Bindi had to admit, the nights in Skyrim were beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.
Streaks of aedra-light swirled in the night sky, the stars glittering like diamonds in the frosty air. With the sound of her paws crunching in the snow and the steady weight of Gortwog on her back, it was almost peaceful.
It came like a shock, the suddenness of it all the more disorientating for its silence. The pale horse, mist streaming from its withers, hooves silent despite the speed of its gallop. The pair stopped cold, frozen in place as the spectral steed charged past. For a moment, there was nothing but cold silence, the two frozen in shock. Before they could breathe in to scream, to shout, to argue over what they’d seen, the second ghost rose up out of the night.
A tall man, sprinting after his horse, hands waving desperately as if shouting and waving after it. There was no sound of course.
Hard to call out with no head.
The pair watched him vanish into the distance, still frantically chasing after his horse, before Bindi turned wordlessly back for the nearby town and the warm inn and the light and safety and certainty of the living world.
Something that didn’t...add up right. At first glance he was a simple man. Wine, women and adventure were his life. And yet sometimes...
There were flashes. Mannerisms that were too refined and polite to come from a rough, tough looking orc. There and gone in a second, as if he was catching on and covering them. A knowledge base that seemed strangely fragmented. How many orcs were there who knew exactly what a dragon break was and all the main players in the Miracle of Peace and yet who could barely read?
She knew his job was “locating artifacts for the museum of Orsinium” yet she’d never heard him even suggest they visit Orsinium, let alone check up on the artifacts he mailed. And there were the painstakingly written letters he slipped into each package, and the way he seemed to go suddenly deaf when she asked him about it. Times like that she cursed her lack of thumbs, that she couldn’t just sneak into his bag and rifle through his letters.
Lurbash: Like their famous ancestor, in theory they are very very bi. In reality they are Tired and romance is entirely off the table. Too much to do.
Hazbur: Unsure. He’s had a rough life and most of his 19 years of existence was spent in survival mode. His heads a bit of a jumbled mess with regards to his love life and he’s still working on trying to sort the pieces out.
Gortwog the Younger: Straight mostly but when he’s gotten very very drunk and the guy was very very handsome things have happened. He just goes with it. He had fun, why worry about it?
Bindi: Asexual. She’s literally just here for a laff.
Whoops that last ask inspired me here is a fanfic on how those two met
...
The sun was blinding. Gortwog grumbled to himself as he squinted into the distance, miles and miles of sugarcane and rice paddies stretching away to the horizon. He honestly hadn't expected much from Elswyr in terms on artifacts. Orcrest had sounded promising, but it was a long way to go-
“Easy boy.”
His horse jinked slightly at a bee and Gortwog frowned. He distrusted horses at the best of times, and this skinny bay that mangy Dagi-raht had sold him seemed nervous. Not the best mount, but he had few options. He got his horse under control and turned his thoughts towards lunch, wondering where the nearest pub might be-
A loud rustle of sugarcane leaves startled him, as a large hare burst from the paddocks and streaked across the road. With a screaming whinny his horse reared up, Gortwog crying out in panic as he felt his grip on the reins loosen. The Orc came loose from his saddle with a scream, tumbling down into the deep ditch beside the road.
Snap.
Bindera-la sighed softly, plodding along the dusty road. She was tired, and her shoulders were sore where the ploughs harness didn't fit right.
“Forgive me, daughter. There is no money for a better saddle. Next year, yes? We will try for next year.”
The Senche-raht huffed quietly to herself, desperate to get home from the market and take a long drink from the river.
A soft groaning caught her ears and she froze, wondering if she'd imagined it.
“H-Hello?”
“Oh thank Trinimac!” A rough voice called out from the overgrown ditch a little way up the path. “Help me! Help me, please!”
Galloping over, she looked down, golden eyes widening in shock. An Orc lay upside down in the ditch, green skin pale as dishwater with pain. She had never seen an Orc before, out in these isolated lands. They were rare as hens teeth in Dominion controlled Elswyr. She'd heard they were dangerous, but the man shaking in the dust gave her a small grateful smile, his eyes kind.
“Are you alright?”
“I...must be seeing things. Did you...talk?”
“Of course, sir. Bindera-la is Khajiit.”
“R-right. Of course. Forgive me, I wasn't sure if you were a senche-cat or not. Please, if it's not too much trouble-”
She braced herself for the inevitable “can I ride on your back?”, a question that never failed to irritate in it's blind assumption that she was as tame and biddable as a brainless steed.
“Can you please get help? I think my leg is broken.”
Bindera-la blinked.
“You...don't wish to ride on my back?”
“You aren't some animal, miss. It would be rude, wouldn't it?”
Bindera-la shuffled her paws slightly, thinking. It was a nice change for once, not to have to tell someone off for being pushy. And in this sun, the Orc would likely perish before anyone could come with her...
“It's fine, sir. Bindera-la does not mind letting you ride her back, if it is an emergency.”
He smiled, sharp tusks glinting in the sunshine.
“Trinimac bless you, miss.”
Getting him on proved difficult, his leg badly broken, and by the time he was finally secure her head was ringing with his cries of agony.
“Bindera-la will take you home, sir. Her sister is a good healer, she will fix you up. She is the tabby cat. Do not pet her. Pet the ginger one all you like, he is just a cat.”
“Thank you. I-I'm Gort. Just...just Gort.”
“You may call this one Bindi, if it pleases you. Many do.”
Bindi glanced back, seeing his pale skin and the way he sweated and shivered despite the heat. He was in a bad way indeed. Perhaps a distraction might help keep him from falling dead off her back before they got home.
“You must have come far, Gort. Tell me of your adventures.”
He did, filling her bored, restless head with tales of a life spent exploring the furthest reaches, of rugged sloped mountains and deep dark forests, cave and deserts and moorland and everything in between. Her eyes were full of stars when they got him home.
Saw Blackreach mentioned on my dash and now I'm thinking about which of my OC's would have encountered Blackreach.
H!nara: Just a nice place to explore. Her clan are on reasonably friendly terms with the clan that lives there so she's used to just roaming. The giants a relatively new addition. She's fascinated by him, but he's skittish and confused by the place he's stuck in so making friends might need to wait.
Gort and Bindi: The two accidently blundered their way into it exploring an underground pass. Bindi was awestruck by the sight of it, and Gort burst into tears and had to sit down for a while until he composed himself and they could move on. He'd never seen anything so beautiful...
Bindi desperately misses moonsugar, but of course it's illegal outside Elsweyr, and Gort is too much of a good hearted square.
Not that he doesn't try to help, of course, it's just that his approach to finding moonsugar is to walk into a shady bar and loudly ask if anyone has any moonsugar like the worlds worst undercover cop.
The sun was setting, the soft winds beginning to blow cool over the paddies. Loafed beneath the ancient acacia tree, Bindera-la stared out over the road. A little way off, the huge orsimer she'd carried home half dead now sat up, listening intently to her little brothers chatter as he was instructed how to play the moon web game, their fingers a tangle of string.
But all she could see was the path, stretching on, ever on, the horizon beyond it shading purple as the sun set, rich and deep and inviting...
"Daughter?"
Her father settled beside her, the little dagi khajiit dwarfed by her bulk.
"Pinch of moon sugar for your thoughts, my dear?"
"It's nothing, father."
"Nothing, she says! Brings home a nearly dead stranger, and says she has no thoughts on this!" He chuckled gently. "Ah, my dear. I am proud of you, of course. It is no small thing, to save a life. And this...Gort fellow has kind eyes...he has some interesting tales."
"Yes..."
Once again, her gaze was dragged to the waiting horizon. For a long, pregnant moment, there was silence.
"You know, dear, of all my children, you were always the first one to run off to who knows where. Out in the fields, up a tree, off down alleys to look for trouble...you're a wandering soul...and it's been a very long time since you were small enough I could gather you in my arms and take you home..."
Bindera-la glanced down. His eyes stared out over the horizon, shiny with unshed tears.
"Father?"
"I see how distant you've been ever since he arrived, you only seem to have a paw on Nirni whenever the orc tells his tales. This farm...it's a small farm, dear one. Much too small for you. Ever since you were born, you're had one paw on the hearth, ready to step off and away."
And Bindera-la understood, down to her bones, what her father was trying to say.
"This farm needs me..."
"This farm has many hands. It is one thing, to have a duty. But I have a duty to you as well, to ensure that you are happy. I will not let this life become a shackle to you. If your heart aches for the open road, dear child, then go with my blessings. You complain that everything feels so small? Go, and see how big this world truly is."
Choking back tears, she leaned down, pressing her massive forehead against her fathers, too overcome for words.
"Excuse me? Hello!"
Gorts deep voice echoed over the farm, the moon web him and her brother had been weaving a dense knot that had tied their hands together.
"I sneezed at the wrong moment, does anyone have any shears?"
Laughter echoed over the small farm, fading into the deep and open horizon.
