A little side story with some egregious questions for our dear Arria. Probably the most... sensitive set I'll be making in a long time, what better time to do so before I run and hide for a month, haha.
I hope everyone can enjoy the work that went in to it, even if the contents aren't people's cup of tea!
Voices roaring, waterfalls raging.
The proud men of Solitude and Whiterun had finally caught their quarry.
Sword arms were tense and firm, bows taut, strings lined with arrows.
The thief was cornered...
"Finally fuckin' caught you, bitch!", Ingmarr, captain of the guard, spattered.
His voice a furious mix of exhaustion, vitriol, and exasperated victory.
His axe, honedand sharp, was aimed directly at the target of his ire. "Nowhere left to run, now!"
Arria glared back, quiet, sure confidence filling her.
She hadn't planned to find herself on the edge of cliff, but she was rarely a girl without options.
After all, what was a rogue without a little daring? "You might be right about running..."
"...But, how 'bout we go for a little swim?", with a sudden grace, the redheaded maiden, pressed with sudden strength, throwing herself backwards into the chasm behind her.
"Wait-!", Ingmarr threw himself at her, but the distance was too great. Neither him or the guards on his flank could cover the distance in the singular moment it took for Arria to leap off the edge. And though the archers may have loosed their arrows, it was a perplexing shot to make.
Chains rattlings, hair billowing, the voluptuous rogue fell like a stone, casting over the storied walls of the waterfall into the rapid river below.
She fell with an unusual certainty, the only thing on her mind being survival; her continued freedom.
By the time the captain reached the edge, the imperial rogue had already plunged deep into the water's depths, a resounding splash rendered moot by the bluster of the waterfall. Only a hazy impression of disturbed water remained as Ingmarr peered over the edge.
Eyes downcast, the anger in the man's expressions were replaced by familiar despondence.
His whiskers bristled as he let out a sigh, presumably of defeat.
The guard, his eye on the horizon, for signs in the river, remarked passively. "We'll find her, sir."
"We will, lad", the captain replied, hefting his old, worn axe. "We will".
Her fall had not been flawless.
Though she landed clean and without injury, Arria had nevertheless dived into a river of treacherous ridges and many a sharp rock.
Swept up in the raging currents, she'd had no control over where the river took her, leading to a rather upsetting collision with the underwater structures in her path.
A powerful blow left her head bruised and scarred, and her consciousness faded.
It was only Lady Luck that saw her cast out on a shallow edge somewhere along the rivers path.
As fortune would have it, it wasn't the guards pouring down the road on horseback, but a young man, armed with a bow and the simple desire to sate his hunger, that would stumble upon the river. Guided to its banks by his own prey, a heavily bleeding buck, felled by an arrow... or eight.
He loomed over his prize, excessively proud of his accomplishment, but doing his best to remain focused.
His small hands cast out over the larger mammal, assessing the pelt. Small stain of blood, but its hair was relatively free of punctures.
"Good, good, I can sell these", he appraised, doing much to avoid remarking on just how much meat he had secured for himself.
It was not the rumble of an empty belly that he would hear, no.
Instead, the boy's eyes turned towards the distraught groan of the passed out redhead nearby. His eyes, understandably, widened at the sight.
"Oh, fuck", the boy muttered loudly, parroting words of an old mentor.
A prize unlike any he'd expect to find in the wilds.
Though he couldn't even to begin to guess at her predicament, he assumed good faith.
No, to him it didn't matter. The young man stood only where he did on the chances others took for him.
It was only right that he pay it forward.
A sentiment he would come to regret on the journey home. Battered by rain and the encroaching dark of night, kept company only by the rustling of trees and his own haggered breath.
The lad was fortunate enough to make it to his home with a cart full of goods.
Pelts and horns for sale, food for eating, and a beautiful lass the envy of all the Holds.
Clearly, he had struck gold today.
But none of that really solved his conundrum.
He scratched at his head in thought. "Now how do I get you inside?"
Getting her on the cart had been a feat all its own, ignoring her armour, Arria was possessed of plentiful assets, something that made her difficult to carry.
But to leave her in the rain would be bad form, and so he struggled on.
Inside the small hovel he called home, the boy had strewn the contents of his carriage around.
The pelts rested near the tanning rack where they could be properly prepared.
Arria's blades, rested nearby, where he could make use of them if need be.
Venison, claimed in chunks from the day's kill, were hung up on a metal ring, left to dry and flavour.
His bow and arrows, tucked away in their spot.
Atop a chest of his effects, and those of his old caretaker.
Last but certainly not least, was the voluptuous rogue he had rescued from the riverside.
Her body a sleeping heap of sweat and water, of ill-timed and shallow breaths.
The boy looked on her with exhaustion.
Doing his best to catch his breath. His work wasn't done yet.
If he left her as is, she would have come down sick, her armour and clothing drenched as they were.
So, with but a moment's rest, he took to stripping the scarlet-haired maiden of her accouterments, stacking them near candle light to dry.
He had hardly been the most mindful as he undressed her, leaving the sleeping Arria in a rather open little state.
A fact that hit him hard as he turned back, his gaze blessed by her beautiful bronzed figure.
"Uh, time to start dinner", he bemoaned, trying to shake his head of the imagery.
With sleep's firm grasp over her, Arria eventually relaxed into something of a more normal position, gently dozing away as droplets of water and sweat, dried up in the furs around her.
Her languid motions and the continued heaving of her breasts however, left the poor boy continually distracted, even as he tried to focus on the evening's meal.
His eyes would drift back to her just as soon as he pulled them away, and at times he'd catch himself, having fallen away from chipping away at week old bread, his pupils preferring the other kind of feast before them.
"Ahhhhhhh, I can't take this!", he cried aloud.
Seemingly that had been enough to provoke the bountiful beauty from her slumber.
Eyes peered wearily, at first casting their sights over her own body.
She turned in a daze, her unclear vision casting over a silhouette she struggled to make out.
Arria blinked, and shook her head, struggling to clear the haze over her sight.
With repetition the fog began to clear, the details before her becoming much clearer.
Stood before her was a man of unmistakable quality.
Clad in worn, fine robes.
The symbol of Stendarr hung from his sash.
A glass sword clasped at his side.
"Well good morning there, sleepy head!", he said, a tone of remarkable nostalgia.
Arria looked at him, confusion, delirium, disbelief. A picture of muddled
feelings. The only words she could muster. "It can't be... father?"
"Its been a long time", said the wizened breton, his voice reassuring, pleasant.
"I finally found my way back".
"No-- this can't-- I saw you that night", though as calming as his voice might've been, the truth that Arria had come to terms with so long ago was not easily remedied.
"Oh, it can be, I assure you", he replied, cutting through the half-finished phrases with certainty. "I'm here, Arria".
It was in that moment that her brand began glowing as it often did...
"Here, let me make you feel better", her father got close, unbearably so, his hands going where Arria would never have imagined.
"W-what the Hell are you doing?!" she cried out, hands and legs thrown at him, pressing him back.
"Come now, is that any way to treat your father?", the tone his voice was the same, but it left Arria with a chilling sensation now, the quiet peace it offered all but disappearing in the moment.
Making things worse, it was only now she realised that something had happened to her.
She felt weak, tired, as if waking from a long, dreamless slumber.
As she eyed the man she would have called father, she quickly came to realise this was a losing battle.
"Stop! What are you doing!?", Arria raged, resistant, conflicted.
Fear, pain, disbelief, many emotions welled up inside but as each moment passed what should have been a miracle became more and more a nightmare.
Jouane had disrobed with surprising ease, casting his robes and weapons off the side, before joining Arria atop the bed.
When he tired of her resistance, Jouane simply threw her arms off him, forcing the scarlet-haired rogue along at his whim.
"Gods, stop damn it!", Arria cried again and again, furious.
Doing whatever she could to resist the elder man, who seemed to focus on taking a most perverted approach to his daughter's assets.
"Just relax", he told her. His large, masculine fingers, gently prodding at the walls of her flower.
His eyes focused on her bountiful bosom, the pert, pink nipples resting at their top.
Arria panted and seethed through gritted teeth.
Exhaustion gripped at her, and so what little defense she had mustered crumbled.
He loomed over her weakened body, entirely ignoring the ice-cold glare Arria shot at him.
"I think you're ready", he said calmly, hands caressing her hips and thighs as his cock loomed over her tight crevice.
He brooked no resistance as he plunged his turgid spear into her pussy, pressing his entire weight against her, pushing her hands down, firmly gripped in his own.
Her eyes were focused entirely on her father. Fear and confusion replaced with a searing anger.
Though exhaustion gripped her, she still fought back.
Sickened, betrayed, even.
She cried in fury and spite, as she limply struggled against her aggressor.
But soon he had her crying a different tune, his endless assault, breaking down all of her defenses as rage turned to pleading for him to stop.
His dark blue eyes merely shone down on her, his intent to make her his utterly clear in their bleak pools.
Rhythmic motions and powerful rutting soon brought him to the edge, his rod, thoroughly stuffed in her flower, began to engorge.
Arria spat daggers at him.
"No! Stop! You can't!", she screamed in urgency.
His hands clamped down on her sides, his pelvis thrust hard against her.
Like a man possessed he penetrated as deep as he could, with no worry or care for his daughter's cries.
The only thing that seemed to matter was the white cream he poured inside her.
"You fuckin—!", of course, the redhaired maiden wouldn't take it well, but before she could truly admonish Jouane, he had moved on to take her throat as his next port of call.
Time passed by in a haze, as their positions changed and shifted, Arria couldn't tell if it had been minutes or hours.
The only thing she could count was how many times he'd took her.
He had begun to slow, seemingly out of stamina, leaving Arria hope for an ending.
But perhaps her wishes were too hasty, as soon as the thought entered her mind, the vigilant plunged his dick deeper than he'd ever gone before.
Unleashing another load of thick batter into her womb.
He pulled back only slightly, and where before she could feel his slackening muscles, his grip only tightened, renewed.
"We're going to continue the line, child, one step at a time", he threatened...
"No!", Arria shot up from the bed. Her head pounding from the sudden motion.
Her body had broken into a cold sweat, and it hurt everywhere, from top to bottom.
"Woah, woah!", said the young man. "Are you alright? You looked like you were having a weird dream".
Ice blue eyes cast upon him, and Arria was stricken with utter confusion.
Where she was, what had just happened... It was a dream? She questioned.
It was then that she felt the nip in the air, the tinge of cold air on her supple, naked flesh.
Her face went red, her limbs instinctively moving to cover her delicates.
"Eyes away you little pervert!", she screamed at him, 'twas easier to focus on the now than the worrisome dream she had suffered through.