty of cities for YOU to make your home in. Anywhere I go, I am starting over completely.”

“You weren’t exactly well-known in the city.”

“Not yet,” she countered before slipping the page back into the book. She looked at the deer.

“How do you drain the blood so completely?”

Jakben’s face was expressionless. “Old trick I learned before you were born. What were you reading?”

“Tales and Legends of Springheel Jak.”

His brow shot up. “May I see?”

Samara handed him the book, and Jakben opened it, his face becoming increasingly amused as he read. Samara stood up.

“I’m going to check the buckets,” she said as she walked out of the room. Jakben settled onto his bedroll in a more comfortable position and waved her away. She walked through the halls, casting a night eye spell after rolling her eyes and walked the stony hallways. Neither of them had brought torches, though unlit sconces lined the walls of the fort. Both she and Jakben agreed that staying in darkness was preferable to bringing too much attention to themselves. It had been two days since the city fell, and some of the fires still burned. Samara knew that, if Blanche had survived and still been on her trip, she wouldn’t go searching for anyone. The fires would be enough to keep her away.

Alda would be different. She had always had a slightly heroic streak, using her sheer height to ward off insistent men from terrified women, picking up children away from the fists of larger children and carrying them to safety. Alda had even given their food away a few times, which Samara would respond to by stealing more food. Alda would be helping search for survivors, and when she wouldn’t find Samara’s body among the living, she would begin to look among the dead.

Out of everything, Samara was grateful her armor had been spared. It rested near her bedside atop a crate she used for the clothes she had brought here. Hunting gear, spare arrows, and a few emergency rations littered the fort in a lackadaisical fashion. Jakben had quickly tidied the area before collapsing from exhaustion shortly afterwards. Neither had been hungry the first night, but as the dawn crept up, both were nearly ravenous. Jakben had kept himself grumpily isolated, insisting he clear the fort of rats and possible bandits. He returned in better spirits, his soot-covered shirt now wet with blood.

“There were quite a few rats,” he had said happily. Samara had resolved to keep her distance from him as often as possible.

The fort door, though creaking in protest, swung open easily. A light rain had started falling, according to Jakben, and Samara dumped the water from each bucket into a larger bucket, filling it nearly full. There was a stream a half mile from the fort, and the Rumare, but neither felt comfortable leaving the fort at that point. She sat on a wet stone before heading back inside, glad to breathe in fresh air.

The sun peeked out over the horizon and, for the first time in days, Samara felt a twinge of hope. The door swung shut behind her, and she put the bar in place to keep bandits out, thought the morning sun would keep most from traveling. She heard hysterical howls of laughter echoing down the hallways as she walked back. Jakben was lying on his back atop his bedroll, one arm slung across his eyes, the other grasping the book. High-pitched shrieks of laughter bounced off the walls.

“Oh…the countess of Leyawiin… I’d forgotten about her!”

“What, the story? Which one? There’s a few.”

“The one where…oh by the gods…” He sat up to catch his breath, still laughing. “The one where, you know, they nearly caught him because he was hanging off a flagpole by his undergarments!” He howled in laughter again, his mouth open wide. Samara snorted.

“It gets worse as you read on.”

“I’m sure it does! Does it talk about her stuffed wolf she kept by her bedside? She’d make awful puns with it!”

“Such as?”

He sat up and gave her a mock-sultry look, fluttering his lashes. “’You make me HOWL with pleasure!’” He erupted into laughter again. Samara snorted, then giggled hysterically.

“That’s horrible!”

“I know! How much water have we gotten?” He wiped his eyes, though Samara never saw the glistening of tears.

“Nearly one large bucketful. Enough for use to drink through the day and cook with. I do need to bathe.”

“Want me to accompany you to the stream?”

“That won’t be necessary. You rest. You’re nearly as strange as I am when it comes to daylight.”

“Like father like daughter,” he said, almost too casually. Samara ignored the remark and grabbed some clothes.

“I’ll return in two hours or less, Jakben.” She emphasized the name more than she meant to. Jakben showed no signs of recognizing her tone as he continued to read.

The walk was short, not nearly long enough for Samara to stretch her legs to her satisfaction. The rain from the walk to the fort had washed most of the soot away, but Samara wanted a scrubbing. She slid her filthy clothes off, glad to be rid of them. She reminded herself that her armor needed cleaning as she set her clothes underwater, held in place by a large rock lodged in the bed of the creek, letting the currents wash away the grime. She then sat in the creek bed, washing the dirt from her skin that sponge bathings didn’t get rid of. She heard a rustle in the bushes and turned around. She saw nothing, and shrugged.

She was in the middle of washing her hair when another rustle caught her attention. This time, she turned and got in a crouching position, eyes searching for any danger. She heard a low growl before a wolf burst through the bushes. A hand, resting on a rock as large as her fist, flew up, as if of its own accord, and brained the wolf. It fell without a whimper into the stream, leaving Samara panting heavily with fear. Her heart raced with unused adrenaline, speeding up even more as another rustle came from the bushes. Another smaller wolf growled at her, then promptly whimpered and fell as an arrow appeared in its gut. A horrified expression crossed her face as the wolf yowled in pain.

A large Imperial man with scarcely any clothes on had stepped out of the bushes, a satisfied grin on his handsome face. He looked over at Samara, barely giving her body a glance as he pulled her up. She looked at him, a shocked expression on her face. He smiled at her, the smug expression still on his face.

“Are you alright?” The concern in his voice did not match the expression on his face.

“I’m fine, you-”

“Do you need aid? A healing touch?”

“No! I’m fine, I even-” She was cut off by him placing his hands on her bare shoulders. She hunched her shoulders and laughed uneasily as she shrugged out of his grasp.

“Ha, I’d rather you not touch me right now.”

“Oh, I apologize. I was unaware that you weren’t decent.”

“I highly doubt that.” Samara crossed her arms over her chest and placed most of her weight on her right leg, jutting her hip out. To his credit, the man’s eyes never left her face.

“Truly. Should I fetch you some garments? Perhaps escort you back to the city?”

“No, I’m fine. I have my own clothes.”

“Surely you don’t wish to travel these perilous roads alone!”

“I’m fine, really. And don’t call me Shirley.”

The man looked confused, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. He opened his mouth and began to speak, halting when Samara held her hand up.

“I’m fine. I’d much rather bathe in peace, please. And can you please put that wolf out of its misery?!”

The man looked over, a startled look on his face. “The beast isn’t dead? Strange, I never miss the heart!” Samara rolled her eyes as the man walked to the wolf and cut its throat.

“I wonder what caught the eye of the Beastmaster,” she muttered as she gathered her wet clothes from the stream. She laid her clothes out to dry after wringing them as much as she could. The man still lingered, a doubtful look on his face.

“May I have your name, fair maiden?”

“Samara, and I’m the furthest you can get from being a maiden without being paid for it.”

She delighted in the man’s blush as the expression dawned on him. She laid on the bank, her wet skin glistening in the sun. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened one, looking at him.

“Go away.”

“I’d rather not leave a woman such as yourself helpless.”

‘Why are you speaking like that? You sound like the snooty nobles in the Imperial City.”

“Aye, I am such.”

“Why are you out here, half naked, wandering the woods?”

“The fires of Mehrunes Dagon burned my home, and I sought refuge in my cabin in the woods.”

She sat up. “Cabin? With…fresh food?”

“Aye.”

“And beds?”

“Aye.”

“Mind if we stop bye sometime?”

“A- we?”

“My father and I. We’ve been in an old fort ever since our homes were destroyed.” Samara suddenly realized Jakben had never actually SAID his home was destroyed. “He’s the earl of Imbel, and does not do well without the luxuries of his home.”

The man nodded slowly. “Aye. The day is young, and you are both welcome in my home. My name is Petrus Vanin.”

“Samara Sage…Imbel. Expect us at nightfall. My father spends his days resting and his nights-”

“Roaming the gardens behind the houses? Yes, he’s well-known for that. My father speculated the man was a hermit. Forgive me for saying so.”

“I don’t mind. He’s definitely strange.” She bobbed her head once and smiled slightly. “I appreciate letting us stop by. Where is this place located?”

“Follow the stream away from the water. It will be on the left. You will see a large white pillar marking the path leading up to it.”

She nodded again and thanked him before closing her eyes and lying back down. She watching through her lashes as the man walked away, a prideful look on his face.

‘Gods, I hope Jakben doesn’t get any ideas about him.'