I'm Gakesh. I'm an Orc, from the few clans left in Skyrim. Our race is famed for savagery in battle, strength of body and the sheer force of our spirit – but do not let it be known that we lack the intelligence to properly remember events. As evidence that we do, within these pages I shall place a record of my adventures, listing both the place, the time and my equipment, as well as how the operation proceeded. Never let it be known that Gakesh was unable to remember the battles that she has fought through.
Embershard mine, a small mine populated by bandits, just west of the town of Riverwood. I believe that I was equipped with rudimentary imperial iron armour, stolen from the slain body of an imperial captain. She was smaller than me, and the armour was a bad fit, but it was protective.
I remember it like it was yesterday…
I was walking around the corner, and the entrance hove into view. The guard they had posted was sloppy – a wood elf, garbed in simple fur armour. As I charged him, bellowing, I remember the smell of his fear. My axe landed twice before his sword was clear of its sheath, and he fell to the ground, dead. As he fell, I walked past his body, blood dripping from the blade of my axe. I can still remember the red mist obscuring the corners of my vision, the rage our kind is known and feared for. I ignored the callings of the rage, and carried on into the mine.
Let it be known that the bandits planted a rockfall trap after a short slope near the entrance to the mine – hopefully, any who reads these excerpts and is presented with the task of ending the bandit's spree will do well to remember this, and survive. The only warning I received was a trickle of soil from above clanging of my left pauldron. Sensing the ground quake, I launched myself forwards into a roll, and managed to clear the falling debris. The noise was terrific, and echoed all the way down the mine and back. But I could not sense any foes – maybe the gods of luck were on my side that night, or maybe Sanguine hushed the rocks for me – I know not. All that I know is, the bandits remained unaware of my location.
From down the corridor I could hear chatter. Two of the bandits, talking about their defences. I remember grinning, the helmet of the imperial officer clanging against my fangs. Stupidly, I stood up in plain view, shield in one hand and axe in the other. I remember clanging them together, like cymbals of war. The two bandits immediately recognised me – an Orc in heavy armour, covered in dirt and wielding a bloody axe. To their credit, they did not flee. Instead, they drew their weapons and charged me.
The first one, a young male Nord, swung at me with his iron sword. I simply let the attack glance off the armour I wore, and then punched him in the face with the pommel of my axe. The other bandit, another wood elf, had passed behind me in that moment, and lunged for a place in my back where the armour was ill-fitting. They stuck a powerful blow to the rear elbow guard of my armour, but succeeded only in making me drop my axe. Responding quickly, I grabbed the Nord, whose nose I had broken, and pushed them into their comrades way, retarding their next attack. Quickly scooping up my axe, I swung at the same moment as they swung. Their attack bounced harmlessly off my shield, but my attack severed their arm at the wrist. The severed hand, still clutching the axe, thudded to the floor as the bandit wheeled away, clutching at the stump. Moment later, the rim of my iron shield in the back of his neck ended his screams.
I remember relaxing for a second, and it was very nearly my undoing. I suddenly felt an ice-cold needle of pain in my leg. The wounded Nord had crawled close and slid an iron dagger through a small chink of my armour, digging deep into my thigh. I roared in pain and thrashed out, crushing his skull with the blunt side of the axe. I quickly jerked the knife free, and applied a healing potion, before quickly cutting some fur loose from the dead bandits armour to form a tourniquet. Grimacing at the pain, I carried on. In a small room up ahead, there was a lever. Pushing it, I saw the bride fall, and I was at the bride as I saw two more bandits cross. I let it all go. I let the pain burrow through me, and I felt ever nick and mark I had. I revelled in my own suffering, but it was not enough. I needed more pain. Not my pain. Their pain.
The red mist descended.
Through the haze, I could see myself charge forward. I was no longer in control of myself, a spectator in my own mind. I saw myself throw my shield at the enemies, and duck to pick up the axe, still attached to the severed arm. The shield scythed through the air over the bandits heads, and as they ducked I was upon them, dual-wielding the axes. I could feel myself screaming, the blood coursing through my veins.
My first blow lodged deep into one shoulder. The other axe was swung wildly, missing the target altogether. It took advantage and swung its mace into a smash, but I simply laughed as the attack hit, rattling my insides. The pain made the red mist thicker. My fingers were clenching the axes so hard I feared that I would snap the handles, but it was not to be so. They attacked. An iron sword swung towards me. Raising one axe to deflect it, the other followed through into a diagonal slash that parted their fur armour like water and sundered deep into them they fell, my axe lodged deep into them. I sensed the next move, and raised my remaining weapon to parry an attack from the mace. I directed the attack past my stomach, and then chopped down on their arm with my free hand. Howling, they dropped their weapon. Then they collapsed as my axe tore through their mouth. I roared my approval of the bloodshed, internally struggling to regain control. I managed to part the red mist, and it receded from my lingered in the corners of my eyes, but I ignored it as I hauled my axe from the belly of the dead body.
Further ahead, after a corner, there was another guard. They were stupendously surprised when my axe entered their stomach, and died with a massively shocked expression as my other axe clove their head at the neck. They fell to the floor with a meaty thud as I moved on, yanking my axe free.
By now, I shudder to think what I looked like. I am almost certain that a dragon itself could have held my gaze. I was doubtless covered in blood from head to toe, and my axes were freely dripping as I entered the largest of the caves. The bandits had been here for a long time – there was a waterfall at the far end, traversable with the aid of a wooden bridge. Nearer me, they had managed to set up a forge, and I could hear one of them pounding metal into shape. Perhaps that was what had quietened the sounds of bloodshed. I grinned ferally as I walked down the wooden steps, walking purposefully towards the bandit smith. He was poring over the dagger he had forged, and did not notice as I arrived behind him. He noticed my arms in his back though. And his comrades recognised his wails as he fell into his white-hot forge, newly made dagger tumbling from his arms.
I grunted as a sudden pain hit me. I reached to my back and yanked at the offending item, recognising the feel without needing to see it. An arrow. Another clinked off the floor inches from me, and I swung my gaze up to see a female Redguard nocking another arrow. Twirling, I hurled my axe at her, and watched as it spun into her stomach, bowling her over the low fence and sending her plummeting into the waterfall.
As I walked up the wooden walkway, I kept an eye on all the shadows. There was a…tenseness to the air. There was someone else here.
I ducked my head as another Orsimer leapt from behind. Their two-handed warhammer would have obliterated me had I been moments slower. As it was, however, the blow struck with great force into the sigil on the top of my 'borrowed' helm, cracking my neck sideways. Stars appeared in my eyes as the sudden force twisted my neck, but I pushed myself to my feet uncertainly. Raising my single axe, I roared a challenge to my fellow Orc. He responded in kind.
And we both let go. We both let the rage fill our minds, then just watched.
My body leapt forwards, snarling, and crashed down in a two-handed attack on his warhammer. Catching the blow on the haft of his weapon, he flashed out in a quick hit that sent me staggering backwards. He followed this up with a vertical swing that almost took my head off. I ducked under the blow and smashed my axe as hard as I could into his stomach. He grunted and punched me in the face, the sheer fury lending hid fist overwhelming power. I staggered back as he ripped my axe from his wound and tossed it to the ground. He let out a wheezing howl, and tried to raise his weapon again, but I could see his arms shaking.
I ran forwards into a bull-like shoulder ram, sending him flying onto his back and his weapon clattering to the floor. I quickly jumped onto him and pinned his to the floor with my legs as I unleashed punch after hate-fuelled punch into his face. Within three punches, I felt one of my knuckles break, but I kept punching after ten hits, he was still struggling. Only after thirty full-force power punches did his body flop to the floor.
And thus was the last bandit of Embershard mine vanquished. I hope that any who read these notes will learn from my mistakes. To whit:
Never let your guard down. Any opponent worth their salt will take advantage of any gap. Even the best fighter in history can leave a gap that can be exploited, so be careful to monitor everything.
Maintain awareness of emotion. Orcs are either cursed or blessed with our anger – opinion is divided. However, it is not an excuse. It is best to never use emotion to win a fight.
I shall teach more lessons within the next excerpt. Until then, this is Gakesh, Warrior of the Orsimer, Bidding you farewell.