A Wild Storm
A fresh flurry of cold, wet snow flew straight into Ysolda's face as she trudged wearily on home. The vicious wind cried high and wailing as it lashed against her. Even through the multiple layers of cloth and fur, she could feel the freeze down to her bones. The blanket of white at her feet shuffled with a faint crunch as she worked her way across the landscape.
Managing to strain her eyes open a little against the assault, she could barely make out anything ten feet ahead of her. The redhead's sigh was lost to the wind immediately. She couldn't be far from Whiterun now. All she could do was just follow the path beneath her feet and pray the Divine's didn't lead her astray. As much of a Nord that she was and loved her homeland, she couldn't help but wonder if the snow strewn wastes of Skyrim were at times out to kill her and all other inhabitants of the Northern Province. Divines' know that life in the north of Tamriel was challenging enough for its natives, let alone anyone else.
Her thoughts turned to the Khajiit, who so often were resigned to living in trade caravans beyond their native Elsweyr, either that or forage a living through begging or thievery. Though she held much respect and admiration for the Khajiit and their caravans, she just couldn't imagine traipsing to every corner of Tamriel, whatever the weather.
The whistling in her ears died down a little, but not entirely. With blessed relief she managed to open her eyes more fully than she had in hours. She quickly tried to take everything in, wary that the snowfall could pick again up any second. A faint outline of dark, angular shapes was faintly visible through the blizzard. A welcome sight, she smiled to herself as she recognised her home, Whiterun.
With renewed vigour, she picked up her steps and the pace as she strode on forth towards her goal.
She barely took ten strides before noticing that she was not alone. A figure, cloaked and shadowed by the snow stepped out from behind a tree. Though Ysolda couldn't make out the stranger's face, she had no doubt in her mind that they weren't friendly.
Before Ysolda could do anything more than pause, another three figures appeared as well. Without a word, the bandits slowly converged onto the road ahead, cutting her off.
They drew vicious, crude looking weapons with a series of metallic shrieks. Glancing over her shoulder for a second, the redhead considered turning tail and running for it. She doubted that she would get far, one of the bandits wielded a bow and Ysolda was not willing to test his aim.
Heart hammering in her chest, Ysolda slowly reached beneath her cloak, into her belt for a small iron dagger. She didn't draw the weapon, not just yet. Let them think her unarmed or just too afraid to fight or flee.
The first bandit approached her. "Alright, just hand over everything you've got then you can be on yer' way." He drawled just loud enough to be heard over the wind.
Close up, Ysolda now saw he was a fellow Nord. The thought made her blood boil, that her own countrymen would stoop to such, preying on each other on the roadside.
The wind and the snow had calmed down now, giving her a much clearer view of her foes and her chances. Neither were good.
"Or maybe not." Another bandit approached, male as well though this one was a Dunmer. "She's a pretty one, ain't she?"
Their cruel laughter left Ysolda in little doubt as to their intent. She scowled darkly, gripping her meagre dagger tightly, it felt so small and pointless compared to their weapons.
The Dark Elf ambled forward, raising his sword right up to Ysolda's face.
"How about it then, sweetheart?" His smile was wicked and gleaming. His blade caressed her cheek for a sickening moment, then moved aside to push her hood down. The others continued laughing, and the Dunmer laughed with them, glancing over his shoulder to look at his partners.
It was better than Ysolda could have hoped for.
She lunged forward, raising her dagger and in one fell swoop, she pushed the blade up to the hilt in the bandit's neck. Hot sticky blood spurt forth over her hand and she almost recoiled from the grisly sight.
The bandit's head twitched jerkily for a moment before losing all tension. The body fell, Ysolda managed to pull her dagger free as it did. The bandit fell to the ground, a rapidly growing pool of red emanating from the corpse, eyes glassily gazing off into nothing.
Ysolda felt bile building at the back of the throat as she took in the sight. Though she had no qualms about defending herself, she was no warrior. The blood of the dead, of someone she'd just killed was a foreign sight to her.
"You killed Renthis!"
The Nord bandit shouted, enraged. The redhead's attention was snapped rapidly back to the present.
"You'll die for that, you bitch!"
A great axe hefted aloft menacingly.
Ysolda staggered back, knowing her dagger would do no good here. The bandit swung wildly, barely missing the merchant's chest. She scrambled back as fast as she could, too fast. Her foot caught something hidden in the snow. She stumbled and landed in a rough heap in the frozen white.
The bandits rushed to encircle her, cutting her off from the merest hope of escape.
"You've nowhere to run now." The Nord scowled darkly as he heaved his axe once more above his head. Ysolda raised her dagger as if to parry, she knew it was pointless, but she had no other choice. Blood was pumping in her ears relentlessly.
"'ere boss, look." One of the other bandits interjected before the final low could be delivered.
Annoyed, the Nord bandit turned to look where the other was pointing. Whatever it was must have been important, the bandits all turned away from Ysolda. She couldn't see what it was from behind the Nord.
"I don't know what you want, Orc." He raised his axe menacingly. "But I suggest you move along, else you get the same."
Ysolda carefully manoeuvred herself to look around the bandits. Standing barely twenty feet away was a female Orc, clad in battered iron armour, the shaft of a great axe of her own emanating from her back. What was most striking of all about the newcomer, was the ferocious glare on the Orc's face.
The merchant hadn't had many dealings with Orc's, but from what little she'd heard they were strong warriors, an absolute terror on any battlefield they encountered.
She wasn't sure if she was more relieved or scared to see an Orc here and now.
Without uttering even a murmur, the Orc cast her gaze about the bandits. Then, her eyes moved to stare right through Ysolda with a piercing, golden glare. Ysolda felt a chill creep down her neck that had nothing to do with the cold snow. The winds picked up once more, throwing fresh snow at everyone, not that they noticed through the tense standoff. The bandits gripped their weapons anxiously, repeatedly shooting glances at their leader for guidance.
Slowly, the Orc reached up to grasp her great axe.
"Hey!" One of the bandits cried, the one with bow, as he drew his weapon and loosed an arrow.
With a speed that belied her size, the Orc swung to the side, deftly avoiding the shot that was bound for her heart.
Bringing her axe free, the Orc charged with the wind.
The speed of her attack took everyone off-guard. All eyes were cast in shock even as the lead bandit was cleaved in two from shoulder to hip. Bright crimson shot across the snow in a vibrant splatter. The Orc held still for a moment, eyes focussed in her rage, then her face changed and Ysolda saw her features turn in a wicked grin before the storm covered them all with snow.
Only then did the remaining bandits react.
It was like nothing Ysolda had ever seen before. The combination of speed and strength the Orc used to cut down the bandits was almost mesmerising. Each one of the bandits rushed in to meet the interloper, and each time they came off second best. It wasn't even close.
Blood mixed with the snow in the air and none of it was from the Orc.
With a startling amount of speed, the Orc had cut down the bandits and was the last one standing. The towering figure of muscle was stood still, her back turned to Ysolda. The Orc was panting slightly from her exertions, her head slowly turned left and right as she surveyed the scene, seemingly waiting for more opponents to appear from the trees. Then she slowly turned away from the carnage to face the Nord.
Ysolda almost recoiled at the sight. The blood smeared warrior's face a vicious snarl, her tusks bared in her rage.
The Orc took one step forward.
Then, an arrow shot across Ysolda's sight, burying itself into the Orc's shoulder. The green skinned woman growled more than screamed. Her head whipping round quickly to locate her attacker. Ysolda saw him too, yet another of the bandits had appeared.
Without a moment's hesitation, the Orc surged towards the bandit with a primal snarl.
Ysolda didn't wait to see what would happen next. She picked herself up from the snow and ran headlong into the storm, where she hoped Whiterun would be lying in wait.
She heard the peel of metal striking metal ring through the air and a gurgled scream that pierced the howling wind, but still she ran, as though Molag Bal were behind her.
xxx
Reaching the ancient city walls was a blessed relief. The storm had calmed to a steady snowfall by the time Ysolda had reached the great wooden gates. She almost fell through them and collapsed into the city from her exertions and relief. The guards on post didn't seem to pay her any notice as she passed. Her taxes were clearly being put to good work, she thought bitterly.
Still, in spite of her little misadventure, she wasn't harmed. Other than the shock and her lack of breath, she was fine.
The merchant cast her gaze down over herself. Some of the bandit's blood still soiled her clothes, dulled somewhat by the dirt and sleet that clung to her dress, but still noticeable. She felt a small wave of revulsion swarm over her. She was no warrior after all. She was not used to such things.
She quickly made for her small home in the lower district of the city, thankful that the streets were relatively empty, only a few souls wandering about in the early evening light. After washing and changing herself, she went straight to the Bannered Mare. She wasn't much for drinking excessively like most of her countrymen, but after the day she'd had she needed something to soothe her nerves.
Thankfully the tavern was nearly completely empty by the time she arrived. She quickly ordered a mug of mead and chose to sit alone at a table in the corner. Her mind racing still, some foolish part of her fearing the bandits would burst through the tavern door to finish their task. She shook her head for her foolishness. There was no way those fiends could even get within a league of the city.
Before long the quiet and the mead had calmed her right down and she started to actually enjoy the muted atmosphere. She sat there for quite a while. She enjoyed the tavern when it was calm like this.
The whistle of the wind heralded the opening of the tavern doors. Ysolda surreptitiously turned with a narrow gaze only for her eyes to widen.
The Orc, the same one on the road from before was striding into the tavern, still clad in the same iron armour from before. Dried blood and dirt clung to the green skinned woman, yet nary a mark seemed to be on her. Well, nary a fresh one at any rate. A host of old scars laced green, muscled arms.
The Orc didn't seem to notice Ysolda and stomped straight up to the bar, ignoring the wary stares from the taverns few occupants. Hulda practically recoiled as the Orc crudely took a seat at a stool in front of the barkeep and made to engage in some form of conversation.
In spite of common sense screaming at her not to, Ysolda found herself curiously gazing over at the warrior woman. The Orc's head was shaved close at the sides and worn in a longer stripe of jet black hair on top, finished in a short ponytail. Underneath the grime that clung to green skin, Ysolda could make out a plethora of faded scars on the Orc's bare arms. She belatedly noticed an angry looking wound in the Orc's right shoulder, the short remnants of an arrow shaft poking out through the flesh. Ysolda involuntarily winced at the sight. She remembered how the Orc earned that wound, saving the merchant's life while risking her own.
Ysolda sighed wearily into her mug of mead, she knew she ought to go over to the Orc and give her thanks at the very least, even though the very thought of approaching the Orc unsettled her. The ferocious battle rage of the green skinned woman was still fresh in the Nord's mind.
She looked up again just as the Orc was getting up from her stool. A nervousness settled over Ysolda as the Orc strode over towards the door. The Nord stood from her table and made to intercept the warrior, who was more than a bit taller than the merchant. The green skinned woman finally caught sight of Ysolda and stopped in her tracks, her golden glare narrowing slightly as she appeared to recognise the redhead.
"Greetings." Ysolda began lamely, having wished she had planned further ahead. "I don't suppose you remember me."
"The girl from the road." The Orc muttered matter-of-factly with half a nod, or was it a shake? Her voice was deep and somewhat coarse, but not intimidating.
Ysolda found herself scowling slightly at the blood splattered warrior.
"Woman, the woman from the road." She corrected with a little heat.
The Orc's tusked mouth turned up at the sides. Maybe Ysolda was misinterpreting, but it appeared to be an actual smile, not a grimace or a sneer.
"Woman, then." She inclined her head ever so slightly. Was she mocking the merchant?
The exchange caught Ysolda off guard and she took a moment to appraise the green skinned woman. The ferocious looking warrior was difficult to read, even for the merchant.
"I just wanted to say, thank you." The redhead finally uttered, bowing her head respectfully. "If you hadn't been there -"
"You would be dead," The Orc interrupted abruptly, "or worse." The warrior appeared to be keen to hurry the conversation to a close and be on her way.
"Is there-" Ysolda began falteringly, nervous and unsure how to proceed. "Is there at least something I can do to repay you?" The merchant eyed the injury in the Orc's shoulder. "I could treat that wound for you, stop it-"
"No." The Orc cut her off immediately, she made to reach the door. "I'll live."
The merchant found herself moving to intercept the warrior again, this time she definitely received a scowl. Ysolda idly wondered whether this was even worth the effort, but the Orc had saved her life. Treating the warrior's wound was the very least she could do.
"You might lose your arm." The redhead commented sternly, glaring back into that vibrant amber gaze, somehow without flinching.
The Orc turned her gaze to scowl at her wound instead, as if daring it to turn septic and try to kill her. She grunted what could have been a grudging agreement or a denial.
Either way, Ysolda took the initiative.
"Please." She dared to put a hand on the Orc's unhurt shoulder, the fanged gaze whipped around again, but the green skinned woman made no attempt to shirk the Nord's touch. "Let me help."
Golden amber eyes searched Ysolda's seas of blue for a few long moments. The merchant held her gaze evenly, surprising herself at her ability to do so. Then the Orc grunted deep in her throat.
"Fine." Was all she said.
Satisfied, Ysolda moved her hand from the Orc's shoulder to her elbow and started leading the warrior out of the tavern. The Orc regarded the Nord with suspicion but did not utter so much as a grunt.
xxx
As Ysolda unlocked the door to her humble abode and beckoned the mysterious Orc woman inside, she realised that she hadn't really thought this through. She had treated injuries before, never a wound earned in battle though. She'd never treated an injured Orc before either, was their biology drastically different to Nords? It also idly crossed her mind that she had just invited a capable fighter into her home, and that Ysolda was certainly in a poor place to defend herself.
Mentally brushing her worries aside, she gestured for the warrior to take a seat by the fire with a nervous smile. The Orc woman duly obeyed, her golden eyes lazily surveying the merchant's home. Ysolda wasn't sure if the green skinned woman was impressed, disappointed or simply bored. The warrior had not murmured a single word since agreeing to come with the merchant back at the tavern.
The redhead went to a cupboard and retrieved the scant medicinal materials she had, making a mental note to replenish them later.
"I'm going to need you to remove your armour." She called over her shoulder. "Just the top part, if you would." She received a wordless murmur in reply.
Ysolda turned to see the Orc easily hefting the thick metal plating over her head. The merchant couldn't begin to guess at how much that piece alone weighed. The Orc placed the breastplate on the wooden floor with a dull thud. The warrior sported a dark, sweat stained shirt underneath that had likely seen far too much use.
Ysolda took a breath to steady herself before approaching the Orc, damp cloth and medicine in hand. She placed the articles on a side table before turning her attention to the broken arrowhead still embedded in green flesh. "This will probably sting a bit." The merchant warned.
Again the Orc merely grunted.
Ysolda began to wonder if she had just imagined hearing the Orc speak earlier.
The redhead kneeled at the side of the Orc and ever so carefully grasped her delicate fingers around the small wooden shaft. Satisfied that she had a good enough grip, she turned her gaze to the Orc's face.
"So … what's your favourite colour?"
The Orc's brow furrowed a little, before she could do little more than open her mouth, Ysolda pulled hard on the arrow. The warrior snarled in pain briefly before regaining her composure. She levelled a fierce glare at the Nord who smiled bashfully back.
"Sorry, but I've heard that the best way to handle pain is to … not dwell on it." She offered lamely.
The Orc regarded her carefully for a few moments, perhaps still considering whether or not to just march out of the door. Still, she stayed in the chair and merely averted her gaze from the merchant with a huff.
Ysolda merely smiled at the Orc's display and took that as acceptance. The Nord began to gently swab at the angry wound that tore through green skin. The warrior gave no further indication of pain or discomfort, almost as if she was trying to appear impervious to such trifles. Though her expression remained surly throughout, perhaps that was just her resting expression.
As Ysolda carefully worked her way around the injury she found herself focussing on the plethora of scars that interweaved across the Orc's powerful arms, most of them small, pale and barely noticeable, though some looked vicious and life threatening. If she had to guess, there were probably a large number of old wounds littering all over the green skinned woman's body as well.
"How long have you been a warrior?" Ysolda asked curiously.
The Orc gave no reply.
"I should have known." The merchant shook her head with a rueful smile. "You don't speak much do you?"
"No." Came the clipped reply so brief and quick that Ysolda almost missed it.
"I've managed to get one word out of you, at least." She smirked at the Orc. "Let's go for two now."
Two amber eyes found her again and scowled before turning away yet again.
Somehow, Ysolda found herself enjoying this little game.
"You could at least tell me your name." She probed gently with a genuine smile. "Unless you'd like me to call you 'Orc'?"
Said Orc didn't even bother to grunt at that, apparently making every attempt to appear as though she wasn't listening.
Ysolda couldn't help herself from prodding further. "What about 'Tusks'? Or 'Green'? Or maybe-"
"Rama." The green skinned woman all but growled out, still facing away from the Nord. "My name is Rama."
Ysolda was somewhat stunned that she'd managed to get a solid piece of information out of the warrior.
"Rama." The merchant tested quietly, hearing a small sigh emanate from the Orc. "A pleasure to meet you Rama, my name is Ysolda."
Rama merely grunted again, ever aloof.
Ysolda couldn't quite decide whether she was exasperated or intrigued by this 'Rama', perhaps it was both. The merchant gave the Orc an idle smile and turned her attentions back to the wound, she set about applying bandages. Her gaze returned to the scars on Rama's arm. On closer inspection, Ysolda could see a number of angry looking marks, ones that had probably been left to heal or … not.
"Do you always just leave your wounds to fester?" Ysolda asked Rama pointedly.
The Orc, though her face was turned away from the Nord, seemed to roll her eyes.
The merchant sighed. "You could do yourself some serious damage, or worse." She pointedly moved her head to try and capture the Orc's gaze. "Rama?"
Rama merely turned her head further away, shaking her head slightly.
Annoyed, Ysolda reached up and practically wrenched the warrior woman's head around to face the Nord fully. Rama glared dangerously into the merchant's eyes, but Ysolda would not back down.
"If you get injured like this again, say you will come to me, or go see a healer."
"I owe you no promises!" Rama growled dangerously, teeth bared.
"But I owe you for saving my life. So please listen to me when I say that you could die, living like this." Ysolda retorted, surprisingly calm, given the angry Orc warrior before her.
Rama scowled deep into Ysolda with those golden eyes for a few nervous moments. Then, she snapped her gaze away with a huff and resumed her posture of aloofness.
"What do you care for my fate? I am nothing to you."
"You're the woman who saved my life." Ysolda shook her head with an incredulous smile. "And despite your best efforts to seem like it, you're clearly not a monster."
Another glare from the Orc, then her gaze darted to the freshly bandaged wound.
"Is it done?" Came the clipped question.
Ysolda sighed. "Yes, just-" Rama was already fitting her iron breastplate back into place.
"Wait, please!"
The warrior paid the merchant no mind as she got ready and marched over to the door.
"Rama!"
The Orc paused at mention of her name.
"Just- Please be safe." Ysolda offered weakly, unable to think of anything else.
Rama grunted once. She opened the door. Then in a moment, was gone. The door slammed behind her, more from the Orc's rage than the force of the storm.
Ysolda let out a long breath and rubbed at her eyes. She ran the whole affair through her mind, thinking of how she could have handled it better, though in many ways the whole situation could have turned out so much worse. She didn't have to worry about a murderous Orc rampaging through the streets of Whiterun, she hoped. The storm appeared to have passed.
Still, she worried for Rama's welfare, though clearly a capable warrior, her lack of care for herself was not healthy to say the least. Ysolda had the distinct feeling that if and when she saw Rama again, the Orc would be covered in blood.