Fandom OneShots

Skyrim (Two OCs)

Tarik belongs to ClaireTCKW

“It was bigger than a mountain troll with teeth as sharp as my axe!” Ysolde took a swig of her mead as a few tavern patrons gathered around.

She brushed her straw colored hair from her face and pointed to the three scars running over her right cheek. “I wrestled it to the ground, but it got a good swipe in.”

The nord woman sat taller and threw her head back to drain her mug. “My axe was layin’ a ways away and I knew if I went for it, I'd be dead meat. So I wrapped my arms around its neck,” she said as she made a show of flexing her thick arms and throwing them around the nearest patron, who yelped as he was lifted off the ground.

Ysolde dropped him as gently as she knew how and glanced at each one of the people standing around her. “It fought. I was nearly tossed off the cliff. But I held on. And soon, it fell over and passed out. I guess I was holdin’ on too hard and it couldn't breathe.” She squared her shoulders and reached up to touch the double-sided axe strapped to her back. “I went back and got my axe. I cut off its head and skinned the beast. Then I dragged the furs down the hill and sold them!”

She finished with a wave of her hand as the patrons grinned. It was well known the nord’s stories were far from the truth, but she was an excellent storyteller and knew just what to do to capture her audience's attention. And capture it she did; every pair of eyes were fixated on her, including the robed nord who had just walked in and taken a seat in the back.

Ysolde raised a brow and glanced over. The man wore mage robes and a hood to match. His silver hair poked out from under the fabric. His face was pale and his eyes a startling blue - easy to spot from the bar.

Ysolde stood and grabbed the new mug that had been placed beside her. She made her way over to the table and helped herself to a seat. The man eyed her, a calculating look on his face.

“I've never seen you before,” Ysolde pointed out as she gulped down her mead.

“I've never been here before,” he quipped.

Ysolde gestured to the tavern keeper, her eyes still on the man. “A mug for my friend here!”

“You don't even know my name. I could be a nefarious bandit.”

The woman grinned as a mug was set down in front of him. “Can't be.”

“How would you know?” The man reached for the mead he had been given and stared at the nord sitting across from him.

“They know better than to come here. I have a reputation,” Ysolde said simply.

“Yikes.” He took a sip from the mug, eyebrows raised. “A reputation? I'm practically shaking in my boots.”

Ysolde frowned and leaned forward. Being this close, she realized his hair wasn't actually silver - more of a pale gold.

“Is the glare supposed to scare me?” He tilted his head and crossed his arms.

“No. My battle axe does that for me,” she said.

“It's a nice weapon.”

She smiled proudly and gave him another once-over. “I notice you carry no armor or blade. A mage, then?”

At his nod, she extended a calloused hand. “I've never talked to a mage before. I'm Ysolde.”

“Tarik,” he replied and shook her hand.

Ysolde dipped her head in response and called out for more mead. He watched with interest and leaned back in his seat. “They all seem very familiar with you. Are you here often?”

“As often as I can be.”

“And do you always tell exaggerated tales?”

The corners of her mouth pulled up and she winked. “Who said they were exaggerated?”

“So you really wrestled a bear on the edge of a cliff?” He asked skeptically.

“I wrestled a bear. A small bear. But I wasn't on a cliff. I'm stupid, but I don't have a death wish.”

“Why say any different?” He was purely curious at that point.

“These people want exciting stories and who am I to take that from them? So I'll add a few untrue details to keep it interesting. They don't mind.”

He gave a low chuckle as he finished off his mead. Ysolde followed suit and she was once again gesturing for more. Tarik shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “No more for me, thanks.”

“Lightweight, eh? “ She winked, a teasing grin on her face.

“Kind of,” he admitted with a shrug. “I don't make a habit of drinking.”

She hummed thoughtfully and eagerly grasped the new mug as it was set down on the table. “I guess I'll take yours.”

He raised a pale brow and drummed his fingers on the wood. “You drink often?”

“Sometimes. When I'm not off with the companions or punching someone's lights out.”

Tarik wrinkled his nose, watching her gulp down the first mug. “Amazing. I don't think I've ever seen a woman drink like that.”

“It's not the only thing I'm good at.” She wiggled her eyebrows and the man had to snort.

“Oh? What else?” He asked this almost lazily as he traced circles over the table, using a bit of fire magic to burn the designs into the wood.

“Up for a game of cards?”

His reaction was almost instantaneous; he grinned and sat up straight. “Always.”

As I said before, Tarik is not my character.