Hey guys! So this is my new story! It's another Skyrim/The hobbit crossover which may sequel into the The Lord of the Rings, but I'll think about that later, when perhaps I'm closer to the end of this story; instead of at the very first chapter!
Unlike my last crossover this one is not a romance story, which will be very different for me! Seeing as I think most of the stories I've wrote are mainly romance, so you'll have to be kind to me as this will be new to me not looking for lovey dovey scenes :P This story was a request from one of my readers called Bernard Karp, so credit is given to him for the framework of the story!
The door slammed against the wall as the large, grey Orc walked back into his home he had set up in Karthwasten. He was tired and annoyed, having travelled all night, all he wanted to do was go to bed. He had moved to The Reach a few years prior, as a skilled smith he had asked permission from his chief to travel Skyrim. Yes, he was very skilled in Orcish smithing, but he wanted to know more; he wanted to learn about smithing from other races. The chief had allowed him to go out into Skyrim, but he was to return to the strong hold for the festival of Malacath. Of course, he was going to abide by this condition; what Orc would miss the festival of Malacath.
When he had first arrived at Karthwasten, he hadn't been accepted and a few of the mine workers had ran off to Markarth to tell the Jarl. The Orc had to prove he was trust worthy, to the people of the reach. Like the Khajiit, Orcs were not trusted by the other races. Khajiit were known for their step, for being pick pockets and thieves; and Orcs were known for being fierce warriors and for being excellent smiths. Once he had proved that he was trust worthy and not going to attack those of the reach, he had been allowed to become smith of Karthwasten. He helped with the mining and made tools and weapons, sometime the odd traveller would come across Karthwasten and pay a good amount of gold for the Orc's wares and sometimes pay on commission.
The Orc walked across the wooden floors on his home, he pulled off his travelling cloak and dropped it on the table. Walking to his bed, he dropped his pack at the foot of it before falling onto this messily made bed. He lay there all night in a sleepy daze and when the sun rose the next morning, he wasn't sure whether he slept at all that night or not. Something had felt off to the Orc and he wanted to know what, he pull himself up and went to the kitchen of his home. A few leeks and bundles of meat but nothing else. Crud, he'd forgotten to go to a market on his way back. He had nothing to eat, and no time that day to go market, he had to pick up on his orders; and so he walked out to the smithing area beside his house. And set to work, first smelting the mounds of ore that was piling up by his house.
"Hello Bug."
The Orc turned to the voice and saw a khajiit standing behind him, holding a package.
"Dro Shaar, it's been a while since I've seen you." Bug continued at his work, he needed to finish the smelting by noon if he wanted to keep on top of his work. "Unless, you've been here whilst I've been away."
"I was told, I had just missed you a while back when you had left." Dro Shaar explained, "Where do you go every year? I know you pay messengers or sometimes send packages with us if we're going that way to your tribe for your family; I don't think you're so sentimental to go and and see them."
Bug grinned a little as his old friend teased him, the Khajiit's tail flicking, "No, I did not go to see my family for the birthing anniversary. When I asked permission to leave tribe, the condition was that I come back for the festival of Malacath."
"Your God."
"Aye, my God. Surely you have a God, or is a litter box enough for you?"
"Funny, you amuse me Orc."
Dro Shaar sat upon Bug's working bench and placed his package down as Bug turned and continued his work, for a few hours the two were like that. The Khajiit sat and watched the Orc work, he would never admit it but the workings of the Orc always intrigued him, more so the Orc himself intrigued Dro shaar. Bug had at first appeared to e like every other Orc he had ever encountered but that changed when Bug had put himself in between the members of the Forsworn and the children in Dro Shaar's caravan. Dro Shaar could remember the day like it was just yesterday.
He had heard the screams and calls of fear from where the children were playing, his ears twitching at the noises. He had told them to be careful, they had requested to stay by the stream from which their females were collecting water from; as these hills and paths were normally crawling with the Forsworn did not care if you were male or female, old or young, they would kill you. Within seconds Dro Shaar was on the road, running towards the shouts, members of his caravan behind him. They ran fast as they could to the children and when they got to the stream, the sight before them shocked them.
There in front of them, was an Orc. Yet the Orc was stood in front of their young, facing the Forsworn, many of which already lay dead or injured on the path. As another Forsworn ran at the Orc, he had turned causing the attacker to trip slightly, bring him low enough for the Orc to deliver a fatal blow to the head. As the Orc had turned, Dro Shaar recognised him to be the smith in Karthwasten. The Khajiit stood for a moment, bewildered. None of them had expected anyone, particularly an Orc to fight for their young. It took a moment for the Khajiit to react, but soon they were fighting the few Forsworn that were left, Dro Shaar, however continuing looking at the Orc. And he saw something else which shocked him, not how broad and tall the Orc was, for all Orcs were like that, but this one was using his shape and height to shield the gruesome scenes from they young Khajiit.
When all the fighting was over, the Orc remained in front of the young, and Dro Shaar had to call to the cowering children, commanding them not to look back and undo the Orcs efforts. The mothers took their young back to their camp and the remaining looked to the Orc for some explanation. Dro Shaar walked to the Orc, who stared at the dead Forsworn.
"You are wounded Orc, allow me to tend to your wounds as a thank you."
"I require no payment more."
"More?"
"All your young are live and well, I require no payment more."
The old Khajiit watched the Orc as he walked to the bodies, Dro Shaar not met an Orc like this.
A few hours later, the caravan of Khajiit all sat round their camp fire telling stories and having a small feast, offering small tokens, by throwing foods into the fire and saying a small prayer, to their Gods, thanking them for the safety of their children. Dro Shaar did not know much about Orcs, but he knew of their God; and after thanking his own, he threw another it of food into the fire as token to Malacath, to thank him for the Orc who had saved the young of his caravan. As they were all starting to relax, the blaze of a larger fire caught their eyes off in the hills. Dro Shaar took two of the males with him, and they set off to find the fire, hoping it to be just some more campers and no more Foresworn. As they came closer, he saw the Orc black smith and walked to him.
"What are you doing Orc?"
"Burning them."
"The Forsworn?"
The Orc nodded.
"Why?"
"In my culture, when we die...we are burnt."
Dro Shaar looked between the fire and the Orc, he couldn't understand why the Orc was burning them. The Forsworn meant nothing to him.
"We are burnt because our bodies serve no purpose any more and our souls will continue to live on with our Gods and ancestors." The Orc looked Dro Shaar dead in the eye, "They are dead. These forsworn, their bodies will serve no purpose, except to those called Necromancers, and no one deserves to be played with like a doll after death. I have burnt them so their souls will go to live on with their Gods and their ancestors."
"They do not deserve your pity."
"I show them no pity, just the decency to allow them to be at peace."
"They are villains." Dro Shaar almost snarled.
"Every Villain is a hero in their own eyes," the Orc said, looking back at the fire. "They believe what they are doing is right, and we are those whom are wrong."
Dro Shaar commanded that the two who had come out with him go back to camp, and after little argument they finally went. The Khajiit and the Orc stood side by side as they watched the fire burn and Dro Shaar thought over the Orc's words, and the Orc. He had most certainly never met an Orc like this before.
Bug had finally finished smelting all the Ore, and now set upon the task of stacking all of the ingots; steel, iron and silver. Next Bug had the task of tanning as the hides that had been placed in the smithy that morning, he had guessed someone had kept them in their huts, as hide could be easily stolen, ore was much harder to steal as singular it was useless but plural it was worthy however heavy. Bug then noticed something on a table beside him, Dro shaar had opened the parcel he had came with. On the table sat bread, some cooked meat, cheese, a sweet roll, a container of milk and a bottle of wine. Bug ate as he worked, quickly thanking the Khajiit for the food.
"I've never asked, but why are you called Bug?"
"Nickname." He grunted.
"For?"
"Bugrash."
"Sounds more like it." The Khajiit mumbled.
"What do you mean?"
"Sounds more Orc-ish, Bug sounds soft." He teased. "And a big guy like you..."
"Shall I tell you a secret?" Bug said in the same teasing tone.
"Oh, go on. Indulge me."
"My brothers would call me Bug because I was the smallest, it was a refernce to my height when I was younger."
"And now?"
"And now I bigger then three of them. My parents had eight children, five boys and three girls."
"Large family, rather like mine. I was the third child of six."
Bug stopped, as he had separated the hides into different piles, one for each animal; bear, sabre, deer, fox, goat. As he began on the goats hides, he still couldn't shake the feeling from before, something was amiss and he couldn't figure out what.
"You are distracted, friend."
"Aye. Something does not feel right to me."
"I am sure you will work it out."
The Khajiit bit into his third sweet roll, Bug smirked. He knew that Khajiit had a weakness for sweet things, but Dro Shaar really loved deserts.
"What about you, cat?"
"Now, now. Be nice, what about my name?"
"Doesn't it mean anything, Khajiit have titles don't they?"
"Yes, Bugrash. They do. Dro Shaar." He rolled the R's in his name. "Shaar is my name, I do not know of it's meaning. But Dro is my title, it means Grandfather. I am the eldest of my caravan and though they are not all my family, I do travel with some. Most of of are wiped out now, but it you remember the day by the stream...one of the children you protected was.."
"Your grand child?"
"No, my great grand child."
"You don't look old enough."
"One of the great things my race shares with the Elves, and that of your race, Bug. We do not show our age."
"That's why you're so wise is it?"
"Wisdom does not always come with age, wisdom is gained with memory; either that of experience or conversation. For example, despite the racism towards my own race; I will admit I was ignorant towards others, until one particular incident when an unlikely subject protected our young from the forsworn."
Dro Shaar walked over to Bug after taking another large bite of a sweet roll, when he reached Bug he opened his mouth to talk but found he could not due to the sticky syrup on the roof of his mouth.
Bug raised a cup to Dro Shaar, "Milk, kitty?"
Sorry this is so short!
So you met Bug! I wanted to write about being in Skyrim a bit, and his life before he goes to Middle Earth. I hope you all like Bug, or Bugrash, which ever you prefer to call him! I thought about putting him in a strong hold, but having him in a village works well for the story line. Also I don't think that an Orc would have many friends that aren't Orcs, but I thought he needed at least one. And that is where Dro Shaar comes in! I wasn't sure what race to make his friends, but I thought since there's a degree of racism towards the Khajiits, perhaps people would think little of Orcs as well as they mainly keep to themselves. Perhaps they could bond over that or something?
So Bernard Karp who requested and gave the frame work for this story, what do you think?
What do you all think? Creative and constructive criticism only! No Flames!
Thanks for reading guys!
Peace,
Umbralunae