And here I be once again. The weather here has not been kind and being sick left me lots of time to play video games, read and watch old movies...also write this. I've got more of it typed up, up to chapter three or four I think, which I believe is best since I tend to hop from one plot to the next and loose my spark at times.

I've been reading pretty much all of Zoop's work (she's got a great voice for lore no matter what fandom she writes for, which I love) and all her stories involve orcs of some caliber. So I got the itch (the good kind) and wrote this. It's a bit unconventional, at least I hope, but I think it's going to be interesting at the very least.

I also drew up my characters (since I own a copy of Skyrim on the 360 and can't take those pretty crisp snapshots...) I'll have a link for them in my profile if you'd like a visual.

Of course, as with all my stories, beware of violence, language and sexual content. It's been labeled M for a reason.

And sadly, No, I do not own Bethesda, just these characters and their personalities.

" 'But she was a daughter of mine by her own habits. My mourning here is no less than your own, my outrage no less great.' - Sheogorath, 16 Accords of Madness: Malacath's Tale"

The season; particularly cold. The day; darker than some summer evenings. The steaming breath; dying.

Mother couldn't prepare her for the sensation of killing a stag, so why would a filthy Imperial dog have been any different. Mixing, warring emotions like salt water flowing under fresh water ran below her skin; through her veins. Hate that wasn't her own, but taught and real enough as anything else, seemed to wane and roll like the tide as the struggling breathing at her bare feet grew soft and weak.

Blood clogged whimpers fell into the ground; her arrow frill moving as the thief tried to crawl on her side, away from death. She'd hit a lung, barely missing the heart, and so she'd have to wait and watch as the moment turned long in the cold breeze while this dishonorable bitch went to whatever god she had left – if she had one at all. The hate started to leak out of her pores as sweat grew cold down her face, bringing with it a sense of panic.

Even now, only on her first season of adult-hood, she inhaled the rich scent of blood as it poured out the woman's mouth, and knew then that there would be many more like her to come; more thieving, useless, murdering scoundrels to slaughter if she was to protect what was hers and Mother. This guilt didn't have a place in her gut, yet it assaulted her until a pain grew under her ribs, mimicking where she'd pierced the Imperial swine.

The pain was in her head, this she knew, but it mattered little. The feeling grew as the woman's eyes fluttered deliriously. Phantom pain dulled to leave a hole occupied with nausea as the Imperial shuddered and passed on. Dry eyes stared past the stubborn crisps of grass where her toes curled into the permafrost brewing and still she couldn't say a thing.

The freeze in the air was already turning her lifeless eyes into off-blue dimples, amidst a yellowing white. What was done now? Did she leave the body to the wolves who howled ravenously in the distance? - or would Malacath require she bury her kill as if it'd not been killed like an animal?

Or...did she eat her? Mother may not know if she wasn't told.

A cacophony of beastly calls came from the southern mountain side and further up at the north where the stinking cave lay cut into the cliff. The wolves were approaching fast, and a decision couldn't wait. The animals would tear her apart if they caught her carrying a fresh body...and the hard ground underneath would be too frozen to dig even the shallowest of graves.

Howls and clipped yelps helped speed her decision, and when the first sounds of paws crunched upon the ground she turned and sped off, leaving the dead Imperial to feed the forest as was best. The wolves had to eat like the rest of them, and better it be one already dead than her...besides, the rabbit slung over her hip would do fine until Mother returned home, and then she'd tell her of her kill. Perhaps, she would be proud she had defended herself.

Maybe this was the trial that would finally grant her her tusks...

Night fell early at the northern shores, and the ink of the sea only made the darkness that much more devoid. Waves tossed themselves along the bow, but their strength was immeasurable against the design and size of the ship; made to handle the tribulations of the water as well as any warrior to the defense of an opposing blade.

It was luck that landed her on the vessel, and perhaps a little of whatever charm she carried about herself, which was little on a warm day, but on a cold night like this? - it was null. She could still feel the creeping ice of that berg around her ankles; coiling like an arm of Hermaeus Mora.

A boat filled with men would have shunned a weaker woman into pliancy, but even if they knew not of who she was, she could provide a demonstration if they needed...if they insisted. As it were, all it took was a cold stare at whom ever grew too close and they'd left her to the port side of the ship to her lonesome – just how she preferred it. They may have been her rescuers this time, but she had saved her fair share of men and women...this was her reward when she needed it most. There would be no thank you.

She watched, as the wind ripped at her cropped hair, while the iceberg she'd lain wounded on grew smaller against the black of the water. The coast passed by as quick as a horse could carry her upon land – it's pebbled sands sloshed with weak ice as the waves crashed rhythmically.

Skyrim would always be beautiful in it's opposing light than High Rock. The eastern lands were never far from the land of the Nords, but their mountains seemed to provide a cupped-hand of odd weather, burly inhabitants, and fresh smells. Much like a cave, this place seemed cut off from much of Nirn despite it's neighboring borders attempting to comes inside. Though...it seemed near funny now – after this time – that the Imperials were the ones annoyed at her presence in the land of the Nords, much more than the burly men themselves had been.

"You!"

It wasn't her name, but being the only one at the pulpit of the ship she decidedly turned her head; one eye wincing at a strong gust while the other caught the sharp, tall build of a man, "Woman. Captain wants to ask you your business. Come."

She didn't bother looking at him fully, or nodding for that matter. The captain could brace the cold if he wished to ask what her plans be, but she wasn't about to follow some sailor through the bowls of the ship just to answer a simple, and unwarranted question while her feet still thawed.

Silence followed long enough that she forgot about the man behind her – the stars bunched and colored with green and pink lights took her mind from even the cold itself. These nights were deadly when alone and watching a camp for one - too distracting, but here on the relative safety of the shipping vessel she let her body lax against the pulpit and stare wantonly at the sky. The moons were absent, but the swilling colors and erratic curls more than made up for the absence of solid light.

A growl cut through the silence but it was easily ignored as a gust of wind tangled her air like a spectre's hand. Her cheeks were rubbed raw by the cold air, but a heat in her coiled despite the temperature.

"Woman."

He had yet to leave her be, so stubborn and useless.

"I'll haul you down...if I have to say again. No one would think less of me for it."

She was, in a way more stubborn than the gruff man at her back, but intuition was one of her strong points. He wasn't fibbing with her, nor spewing out a baseless threat...and after her successful glares the last thing she needed was someone carrying her like a shipping crate down into the bowls and ruining everything. She knew better than to turn this small nuisance into a big problem...

The sound of his sudden, hurried steps brought a sneer to her face as she turned to stare at his dark form going still just a stones low away, obviously put out by her quick movement. Even in the dark the sight of his wringing fists was plain to see, along with the rise of his thick shoulders and tense, slightly hunched body ready and perhaps thoroughly expecting to go through with his warning. The man seemed to have a temper...

"I'll follow then..." she rolled the words on her tongue, pulling the fur cloak higher against her exposed neck.

A moment passed and he nodded to her; fingers unfurling with one curling at shoulder level to beckon her forth. She obliged without complaint, leaving the heavy darkness of the deck for the lantern lit cabin. A surly looking Nord gave her a leveled look before coiling thick worn rope over a bulging arm, he disappeared from view when she turned to take the first step down.

Rusty green skin caught her eye, a sheen of yellow from the hanging lantern highlighted it a color she'd not seen since...

The heavy looking sailor before her paused, perhaps not hearing her descending footsteps. Her eyes honed in on the slow, thick movement of his neck, sliding to the roughly stubbled cut of his jaw. Two thick, blunt tusks jutted from his lower lip; one chipped in an uneven and even more burly character of male expression. Green eyes, freckled with mossy yellow, glared up at her as if her stare was an insult of the highest caliber. More sharp teeth were exposed when he sneered and gave a clipped nod to follow before returning to his heavy stepped descent. It felt as though the boat was shaking with each of his steps.

This was a male. She felt her fingers itch to grab at his shoulder and pull him around to face her yet again, but they dug their nails into her pelted waist instead.

Something in her was enraptured like nothing else in this land had interested her. She'd yet to see another brother of Malacath and, she couldn't deny, he was a fine example indeed. Her imagination could not have painted a better portrait of him, even down to the unshaven chin and spider-web of scars on his left cheek. Books she had scoured could only provide her with expectations, and – she drew closer to take in the sheer size of him – he filled every one and then more.

Many innocent and personal questions welled up in her throat all at once; her fingers twitching yet again at her sides in an impatient manner to pull him aside and assail him with her queries. Why had she not seen another Orsimer yet? - were they held up in a province of Skyrim she'd not heard of? - and why did she find herself growing closer than personal space normally allowed. She knew of boundaries, but here did they apply any more? Mother had not mentioned how powerful a male of such size and tusk could effect her. There was nary a crease of fat on him, and the thin, salt-worn tunic tight around his chest proved the density of strength. Her insides ran giddy like when she'd been a pup, listening to Mother tell of such brawn.

As a man passed her by, carrying an array of cargo, she licked her dull teeth with distaste as he pinned her with an odd look. This male Orsimer before probably never received such looks of piety, not with his arsenal of teeth and tusk...nor with the horns upon his brow.

She'd not craved tusks of her own for some time now...his deadly ones were a strong reminder of what she had yet to receive. Would he even find her a worthy specimen without them? A fine pair of them would surly diminish the sickly pallor of her skin even in his eyes...and once he accepted her aesthetics, she knew he would enjoy the show of her strength. If only a Dragon would swoop down with flames asunder she would show him her nimble style in battle and he would find her worthy.

"What is your name?" she muttered, apparently so suddenly and close to his shoulder that her eyes caught him flinch before he turned to her glance. It was any wonder what he saw in her face, but it must have confused him greatly, for she watched as his upper lip twitched and his heavy brow furrow; showing her more of the strong lines in his face and edge of his teeth.

He looked away and still awaiting an answer, she followed until he paused at a oak-lain door and knocked three times in quick succession. The sensation of time slipping all too quickly grasped at her lungs – he was ignoring her.

You expect to leave me with your captain without giving a name? Do you not extend a courtesy to one of your own where there are so few?"

"You are crazed, woman," he groused with a hand grasping the old wood of the door frame with a vein bulging grip. He appeared angered and uncomfortable.

She worried the inside of her lip with keen eyes on him; staring at the creases between his eyes and sides of his nose as if the lines would grow into words of what she should say. Books did not help her this time, much like when she was caught within battle...perhaps courtship was much like fighting in this way. Mother had only said males were short-worded and better with a weapon than their mouths, but if their mouths looked as a weapon then what did that say about the credibility of Mother's words?

"Have I overstepped my boundaries?" she asked with a piercing gaze, trying to gather the minute changes in his features as she spoke.

Another sneer was her only answer, and a rough eyeing of her worth as though she'd changed color on him suddenly – she knew the manner of his stare, it was one of a hundred she'd received so far but this one seemed more judgmental than the others had been. He did not find her worthy...not even the Nords looked upon her with such distaste.

Her eyes narrowed in wonder despite the way his did in disarray. She took in the sight of thick stacks of muscles under the cotton tunic he wore - the scars and imperfections making him even more appealing. He looked to have survived many encounters; ones where others may have failed.

The door to the captains quarters opening did not catch her eye nor attention as she took in an inhale hoping to smell him, but all she could discern was the scent of sea and mead. The size of him continued to arouse her interest. Mother had spoken of males as broad as him with great affection and longing...she finally understood why in all it's primal glory.

His expression looked unnerved, despite the low lipped sneer as she rose a brow in question. A gruff sound drew her attention to the portly Nord with a red beard; an odd expression on his sea-faring face.

"Excuse me...miss," she stared at the Nord, unaffected as he continued, "if you would come inside." It was not a request, but a well made demand wrapped in the veil of a friendly invite.

When she turned quickly to demand a name from the Orsimer male for the final time, he was gone to replace three barrels of apples. Already the warm comfort he'd given her by mere presence alone was dissipating, much like her energy for conversation. Craving to find him and bask in the comfort of being with another of her kin nearly outdid her duty to follow in upon her agreement.

With a frown she nodded, gaze still upon the apples as the captain opened his door for her, "If I must..."

"They do not grow because they are not meant to, child."

"Should I hunt further to the east then? - or perhaps I do not eat enough salmon, Children of the Sky says the Nords do not get their gleaming beards without the oils fro-"

"I told you to toss that book away. You are no Nord, thus you do not have use for it."

She swallowed her words of protest, resting her palms upon the wooden table with upset. Mother flipped a page with an annoyed gruff of breath before going quite; immersed in her own literature.

Rain pounded upon the old roof above their heads. A bucket clicking with water that ran from a loose board above them was growing maddening as it nearly muted the crackle of the heating fire. Stew steamed in front of her but the previous ravenous appetite died as she touched her blunt teeth, staring at the drying leaves behind Mother.

"What is the matter now?"

She looked up to see Mother still reading her book; lips tight against small tusks – she was bothered by her questions about the same things over and over... it was plain to see. Lying would be a fruitless effort, even if it was with well intentions to avoid an argument.

"I...", she started, pausing when Mother gave her a hot black-eyed stare, "I feel...inadequate." When she saw nothing but given attention, she continued; tapping her nails upon the old wood. "My teeth are flat...my skin is...dull and sickly. I bleed like you said, but nothing else and-"

"Your breasts have swelled...and you grow hair where you hadn't had it before. You kill...You have changed. That should be enough for now, Morn." - and that would be the final comment on the matter, she realized. Mother's attention drew to the scrawl written upon the books pages once more with little enthusiasm she'd seen burning before. She'd upset Mother, but...she did little else for her mood as of late.

"Besides," Mother sighed, flipping a page, "Once you get your answers there will be more questions to replace the old..."

Rain kept falling and her unsatisfied questions still mounted, but her stew stopped steaming and with a greatly difficult amount of restrain, she filled her mouth with lukewarm broth besides the words she craved to ask again.

Mother was right. One day she would have all her answers and then new ones would replace the old. For now...this would have to do.

"Thirsty?" the Nord asked with a raised bottle of unlabeled mead. She remained silent, staring ahead with little else but a thin-lipped expression. The cabin was unnaturally sparse aside from a rusted saber mounted behind his desk, and aside from the papers weighted down by a steel ingot, she would have guest the room a storage closet...without the storage...and a desk.

"No," he answered for her, uncorking the bottle and taking a raw swill; some amber dribbles skimming down the coarse hair of his beard. It took a bite upon her tongue to hold in her disgust. He reeked of old musk and brine...or perhaps it was a stain in the cabin that assailed her nostrils.

"I'll have you know you are on an East Empire Trading vessel. Your lucky we found you and not some bandit barge..."

"You have questions?" she reminded in a shallow voice as he drank.

"Aye, that I do, lass. Not every night my watchman finds a lady stranded on the ice like a vulnerable Horker calf. Even less that she has such a foul disposition to being rescued." His tone made her teeth grind – the sugar-coated, well worded, insults had their desired effect she was sure. The captain looked oddly amused for the moment before resting the bottle upon the desk and clasping his weary looking hands. "So the question remains. What were you doing on that berg all by your pretty lonesome?"

"Standing," she offered with little feigned truth, ignoring his witty comment. "That other Orsimer," she ventured, "what is his name?" Her tone switch quickly to a pleasant show as her snark dropped. Desperately, she wanted to know. She'd studied all the names from Mother's books; names hailing from certain strongholds, families, and lands. Though a name she could deduct how further to proceed with him.

"The bosun? He is well mannered for his kind I assure you." he appeared baffled at her question but did not ask her why her interest lay in the males direction, surly it was obvious enough.= to even a simpleton.

"Bosun?" she muttered under a breath. The term was familiar but she could not place it, not while her patience grew thin and frayed in the stuffy hold below deck – tight spaces always unnerved her.

"Hm...yes. You need a strong one like that to man the mechanics of this vessel. He responds find to that title...has he made a comment inappropriate?"

Once more she ignored him, "He does have a name. What is it?" she groused finally, insulted at his dithering assumptions when her question had yet been answered.

"Durz'gash," he answered before taking another drink of mead, "Never know if I'm pronouncing it right..."

White replaced the hue of her lips as she thinned them out; thinking back upon the books and the names and their regions. She gave the captain no response as her eyes narrowed. A strong name is was, but without a family name it couldn't be placed...

He seemed non pulsed at her air, as if expecting such a reaction, "I won't have you thrown over board for your ungrateful air, lass, but you'll add an extra pair of hands to my crew when we hit docks, which shouldn't be long now. Solitude is already on the horizon..." he looked thoughtful for a brief time; a thumb touching the bottle of mead before a sudden wistful smile pulled at the weight of his beard

"Consider it payment for saving you from a perishing freeze. Now...help yourself to a few apples if you're hungry. I'm sure if you managed to smile one of the men may offer you some dried goods, though I have my doubts your able at all."

She sneered and pulled her arms in a lock across her abdomen with annoyance. More negative body language wasn't needed, but she gave it nonetheless. A wave of his wrinkled hand dismissed her; pressing her attention to the ajar door with naught but a short look. There was no telling her twice, she rose – the chair scratching obstinately upon the old floor boards – and removed herself from the warm cabin with little but a frown. It had been a useless trip if not for the Orsimer, whom she now craved to find.

At least Mother had always been truthful when she chose to speak, and from what she was told most Orsimer were the same. Such folly was saved for other races while they relied on trickery to get by as much as they did the sword, if not more so. The inhabitants of this land confounded her with their many layers of emotions, cloaks and truths. It was hard to tell when they were jesting or being honest, no matter how many of their books she'd read...it always left her feeling vaguely humiliated and simple. What did he expect of her? - to either give him every detail of her purpose on that island of ice or tell a tale? - certainly not.

She plucked a blushing apple from the barrel as she drew up the tight stairs, only giving a brief thought to the missing Orsimer male in her ire before catching sight of blemishes to her right. Small tally's were cut into the panel walls, exposed by the lanterns light – dozens of them told of long journeys and dull days at sea, reminding her of her small row boat sinking slowly as her feet chilled on that iceberg.

It truly was luck that this ship had found her at all...especially without a flame to catch their eye. A thank you wouldn't have hurt her pride...not too much at least.

Bells rang and a horn blew. A man high above called out how close they were to the docks as she avoided two men hurrying below decks.

Night renewed the vigor in her bones as the cold seeped into the exposed slips between the fur and leather over her form. Fresh sea, smoke and distant snow filled her senses, banishing the previous scent of the filthy sea captain, bringing a smile to her lips as she shucked a thick bite off her apple. It's crisp, sharp tangy sweetness gave her pause as she savored. Fruit always gave her short-lived bliss – so much more delicious than the thick pastries Mother had cooked.

In the distance – under the still erratic lights in the sky – a mountain like arch swallowed up the ship in a sea of darkness far greater than any the night could ever bring. Black, deeper than the bottom of the sea filled her ears with cotton and her skin with chills. There was a city resting on that arch – and she watched with great interest as her neck ached at the angle.

The apple was eaten with gusto, as the vessel curved as if making ready to dock – all the while she watched the city as it sat on the open arch with awe unhidden. Her back found comfort against the pulpit; a knee brought up while the other splayed out as she took in the sight above her. Skyrim was not without its beauty, she would never deny that very fact...

"Aye! Woman!"

She turned, staring past the mast to a gathering of burly looking Nords, one holding a bright lantern at face height. He curled a hand at her, gesturing her with a hurried swipe to come near. The last bite of the apple set in her belly happily as she tossed the core over, accepting their call with a frown. One of them smiled, an older looking man with peppered stubble – the rest eyed her with suspicion before the lantern carrying fool gave her a poke in the shoulder, "Captain says you're at our disposal, but you're a little short aren't you?" There was little of the venom she'd expected, just an air of disappointment before he grumbled, handing the lantern to the one who smiled.

"I am not short. I am nimble," she seethed low between her teeth.

It was as though they did not hear her correct him, "Come on then, lass. We'll find something for you to do. Though, can't think of much with those small shoulders...", he trailed under his breath as she followed along with the other two, both now wearing amused smiles as she kept her curses within a feral snarl.

It was not her fault she was small...or theirs that they were born too stupid to think insulting her was appropriate, but she'd press their patience until they were red-faced...at the very least...then, she would find that Durz'gash and introduce herself properly, just as she'd been taught.

As I said before. I have much of it written out, but this is a new bit of lore for me and if I've slipped up anywhere do let me know. Reviews of what is liked and/or hated will be fed and cared for by my own two hands. As always, thanks for reading.