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====An Evening in Whiterun====
“Your argorance betrays you, *hik* human.”
“Ha! Y-your *hik* pig-head betrays you, orc.”
“T-that doesn’t even make any *uhrp* sense.”
Ulfberth War-Bear continued nursing his mead, sipping the bottle as the two other blacksmiths’ argument continued. He had hoped the drinks would be enough to keep his guests occupied, but even after spending all his pocket money on mead the bickering continued. Moth gro-Bagol and Balimund had been at this for hours, competing with each other over everything. Oh well, at least the Bannered Mare was quiet tonight.
Ever since that fateful day when the one they called the Dragonborn came to Skyrim, things had not been the same. Within weeks the dragons vanished just as quickly as they appeared, and the civil war that once plagued Skyrim had come to a swift end. Now, it finally seemed the people might have peace, at least for a while.
Tonight, Whiterun was quiet. The Bannered Mare was practically empty expect for Ysolda and the three of them. Saadi had left, just as mysteriously as she arrived, Hulda had long since retired, and Sinmir made himself scarce once the war was over. Mikael showed up some nights, but the demands for a bard had dwindled. Now he seemed to spend his days trying to scrape by in Belethor’s shop, stocking shelves or peddling to customers.
In contrast with the rest of the establishment, the bar in front was filled with excitement. It started so simply: Now that the war was over, Ulfberth’s wife Adrianne was going to gather smiths from across skyrim to help her study the Skyforge. Their first two arrivals came from Riften and Markarth, tired from the road and ready to drink themselves into a fury. Now, the Nord had two rowdy blacksmiths under his roof to keep track of, while his wife desperately tried to get Eorland to give them permission to use the Skyforge.
Moth, his orcish temper flaring up, had declared himself the greatest smith in Skyrim; his reasoning being that no human could match orcish skill at the forge. Balimund had countered that his ‘secret’ fire-salts technique had made him a more inventive smith than any orc. Poor Ulfberth was left here, in a mostly abandoned inn, making sure the two drunks didn’t beat each other to death. The Jarl’s men would never let him hear the end of it…
“You knowwhat your p-problem is human? *Hik* I saw it all the time in the legion,” Moth slurred, scratching at his hairy belly, “You Nords don’t have the bodies needed to be a real blacksmith; you need the endurance and strength of an orc to really turn a forge into a masterwork.”
“Ha!” Balimund laughed, “Y-you musnot know a lot of real Nords; we’re the toughest, brawniest people, in all’a Skyrim. *Hik* We can turn annythin’ into a masterbate.”
There was a notable pause in the conversation after that remark. Moth and Ulfberth looked to each other, wondering if poor Balimund was going to correct that… mispronunciation.
“Let me get you gentlemen something to eat,” Ysolda said, making herself scarce as she strode into the kitchen out back. The flames of the hearth battled with the cool autumn air outside. It seemed the two were at an impasse, as they stepped up towards each other, ready for fists to fly.
“Why don’t you just compare and see now?” Ulfberth blurted out, not even thinking. He didn’t want them to actually fight, but he needed a way to deescalate their conflict. Maybe if he could distract them long enough to calm down…
“What?” they both said, the scent of wine and mead still clinging to their breath.
A nervous grin began to form at the corner of Ulfberth’s lips. “You know, why argue when you can just, you know, check?”
Maybe that would be enough to distract them. They could flex, pose a bit, tire themselves out and then-what in oblivion were they doing?
“Have you lost your minds?” the Nord’s voice trembled as he spoke. The two blacksmiths were already midway into a state of undress, right in the center of the Bannered Mare. If Ysolda walked in and saw them now, she'd get the Jarl to throw all three of them in the dungeon. And worse, she’d definitely tell Adrianne everything.
“How’er we s’possed to compare with our clothes in the way,” the orc slurred. Moth was already out of his shirt and desperately trying to remove his boots.
“Yeah, I wanna beat this orc fair’n’square,” Balimund muttered as he slipped his breeches down his knees.
Ulfberth swallowed. This was okay. At least the two weren’t seconds away from fighting anymore. Maybe this could be something they all laughed about tomorrow once everyone sobered up.
By now, Moth and Balimund were completely nude. They stood side by side at the bar, examining each other’s bodies.
“You’ve got impressive arms, orc,” Balimund said, a modicum of genuine respect seeping through his drunken compliment.
“Not bad yourself, human,” Moth slurred, checking out the human’s ample backside. If Ulfberth were looking closer, he might have seen the brawny orc’s cock twitch. At least they were finally friendly with each other now. Maybe the two might bond from this experience, and actually behave like professional blacksmiths. Well, one can hope…
At least, it seemed that way until both their eyes were on Ulfberth. “What are you waiting for?” Balimund asked. “Yeah, aren’t you going to…” Moth added, pointing towards the Nord’s iron breastplate.
“What? No! I can’t-” Ulfberth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why would they want him to strip? It wasn’t even his idea in the first place!
“W-well, hows’it suppos’t be fair then?” Moth stuttered, arms crossed. He looked away from the human, obviously a bit annoyed by the rejection.
“We’ll be fiiiine; there no one else here, anyways,” Balimund assured, taking another tankard of ale from the bar front. It was true that they were alone… and Ulfberth hadn’t seen any new guests in the inn for days before they arrived… he was sure that Ysolda would understand if he just explained…
“That’s a good lad,” the orc encouraged as the War-Bear removed his iron breastplate. Usually, he needed his wife’s assistance to don and doff his armor at the end of the day. Ever since the civil war started, the two had decided to be more cautious about customers; a pair of blacksmiths could become targets in wartime. But now, he felt… safer…
The cool air felt exhilarating against his bare skin. Ulfberth hadn’t done something like this since he was a lad, barely twenty summers old. Back then, it was common for young men to go out drinking in the open plains of Whiterun. And sometimes, the drinking challenges might leave one a bit exposed. He hadn’t even met Adrianne at that point.
“You’ve got a pretty impersive body, Ulfy,” Balimund said, trying to sound sly despite his drunken state. It was no secret that the blacksmith had been wearing an Amulet of Mara around Riften, but Ulfberth would have to remind his guest that he was already spoken for.
“…now what?” Ulfberth said as the three men stood by the bar, naked. Their clothes and armor were left discarded in a messy pile by the benches, bathed in the warm embers of the fire.
“Well,” Balimund stretched, deliberately putting on a bit of a show, “We’d need someone to be the judge for Mothy and me.”
“Mothy?” Moth seemed to find that the most indignant part of their situation.
“Alright,” Ulfberth said, grabbing at another tankard of mead, “Get up here and show me what you’ve got.”
Moth and Balimund were quick to step up to the bar, poses ready. Ulfberth stood off to the side, sure to get a good look of everything.
Moth was sure to show off his ample chest and wide arms with a double flex; he truly was the pride of the orc fortresses. Sweat began glistening on his dark green skin, mixing with the scent of alcohol in the air. It was an impressive sight, and one that reminded Ulfberth why orcs were still well regarded as great warriors, even in Skyrim.
“Don’t kid yourself, I’m winning this!” the orc declared, a hearty laugh on his lips. His deep baritone gave his performance a masculine energy that made him so disarming.
Balimund stepped between Ulfberth and the orc, making sure to bend over the bar and show off his attractive rear. His ass was toned perfectly, obviously benefitting from years of practice and experience in Riften.
“What do you think, Ulfy?” he said, wiggling his asscheeks side to side. His brutish voice contrasted so much with his wanton display. It certainly made the old blacksmith look desirable.
“I think you two are evenly matched,” Ulfberth said truthfully, placing his hand on Balimund’s left ass cheek, “We might need a way to break this tie before-”
Just then, the kitchen doors swung open, followed by Ysolda holding a massive tray of cream tarts and freshly frosted sweet rolls, “Sorry for the delay, gentlemen, I just-” She stopped herself, eyes wide at the sight. Her face flushed red, but she didn’t seem keen on panic at the moment.
Ysolda couldn’t hide her grin with a basket over her head. “You’ve certainly enjoyed your drinks tonight,” she tutted, “But I think I’m going to have to cut you three off.”
====The Next Morning====
The three men had been given a roomy cell, dry and relatively clean. Some straw and tattered mats had been laid out, providing enough comfort to sleep in. When the Jarl’s men came to collect the ‘indecent fools’ who had invaded the Bannered Mare, they were unable to come up with enough money for the fine of fifteen gold each. To add insult to injury, they could not find where they had stashed their clothes and armor, so they had to go without getting dressed.
Luckily, the Jarl’s men seemed sympathetic to the three exhibitionists' plight; apparently drinking games not too dissimilar to this are a common occurrence among the Whiterun guard. Ulfberth made a note to pay closer attention to what went on in the guard barracks across the street from Warmaiden’s. It didn’t help that the three blacksmiths were certainly attractive individuals, even when they've slept in the dungeon, bathed in the scent of sweat and mead.
Ysolda was decent enough to send their clothing back to Warmaiden’s, once she had found it the next morning underneath the benches by the fire. She might be an unscrupulous innkeeper, but she wouldn’t be so crass as to literally steal a man’s shirt off his back.
Somehow, the news seemed to reach Adrianne within seconds of her waking up that morning. That old woman who lived out back behind the shop was a notorious gossip. She would likely have been suspicious anyway, since her husband and guests didn’t come home last night. Trudging up the steps towards Dragonsreach dungeon, she didn’t know quite what to expect. How would she explain this to her father?
Adrianne stepped into the prison, flanked by the guard captain. “Ulfberth,” she said, her voice calm in tone, but dripping with embarrassment, “By the Eight, what am I going to do with you three?”