Orcish

Prologue

Life inside the Orsimer strongholds demanded much from those born into them. One had to train constantly to keep themselves fit and battle ready, both men and women had to be strong to keep the stronghold strong. This was a gruelling and harsh lifestyle to bring honor to the hold and to the Orsimer deity, Malacath, who was said to have created the first Orcs long ago. But as hard as the life of a stronghold Orc was, it was the only life Graz knew. Graz had been born a son to the previous chieftain, Urbak, and since then his life had been dictated by the honor and duties of being the only son of the chief. He had been pushed to become strong, loyal to their ways and to be the proud example for the next generation to follow when he succeeded his father as chief of the Dushnikh Yal stronghold.

Graz's time had come and passed as quickly as if it had been a dream. He was too old now, he wasn't old enough to be useless lest he already be dead. So he worked in the mine, gathering ore and gems for their smiths to fashion into weapons and jewellery to trade to the passing Khajit caravans who stopped by at the fort to trade goods and supplies. It was taxing work, but it was all Graz could do to make any more contributions to his stronghold.

He gripped the pickaxe tighter and swung down onto the Orichalcum ore vein, smashing a large chunk of rock and ore from the rock face. His face was weather by time and his darkened flesh was showing its age now, his hair was greying and even his proud scar seemed insignificant when compared to the shame of his age now. He wiped the sweat off his brow and kneeled down to retrieve the ore fragments. They were good and useable, a hefty sum for the smiths.

Tossing the ore in the basket nearby he resumed his work on the rock face again. Until the voice of younger Orc minor broke his concentration on his task. "Keep mining like that, Graz." he didn't need to turn to see it was his nephew, Urokol, that was speaking. "And we might run out of ore."

Graz almost laughed. He knew he worked hard, some said too hard for an Orc his age. But that was a good thing, he was old and growing weaker as the years went by so to counter this he had to work twice, sometimes three times as hard as the others. He mined more ore in one day than most younglings did in three days.

He took another swing into the stone before he spoke. "Then I will dig a new mine," he smashed another sizeable chunk of rock from the wall and his muscles were beginning to feel the burn. He remembered when mining was easier, he could have mined for hours more, maybe a full day if he was in his prime. But now? Now he was glad to go five hours without his arms protesting the strain. "Perhaps you could mine as much if you did not stop to chat with me." he quipped gruffly as he lowered the pickaxe and picked up the stone to observe it for ore.

While he examined the rock. Urokol laughed in almost embarrassment. "Aye, I probably could. But you forget uncle, I enjoy the stories of your time as chief."

Graz grunted. "Then ask your father to tell you some. He knows almost as much as I do of my reign." he placed the ore in the basket, deciding he had enough to take up to the smiths he slid his pickaxe onto his belt and hefted up the basket full of ore. He didn't wait for Urokol to reply to his words before he was off along the wooden plants that were constructed to aid the minors in reaching the higher ore veins around the mine. It wasn't long before he heard his nephew following after him with his own basket of ore.

"I prefer hearing from the source while it is still around, uncle." Urokol said, shifting the basket for a more comfortable hold. "So, humor me?"

"Perhaps tonight when we dine," Graz replied stiffly. He felt tired more so than usual today, but that was to be expected he supposed since he had started early today. He considered what story he would tell the others at dinner, Urokol wasn't the only one who enjoyed tales of the great and powerful Chieftain Graz, the younglings apparently were told much from his departed wife, Aruta, while they grew up. His reign was draped in glory, he had defended his stronghold from bandits, ensured they survived a harsh winter and his most legendary achievement was when he had taken his blade against a camp of giants who had slain his eldest son so long ago.

He had killed three of the beasts and back their heads as proof of the deed. Their skulls still hung from the longhouse of the stronghold to this day, a memorial to the tremendous feat that guaranteed Graz's name in the memories of those to come after him as one of Dushnkh Yal's greatest chieftain.

But, that all seemed like an age ago now. But, perhaps he would regale them with how he defeated the three giants and retrieved his son's Waraxe from their camp. Yes, that would be a good story over dinner tonight. He smiled to himself as they reached the exit to the mine. Graz noticed something though, he stopped and said, "Wait."

The exit of the cave was glinting with sharp gold and orange light. The colors of fire. That shouldn't be, the torches of the fires outside the mine's entrance weren't so potent and it couldn't have been the setting sun cause it was well into the night and it had long fallen into night. That meant there was a massive fire in the hold.

"Fire!" Urokol dropped his basket and ran upwards out into the exit of the mine. Graz followed after him, shouting at him to be careful before he too exited the mine and took in the sight before him with shocked silence.

The stronghold of Dushnikh Yal was burning. The longhouse was ablaze, as were the guard towers and much of the walls. The bodies of his fellow minors were scattered about near the mine, arrows and gashes in their bodies. Some wielded weapons, others were unharmed, shown they had been cut down by surprise.

There was an enraged cry near the longhouse. Graz grabbed his only weapon, his pickaxe and ran towards the center of the stronghold, as he neared the sounds of blade clashing could be heard. He was relieved, whoever had done this was not yet gone. He felt rage boil in his blood and his pace increased. He jumped down a flight of stairs and turned to the longhouse courtyard of the hold.

He saw armored men, Nords, if he had to guess, clashing with his son, Goz along with his Forge Wife and Urokol, who had found a weapon from one of his kin, a sword. But they were outnumbered, seven to three. Graz searched around, then spotted a useful weapon on the corpse of another of his kin, the third wife of his son, he took the sword and hefted its assuring weight before he let out a battle cry and rushed forward.

The next instant the wind was knocked out of him by an arrow from behind the enemy formation on a burning tower. The enemy had an archer stationed atop it. He hit the dirt with a huff, looking down to see the arrow had strike and pierced his chest, a lucky break for him. Any further to the left and his heart would have been skewered. He kicked his legs out and pushed up with his arms, jumping to his feet. He moved forward again. More attentive since the only thing standing between his flesh and those arrows were his minor's clothes.

The archer fired again. He swung his sword, knocking the arrow off its path and harmlessly to the side. The others took notice of him, the leader of the seven invaders. A man wearing pitch black armor, turned his head towards him. In his hands was a shield and sword of the same make as his armor. Ebony, Graz realized.

Two of them turned and moved to intercept the rushing old Orsimer. They wielded longswords, they released their own battle cries and then they clashed. One swung high and the other low. Graz surprised them both by jumping over the low swing and into onto the high attacker, knocking them to the ground and his weight crushing the man beneath him.

Graz didn't dare give his opponant an opening to retaliate, he jammed his sword into the man's chest, then rolled off in time to avoid being beheaded by the second one. Now unarmed he gripped his hanging pickaxe and held it at the ready. Another arrow pierced his shoulder and made him stagger to the side, gritting his teeth in pain the old Orc turned to the archer, who notched another arrow in preparation for another shot.

"Die!" The second man yelled when Graz had his back turned. The old Orc spun, bringing his elbow up into the man's nose, breaking it and staggering him back with his weapon discarded in favor of clutching blood soaked face. Pickaxe in hand Graz turned back to the archer and tossed the mining tool with all his might.

It flew, cutting the air and the archer barely had time to so much as try to move before it impacted her chest, piercing it and knocking her off the tower into the waiting flames of the horse stables below her. He turned back to the second man, who was beginning to recover from his pain and was glaring at with tears in his eyes at the old Orc.

"Bastard," he hissed. Grabbing his discarded sword, then he smirked. Graz was now truly unarmed and without a weapon. He swung at the Orc, who side stepped and jumped forward, he gripped the man's jaw and the back of his head and with a jerk and snap the man's lifeless body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.

Graz turned back to see his son being held by two more of the invaders, his wife dead off to the side with a dagger in her side and his nephew, Urokol, in the arms of the now helmless black armored figure, his head lolled to the side and expression in an silent, open mouth cry of pain and terror while the man's head was buried in the boy's neck.

Realization struck Graz as hard as the archer's arrow. The man in armor was a vampire and he was draining his nephew of his blood! He grabbed the bodie's sword nearby and hurled it at the figure in black. It flew forward, the deadly blade glinting in the flame's light as it moved towards its target. Then… it stopped short of the man, the blade not a foot away from cutting into his back.

It dropped. The man let Urokol's limp body fall with it before turning to face the old Orc. His features were regal, dark hair and middle age. His entire appearance shouted noble heritage. The still fresh blood of his nephew running down the man's chin ignited new rage in Graz's blood.

"Oh my…" The man seemingly had now just noticed what Graz had done to his troops. "You've killed three of my thrall, have you? I'm impressed, Orc." he reached off to the side near one of the man holding back the struggling Goz. Said man held out a black helmet, the Vampire took it and slid it over his head again. "I think you've earned a warrior's death for such a feat."

The voice was cold, mocking and gentle at the same time. It brought more anger to Graz and he clenched his fists. The vampire looked to Goz, tilted its head then reached over and took the handle of one of thrall's longswords and slid it free of the sheath and with a careless air threw it at Graz's feet. The Orc didn't need prompting to pick the weapon up and rushed the leech.

He brought down his sword. It met the man's shield and with strength beyond mortals pushed against Graz's weight, sending the Orc staggering back a few steps. Graz growled and readied for another attempt, moving forward he swung low and fast. The vampire, in full armor, jumped over the swing that was easily at thigh height and landed on his feet. A moment later, he raised his foot and kicked.

Graz spun back around and received the booted foot to the gut. Knocking the air out of his lungs and stars to cross his vision as he flew back several feet across the dirt. The vampire laughed behind his helmet. Muffling the sound. "You're tenacious, aren't you?"

Graz stood, took a deep breath and ignored the pain in his stomach. He raised the sword and gripped the handle tighter. He didn't respond and moved forward again, running the blade tip against the ground, then jumped up and raised the sword over his head. The Vampire stepped to side when the sword was brought down and sunk into the dirt with a puff. The tip of his shield handle struck Graz in the back sharply and staggered the Orc forward onto the ground.

Before Graz could pull himself up again the Vampire brought his sword down, ramming the blade through the old Orc into the ground beneath him. Graz cried out in agony as he felt the blade shear through his flesh.

Graz struggled, trying to life himself up… then the vampire twisted his sword and a new wave of searing pain moved through the orc and he fell back to the ground, fighting the urge to scream. "Enough of that," the same mocking tone. "Now, I've no time to play with you brutes. So, I'll finish my business here, then be on my way."

Graz turned his head to look over his shoulder as the vampire moved back over to Goz. Who raised his foot to try and kick at the armored creature, only for his foot to be caught mid kick, then jerked out of its socket by the same monstrous strength and still crying out in pain Goz was spun by the leg around and tossed into the wall of the burning long house and through the wall. The vampire raised his empty hand, gathering magic and then shot a fireball into the newly created hole in the wall where Goz had been thrown. The spell detonated and the longhouse collapsed.

"No!" Graz yelled in pain and fury. He looked to the Vampire and reached behind himself. Gripping the blade that impaled him and with a roar that could frighten bears he lifted the lifted up and out of him, He stood shakily and gripped the ebony sword in one hand. The other held his bleeding wound. "You bastard!"

The vampire turned and raised his open palm to the blade. Graz felt the blade vibrate slightly before it was wrenched from his hand and into the waiting hand of the vampire. Who laughed, "Now I'm really impressed, Orc." ebony bladed sheath the vampire raised a hand towards Graz. Then… the same force pushed the old Orc back into some barrels of cabbage. And then pulled, bringing him right into the leech's waiting punch. Ribs broke beneath the attack and Graz coughed up spittle and flew back.

The vampire gestured to his two minions. "Get the horses ready. We're about done here," he commanded. Turning back to the crumpled form of Graz, he approached a moment later and kneeled next to him. "I was going to drain you of your blood. But, I think you've deserved the right to burn away with your precious stronghold."

The vampire stood, fired a fireball at the nearby guard tower and set it alight. Then another spell to one of its supports, the remaining beams strained and then snapped as the tower began to topple over slowly. The vampire patted Graz on the shoulder, stood and turned then walked away.

The last thing Graz saw was a the flaming guard tower coming down atop him before total darkness consumed him.

End of prologue

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