The clang of hammer on steel is all but home in my ears. Sparks fly and heat roars in the forge as days and nights pass underneath the glow of the moon against the glow of the coals, resting in the hearth. I barely go inside anymore, to the place I once called home; to me, the forge is my home, not a cube of wood with a door. My hands always ache after a long day in the firelight, yet I never stop until I am satisfied with all my creations. The isolation, being just outside the actual limits of the city of Dawnstar, gives me the peace I need to work without interruptions. The only issue with this lifestyle I've chosen is that I feel ever so limited by the steel I forge, feeling that this is the limit to my potential.
Bringing my face from the glow of the forge is difficult, but the rush of the night wind coming from the sea, drifting against my skin makes it all the more easier. It gently cools my face, and lets it solidify in the smile I always have after a long day at work. I turn to look towards the glow of the moon, instead, and see that it has risen almost to the top of the skies; I need to sleep, but there's so much work to be done. I need to keep up with my work and earn my keep, if I am to stay in Dawnstar for as long as I've been. Being an Orc in a Nordic colony doesn't exactly bode well.
Sweat beads against my eyes. This work is in my blood, as it has been for generations, and I don't plan to disappoint my ancestors by getting kicked out of a city I've worked so hard to get into. I doubt they'd actually be proud of me in general, for leaving my stronghold of Hamerok. It was a proud stronghold before I departed from it, yet I didn't have much of a choice; Malacath called me elsewhere, and I ended up here. "Until the rightful heir returns," he spoke, while I was in my slumber "seek out what makes all men burn. Work under the star that gave you first light; and focus on work that will aid you to fight".
At first I assumed he meant to just work anywhere under the sun, but that seemed vague. I'd ventured first through Morthal, but they'd practically kicked me right down the main road and out the other end. They'd been plagued with strange fires from what I'd heard, and I connected it with the first line of Malacath's little prophecy, but I couldn't seem to put my usefulness to the test; I continued my journey north, to Solitude.
When I'd arrived at the gates, they hadn't exactly welcomed me with open arms. I was first forced to dive off to the side of the main road, as the gates open to a man speeding along on horseback. I thought it abnormal, until he started being pursued by a hefty number of legionaries. It was after that ruckus subsided that I rushed towards the sound of screams and cries within the city. Everyone was running towards the palace, screaming and crying. I ran after them, catching a glimpse of a large number of guards – not as large as the ones perusing the man on horseback, but still large enough - running up the main watchtower to the gatehouse. It wasn't long after that I'd learned the man who fled was the same man who murdered the High King on that day; that man being Ulfric Stormcloak.
I'd heard of tensions between the Empire and the people of Skyrim during my travels. Could this be a ripple effect of this? I'd remained in the Winking Skeever for most of my time there, and helped out around Solitude where I could; first working where I could at the forge, making new armor for the apparent war that may or may not soon be brewing. Much passed in the days at working in the forge of Solitude; the potential war broke out all around the province of Skyrim, the wife of the late High King took the throne while a moot was being arranged, and an older looking fellow with general legion armor made his way to Castle Dour. He seemed to have taken interest as he passed by the forge on his way there, as he halted his regime and eyed me, making his way over to me.
"Are you the master of this forge?" He grunted to me, looking me up and down as he approached. I wasn't at all aware a large figure was making their way into town; I'd have washed my apron.
"No, my Lord; I am simply a civilian here in Solitude, offering my services to assist their people in their time of need." He kept his eyes on mine, and from time to time looks around at the rest of my facial appearance.
"You wear the clothes of a city forger, yet you have the presence of a stronghold Orc. Am I correct?"
I nod. "You're very observant, my Lord-" He stops me, holding his hand up.
"There's no need to refer to me that way. Just General Tullius is fine". I continue to nod, following what I'd been saying
"General Tullius. Well yes, I am from the Stronghold to the south, known as Hamerok. I was once the Forgemaster there." The General nods, smiling a bit.
Hamerok is a strong Orc Stronghold that sits on the borders of the Reach and Hjaalmarch. It is very well known for being the only stronghold to survive outside the shadow of any mountains or cliff sides, and is also known for its ruthless training and militarization. Any and all Orcs willing to fight and defend is fitted with the strongest of Orcish armours, and trained in the strongest of combat measures. There have been many unfit soldiers from other Skyrim strongholds sent to Hamerok to train that leave stronger than their own chieftains. It is also for this reason that Hamerok holds the strongest of the political power within the Stronghold system.
"What is your name?" He speaks with the heavy Cyrodillian accent he carries with him.
"Govn." The General smiles.
"Well Govn, You might be of use to me." The General speaks, "I've taken a look through all of Skyrim's list of resources, and the strongholds had me interested. If I remember correctly, Hamerok is where most of the power lies with the province's Orc settlements. If you could perhaps help me bring them in as allies, that would be very… convenient." I remember my reaction clear as day. I scrunched up my nose, and gave him a piercing look; as piercing as sea blue eyes can be.
"I doubt they would agree to side with the golden elves. The Thalmor and the Orcs of Skyrim don't exactly enjoy eachothers company". The General nods, and moves slightly closer to me, locking my eyes with his, as if we were in combat.
"It is in your best interest that you form this alliance. Come see me later on, and we'll discuss it further." He turned, and moved back to his squadron of guards, and continued to move to Castle Dour. It never felt right the entire rest of the day, while I was forging the steel blades that I knew would soon be cutting down the local Nords.
How many of these blades will cut down my kin if I don't follow through? I thought, looming above the heat of the forge. I couldn't do it. That night, I packed my things and ran. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't care if Malacath shunned me for what I was doing, but I had to run. Run. Run.
And run I did, right into Dawnstar.
My memories of the past mean nothing to me now, so why do I continue to dwell on them? I'd like to know, yet I can never answer that question; I just continue to dive back in and wonder, what is so important? Nonetheless, as I looked down to the handiwork that my daydreaming had caused me to make, I'd began to realize a sword isn't suppose to be bent that way.
"Curses," I mumbled. Work like this wasn't going to keep me friendly with these Nords, especially not if they decided to look at more of my past. People around Dawnstar especially don't take kindly to Imperial sympathisers, not that I'm much of one. I doubt they would see it that way, though; not every traveller arriving in the Pale gets offered an alliance from an Imperial General.
I turned from the forge, dropping the crippled blade off to the side; I'd reforge it properly later. It was near the time I needed to check to see if my quota was filled. 30 Steel swords and Greatswords, tuned and sharpened finely, 20 Iron Shields, beaten to wear them out and test them for their strength. 20 carved out hunting bows, with extra iron around the limbs for support, unstrung. I'd all but doubled the quota for the weaponry, and I'd have gladly done the guards' armor as well, but that wasn't exactly my kind of work. It wasn't too long after that Forlin arrived in his horse drawn cart, smiling under his scaled helmet; a signature look for the finest archer in the hold.
"G'day Govn!" he yelled, almost jollily, "I assume you've been up all night? You look sickly". I nod. His long dirty blonde beard hangs down from his helmet, concealing his neck. He wears garments that symbolize his guardianship of Dawnstar, and around his neck, peeking out just under the end of his facial hair, is an amulet of Talos.
I nod at him. "It's been a long and hard night, but here's what you asked, and then some. As per usual". Forlin smirks at me, and leaps down from his now halted cart. He makes his way over to me, and we shake hands with a firm grip. We speak like old friends while we load the cart.
"Not been here two weeks and you've attracted the attention of Jarl Skald. He sent me with a message, a summons rather. He wants to meet our beloved new forger." My eyes lift to Forlin's figure, as I toss an armful of greatswords onto the wagon and into his arms.
"So sudden? I'll need to grab a few things if I'm to venture into the city overnight." I'd mull this over in my head, rearing back when I pull up a hefty handful of shields. When I lift them into Forlin's arms, he shakes his head.
"No no no, you'll be back before nightfall. I'll let you sleep on the way there, not to worry!" I nod, as I toss him the last of the swords and bows. When he leaps down, he lifts the backend and ties it into place. I smile at him, my tusks showing alarmingly, and he smirks back, knowing I am now agreeing.
"Well, let's get going!" he yells into the morning air.
When we arrive in the city of Dawnstar, it is everything I remember when I arrived. Forlin was actually the first to "greet" me when I'd arrived, with a bow in his hands and an arrow strung back, aimed towards me. Two other guards with swords drawn approached me on either side, while he spoke.
"Who approaches the city of Dawnstar, in times such as this?" he blurts out. I'd known that the cities were practically in lockdown, since the murder of the High King. The only ones that remained that way now were those who supported who I believed to be a tyrant, due to him causing an uproar of rebellion.
"You must be standing with Ulfric, if you're so quickly accusing non-Nordic folk. I simply come seeking refuge from the empire, along with work." It wasn't entirely a lie. Though I haven't really chosen a side (assuming I ever will), I was fleeing from a potentially psychopathic general and his hoards of imperial soldiers, who are no doubt on the footsteps of my old home now. I would have no place there, so I had to come somewhere safer; but then I arrived here.
"I.. uh…" He hesitates, locking eyes with me. After a few moments of tension and silence, he lets the bowstring rest and removes the arrow from his fingers, back into it's quiver. The soldiers on either side of me follow suit, and sheathe their weapons. I nodded to Forlin, smiling and making my way through the path that lead into Dawnstar.
Now I stand in it yet again, and nothing has changed, with the exception of security being a little more relaxed. The fisherman boats fill the port that the townsfolk surround. Dawnstar sits on the coast of Skyrim like a giant horseshoe around the port. Across the port either hill resides the mines that supply me with the ore I need to continue my labors; ore I assume I'll be collecting today.
The main strip of the city sits across from the sea, at the toe of the horseshoe surrounding the harbor. Near the middle, at the top of the hill sits the Jarls Longhouse; our destination. Forlin takes the right as we enter Dawnstar from the south-western entrance, that leads us down the main road to the Longhouse, but something is wrong. I glance around as our carriage bumps along the stone pathways, and the main road doesn't appear as busy as it normally should be. There are people down by the harbor, seeing as nobody can really stop the hustle and bustle of our fisheries or our mines, and a few glance up towards the carriage, grimacing slightly.
I turn away from them, trying to settle myself. People know this carriage carries weapons; nobody wants a war sparking in this town, with the Imperials' navy. I keep telling myself that. I always get worked up over silly things such as this, over thinking at every little thing that happens ever since I left Hamerok. It was early morning, so only people are either still asleep or at work in the mines, that's all.
When we pull up to rest our carriage beside the White Hall, the Jarl and his housecarl, Jod, are already waiting for us. The old Jarl looks to me with a soft smile, as if he had never gone through the Great War, or so I was told he has been. As I dismount from the carriage, Forlin comes around and watches as I greet the Jarl, shaking his hand. Skald speaks first.
"So, this is the famous Orc blacksmith, who took up a home on the outside of my hold," he says cheerfully, "I've seen your metalworks, and they're quite impressive."
"Well, thank you kindly my Jarl," I say, "it's been an honor assisting you in your times of need."
"Yes, well," he goes on, "I wish I could speak to you further about this, but I you to help me address something that requires your attention." As he speaks, we all step inside. I look around to see what appears to be his court wizard, and a stormcloak commander, wearing steel plated armor covered in bear pelt. They stand in what would be a semi-circle, had their been two people between them.
"Would you need me to sharpen your blade for you?" I ask Jarl Skald "Tone up your armors?" The Jarls turns to me, stone faced.
"If only it were that simple for you, Govn." At that instant, I hear the door creak closed and lock, along with an angry looking housecarl pull his blade and walk me into the newly formed semi-circle. Skald moves past me, and stands at attention in between his court wizard and his stormcloak general. They all give me piercing looks. I hear the housecarl shuffle behind me, and an instant later I feel the back of my knees burn and buckle. I fall to the floor, and kneel to the Jarl of Dawnstar. Skald holds out his left hand, and the general hands him a piece of folded parchment, which Skald throws down to me.
"That was intercepted late last night from a courier who entered the city, looking for you." The Jarl says deeply, "Guess who it's from?" I wonder. I take the liberty of unfolding the letter, and reading through it's finely written contents. At the bottom is an Imperial seal. It reads:
Govn the Orc,
I still wonder to this day why you left the cozy walls of Solitude, I thought perhaps it was to speak to your kin about the alliance between the Empire and the Hamerok Orcs. I still await a response from you, but I have no doubt it will arrive soon, seeing as the close ties you possess with the Empire wouldn't be so easily torn.
I await your letter.
Sincerely, General Tullius
No. My eyes rise to the Jarl after I finish reading, and that's all I can think. I have to plead; it's my only escape.
"My Jarl, I-"
"No!" he cuts me off, with a swipe of his hand. His face is red with anger and embarrassment, most likely because he allowed an outsider to grow so close to his day-to-day operations, "we've already decided your fate, the block! Tonight will be the last night you'll see the night sky, and until then you will be disposed off properly." I see him wave his hand, and before I can tell what he means, I feel a sharp stinging against the back of my neck from an impact. My vision goes blurry.
And everything goes dark.