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Skyrim red riding hood

Rotkäppchen · Skyrim · Tes. Jeffry Haas Photography - Becca Briggs - Denver Model - Red Riding Hood Assassine, Louis. Gemerkt von anderstorpdrive.se Michael Hogan (* in Kirkland Lake, Ontario) ist ein kanadischer Schauspieler. Fernsehfilm); Red Riding Hood – Unter dem Wolfsmond (​Red Riding New Vegas als Doc Mitchell; The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim als General Tullius. Sie trägt den Titel 'Little Red Riding Hood'. Es wird aber bereits an einer zweiten Episode gearbeitet; eine dritte und sogar eine vierte sind.

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Babette was in the middle of retelling one of her kills so the family was gathered around her to listen. The overwhelming scent of lilacs and jasmine assaulted Arnbjorn's nose forcing him to look away from the vampire child to Festus Krex and Gabriella.

Standing between them was the new arrival, personally picked by his beloved wife Astrid. Her stance clearly indicated that she considered herself the master of the room and the others were merely guests she tolerated in her home.

Instead of being the newest, Elaninde exuded an aura of mastery. Typical for her race and one of the things Arnbjorn agreed with the Stormcloaks about eliminating from Skyrim.

Elaninde's face could only be described as vulpine, all angles and far too clever for her own good. Her skin was a light golden color common to her people with forest green eyes that the healthiest of the summer's leaves would envy.

Most unusual was her hair; it was red like snowberries and fresh blood. Instead of the usual pale gold or pure white of many High Elves, Elaninde's hair flared like fire burning past her shoulders to the middle of her back.

She typically kept it in a pragmatic twin bun style, but often Arnbjorn would see her sitting by the whirlpool while that damned fool brushed it faithfully.

That was another slap in the face to the Brotherhood. Almost as soon as the Keeper arrived—a huge disappointment that had been too, with Astrid discovering he was literally a mad fool who obsessed over a corpse—Elaninde proclaimed that she was the long-awaited Listener.

Cicero had practically orgasmed on the spot. It was bad enough that the others had to suffer her attitude of being a superior race, now they must pretend to acknowledge that she had power to be the Brotherhood's savior too.

The only good side effect was that Elaninde had Cicero in her pocket as her personal pet. The Fool doted on her constantly and she seemed to revel in the attention.

Arnbjorn thought it was personally sickening to watch as the Imperial fawned over her every night by the waterfall.

The little man would scurry back and forth fulfilling every whim of the much taller woman. Often he would be on one knee massaging her feet, painting her nails, or forever brushing that wild hair.

He wanted to work at his forge, but it was almost impossible. Even with the heavy clang of his hammer and the smell of melting metal, Arnbjorn could not push out the scent of oil and perfume from the elf or the high pitched constant chatter of the Fool.

The werewolf briefly thought he should be grateful neither of them favored blue or he would suffer from headaches constantly.

Both of the newcomers' clothing was exotic to say the least. Cicero was well known with his unique jesters outfit while Elaninde wore what Arnbjorn thought of as whore's clothes.

Thin, wispy cloth that barely clung to toned golden flesh. Arm straps with clung to the sides while strips of skirt allowed long legs to spread out from under them hiding nothing from the imagination.

For someone who came from the Summerset Isles, the High Elf gave no indication of being cold in the brisk Skyrim air. The only protection she wore against the cold was a huge red heavy woolen cloak with a hood that hid her face when she had it pulled up and she only wore that when she went out on her kills.

She never seemed to get angry or frustrated, but merely slightly bored or inconvenienced at best. We prefer it here with the company of passersby of the Family.

Isn't that right, my dear Fool? He placed his head on her lap and rubbed it like a domestic dog. Arnbjorn could have barfed.

We are happy here and here is where we will stay. His look was far too sly. Arnbjorn had to admit that it was a pleasant sound like the rest of her voice when she wasn't being so gods damned condescending.

You know how I do not like to dress afterwards and ruin my clothes. In the meantime, finish with my hair. Today Cicero had adorned the hair with wild flowers.

A chain created a crown and was accented with petals here and there in the cascade of hair. Elaninde leaned back into the fancy throne-like chair she had moved into the practice area for these occasions while Cicero deftly added more flowers into some elaborate pattern.

Disgusted and accepting the fact he would get no work done with those two about, Arnbjorn stomped up to the planning room near the front of Sanctuary.

She didn't bother to turn to look at who had huffed angrily up the stairs, no one else in Sanctuary behaved in such a manner around their leader.

His attention was drawn to her like a moth to flame. No one save Astrid had any idea what each piece represented, which is how the blonde liked it.

You've been downright snappish lately. He stood behind his wife and ran hungry hands up her side while nuzzling her soft neck.

It had been weeks since he had last lain with Astrid. Normally they rutted at least three or four times a week; a fact that made the others grateful their leaders had a private room away from the rest of Sanctuary.

Astrid wasn't a screamer like some women, but Arnbjorn always left her more than satisfied. She shifted her position so she was away from her husband.

Arnbjorn frowned. He didn't care to be ignored even by his wife who he loved more than anything and he was getting tired of her always putting him off.

This assassination is the most important thing the Brotherhood has ever undertaken and I am determined to get it done right.

We would have Skyrim in our grasp again! After proclaiming herself Listener, Elaninde had said the Night Mother had given her a contract. Ignoring Astrid's command to wait, the Altmer immediately rode to the ruins of Volunruud to meet the contact, a man named Amaund Motierre.

He had told her he wanted the Emperor dead with a few extra bonus kills. He had provided more than enough gold to grab their attention for a retainer fee and with the promise of more when the job was completed.

Astrid started pulling in every favor she had managed to accumulate over the years to get this job done with as much flair and glory as possible.

The last time an Emperor had been assassinated was over two hundred years ago with Uriel Septim and that particular honor had gone to the gods damned Mythic Dawn, a huge blow to the Brotherhood's pride.

There were few contracts available since Nazir was focusing on finding people who owed them favors instead of scraping up rumors of petitioners performing the Black Sacrament.

With the Night Mother talking again, everyone had expected for her to give them more contracts, but so far the only one she had deemed to give was the one for the Emperor.

None of that bear or sabre cat. Good elk would be a nice change. Astrid didn't even turn to say goodbye. Arnbjorn could remember a time when she clung to him with hugs and kisses any time he even mentioned the possibility of not being by her side.

But that had been when she was young and not the leader of the last Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood in all of Tamriel.

It did feel good to be outside. The crisp autumn air burned Arnbjorn's sensitive nose pleasantly. The Nord moved away from the Black Door and to a niche in the ground that he had made years ago.

He quickly shucked his clothes and left them hidden in the earth for when he returned. Now unrestrained by leather and cloth, Arnbjorn released the beast.

Skin tore and bone stretched. Sharp canine teeth ripped through gums replacing the pathetic blunt human ones. Claws lengthened into killing knives ready to rend and slice tender flesh.

Arnbjorn's senses exploded as a new spectrum of color, smell, and sound was made available to him. Falling to all fours, the werewolf ran through the forest marking it as his own.

Life as an assassin was good; life as a werewolf was better. Many children of Hircine didn't remember their time as wolves when they first transformed.

The first experience was the most intense and pure, much like sex. Too many emotions and sensations to be properly recalled and categorized, but many would give their soul to feel that way again.

Arnbjorn had lived with the curse of lycanthropy for decades, ever since he had been so graciously inducted into the inner Circle of the Companions.

He had long mastered his control of his wolf form so that he remembered everything he did and often was able to think as a man if necessary.

Not that he wanted to; it was a joy to be a wolf both in body and spirit, but sometimes one needed the clarity of humanity to get a job done.

The moons were high in the sky as Arnbjorn ran. He reached a cliff and stopped to howl his dominance at the stars. To his surprise, Arnbjorn heard a responding howl.

It was too sharp to be a wolf's cry, but too intelligent to be that of a normal animal. The wolf growled and ran towards the direction the howl came from to investigate.

The scent of female canine hung heavy in the air when Arnbjorn got to the forest clearing. Arnbjorn snorted heavily at the musky smell. Trees were torn up from claw marks indicating the female's claimed territory.

Arnbjorn hiked a leg and let loose a stream of hot urine to reclaim the place as his. This was not the first time Arnbjorn had to fight for the land around Sanctuary from other wild creatures.

There had been other werewolves in the past whose pelts the Nord had kept as tokens. Yet, there was something different about this female.

Her scent and call weren't right. Not wrong, but different. Nose low to the ground, Arnbjorn moved to follow the scent. Tufts of russet fur were other marks of claiming territory.

Brow furrowed, Arnbjorn wondered how this female had managed to so thoroughly mark this land without him noticing. As he had grown older, he did tend to spend more time in Sanctuary at his forge, but he was no Alpha male whose muzzle was so gray he had to step down for the next youth.

The trail led to a burrow obviously recently dug. Arnbjorn stuck his nose into the opening to get a better sniff.

His body was halfway into the hole when suddenly pain from tooth and claw raked down Arnbjorn's back. The trail had been a trap and he had blindly walked into it like a pup with its eyes closed.

Large paws dug against the earth trying to escape the rending claws and tearing teeth, but the hole was too small for his large form and it was impossible to back up without exposing his vulnerable neck or stomach.

There was only one thing to do. Arnbjorn gritted his teeth and reverted to human form. The cold night air slapped his bare human skin, but it was better than standing there while the female tore him to pieces.

Before the other creature could keep attacking, Arnbjorn threw himself deeper into the burrow. Loose earth tumbled under his hands and bare feet, but he made good time as he half crawled deeper into the earth.

The Nord desperately hoped that the tunnel would widen into a proper den and was not just a half-dug lure to trap him indefinitely.

It was completely dark in here with only human eyes to see. His senses may have been magnified with the werewolf blood, but there were limitations to their ability with a human body.

Arnbjorn could still feel the cool, wet earth and smell the musk of the female, but he could sense little else. Unless you counted his ragged breath and the huff of the female hunting him.

Arnbjorn almost yelled out in surprise when he placed a hand before him and found nothing but air. Without anything to support his weight, the Nord found himself sliding forward and down an incline for about fifteen feet.

It looked like there was a den here after all for it wasn't just packed or loose earth under Arnbjorn's feet.

He could feel a combination of straw and furs. The assassin was already halfway through transforming back into wolf form when the female landed nearby.

Arnbjorn's eyesight had improved enough he could make out her red fur accented with a white undercoat and tip on her tail. A werefox?

Those existed? The fox gave a shrill bark before launching at Arnbjorn. He sidestepped the creature as he finished his transformation.

He howled laughter as he grabbed the smaller canine in his huge paws. Now that he wasn't trapped and unaware, she was his! Another pelt would join his collection as well as a bragging story for the others.

The red fox flipped onto her back and raked her back claws against Arnbjorn's chest as he tried to wring her neck. The Nord used his heavy weight to pin her down so she couldn't continue her attack.

As the female bucked under him, Arnbjorn realized something. She wasn't trying to kill or maim him. This wasn't about territory; it was about mating!

The bitch was in heat. The epiphany made Arnbjorn breathe in the female's scent and it almost drove him wild. He had gone too long without feeling a female and in his wolf form his mind was at its most primitive.

For a brief second, Arnbjorn's human side almost won. The wolf pinned the fox easily so her claws would not tear as he pushed his muzzle into her crotch.

He breathed deep of her sex reveling in the musky tang of desire. Forgot your password? By C5Kev. Hello Folks! Once upon a time, a sweet, young girl with a 38D called Little Red Dragonborn walked through the woods to deliver food to her sickly grandmother.

So called because of the red riding hood she always wore, a gift from her grandmother. One day, a big, bad troll, who needed a handjob and also wanted to eat out and fuck Little Red, secretly stalked his prey from behind the trees.

He approached Little Red and she naively tells him where she is going. The troll suggests that the girl pick some flowers as a present for her grandmother, which she does.

The troll skedaddles to grandmother's house and gains entry by pretending to be Little Red Dragonborn. He swallows grandmother whole, then disguises himself as grandmother and waits for the girl.

When Little Red Dragonborn arrives, she notices that her grandmother looks different. Little Red says, "What a deep voice you have Grandma!

What a long, thick penis you have Grandma! And lastly, "What a long tongue you have Grandma! The two then share a cigarette and fall asleep. Ahhh, childhood.

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