The first golden rays of a Heartfire morning wash over the woods of The Rift. Evening shadows are chased away, every surface warmed is gilded in sunlight. Pale branches abundant in reddening leaves rustle and dance in the frost laced breeze, whispering of approaching winter. The rhythmic, metallic rattling of armor breaks the forest silence, announcing the approach of an adventurer. His pitch black eyes skim the landscape, keeping alert for bandits and game animals, as well as partially admiring the scenery. In order to earn septims, the journeying warrior gathered pelts and alchemical ingredients. It was difficult to find work, even simple tasks of labor, Nords often drove him away from their farms when he inquired. Although his sable eyes, protruding canines, dusky green skin, and lumbering figure were valued in his tribe, among outsiders, they were met with intimidation and cautious distrust. Children often ran from him, screaming to their playmates of how the Orc would eat them whole if they came too close. Guards would snicker boldly at his armor, calling it ugly and strong, like the ones who forged it. In this land, he was the outsider. Despite these occurrences, he held neither hate nor contempt for the transgressors, as others of his tribe might. Usharz Yarguul was a kind mer, honest, forgiving, and since departing from Largashbur, very lonesome.
As heavily armored gauntlets clumsily pluck delicate mountain flowers from the roadside, Usharz recalls pleasant memories of the stronghold wise woman. The curious smells and many hued ingredients of her alchemical station were a constant source of wonder. Her aromatic salves healed his bruised and bleeding fists countless times, the she must have catalogued the properties of every ingredient in their territory. He twirled the stem of a red bloom, observing it closely.
"Had I been born with a strong mind, I would be making potions instead of foraging like a beast." he grunted, furrowing his brow. He was foolish to think all he needed were his fists to thrive on his own. Unfurling from his crouched position, he continued down the gleaming cobble path. The sun had only just risen over the treetops when he came across the first herd of deer, nibbling on the coarse Skyrim vegetation. The animals had not yet sensed his presence, he counted the prey. Three small does, and a sizable grey buck with large antlers. Usharz studied their surroundings, planning his attack. He acquired game like his father, no stealth, no weapons, only the hunt. He carefully slid his pack onto the ground, he needed to stash his hindering raiments quickly. Removing his armor piece by piece, leaving only his gauntlets, he stores the rest away. Before drawing it shut, he retrieves a small, unembellished bottle. With a mighty heave, he tosses the pack high into a distinctly misshapen tree. He dislodges phial's cork, and splatters its odorous contents on the trunk. The oil of troll lazily dripped down the bark, his nose crumpled in disapproval. He never got used to that reek, could smell the monsters a league away, no mistaking that stench.
Everything was now in order. He turned to face the deer once more, they hadn't moved far. Loosening his muscles, his body sensed an impending battle, and adrenaline began to flow through his veins. Whispering praise to Malacath, his hands clenched into rigid claws, and he threw himself into a sprint, barreling at his prey. The deer immediately became aware of the strident steps, and instinctively darted for the river, just as Usharz had predicted. To reach it, the herd would need to scale a partition of sunken boulders. He weaved through the thicket skillfully with astonishing power and agility, closing in on the panic-stricken animals. Every muscle in his body burned with a predators thrill, curling and flexing with precision. His mind sharp, focused, void of all distraction as he tore through the landscape. The deer desperately climbed the rocks, their hooves slipping beneath their weight on the smooth surface. One by one, the does made it over the stony parapet, while the large buck struggled with his footing. His front legs found the leverage he needed, but before he could lunge his body forward, his eyes widened in terror as a savage grip closed around one of his hind legs. With a feral cry, Usharz flung the beast over his head, brutally slinging it to the ground. He heard the familiar crack of breaking ribs, and knew he had won. He swiftly wrapped a meaty forearm around the wailing buck, and effortlessly snapped its neck. Usharz kept his hold on the limp carcass, panting from exertion. Slowly, he loosened his grasp, and mounted the kill on his back. Sniffing the air for the scent of troll, he found his direction, and proudly lumbered toward his belongings.