'Sleep is the best healer after all. Or was it time?' Gerda thought when she woke up a couple hours later, feeling much better already. The room was still comfortably warm and she smelled something nice in the air. 'Must be my dinner,' she took another deep breath. 'If it tastes half as good as it smells, I might have to come here more often.'
Gerda ordered a bath and took a good look at the content of her bags. More gold than she knew what to do with, some half-spoiled food she'll throw out later, armor and weapons, alchemy ingredients, scrolls, rare potions, gems, lockpicks, even a pickaxe and different kinds of ore,… everything she could possibly need. Except for clothes. Figures.
She sighed. Her set of enchanted ebony armor was of excellent quality and make, but not intended for sitting around in while at an Inn. Especially when she planned to spend more than a day there. She started digging around in her seemingly bottomless bag for something appropriate to wear.
She was almost at the point where she considered walking out in her woolen underthings, when she dug out an old set of Forsworn armor. Hmm. Maybe she'll dress in this fur and bones underwear instead. That was oddly enough considered decent... Nords were so strange.
She forgot that she still carried it. The one time she used it seemed so long ago…
The armor would come in handy now, though. Thankfully the innkeeper never got the hang of smart money management and the Inn was kept hot even if barely anyone was inside. Though she would probably wear it even if he didn't burn enough wood to make fire dragons uncomfortably warm. The cold never bothered her as much as it seemed to bother everyone around her.
She packed her ebony armor and tried to remember how to put on those little pieces so they'd at least cover the important bits.
After several minutes she concluded that either she got fat, or she forgot how to wear this… thing properly. The upper bit barely covered her nipples and she was getting uncomfortable drafts in her nether regions. 'Might also be because the Forsworn I pulled the armor off was a little Breton girl.' Not exactly the same size as 'a big Nord cow' like her.
Deciding it won't get any better, she went to the bar to eat her dinner. First thing she noticed was that the sights didn't match the smells.
Her dinner consisted of a fish so 'crispy' it was actually black and very small, equally black 'baked' potatoes. 'How can something so hideous smell to… tasty?' she wondered.
Hadring stood at the bar next to her plate with an expression of pride, completely oblivious to the expression of distaste she didn't even bother to hide. "Your dinner, girl," he stated to remove all doubt about the contents of the plate.
Gerda took a few bites and decided that it tasted as bad as it looked. Giving her 'dinner' up as bad idea, she decided to eat the rest of her supplies later in the room and did what she always did at an Inn - started asking questions.
"Do you get much business here?"
Hadring seemed happy that he finally had someone to chat with, "Nah, not so much. The odd traveler on the road. But mostly just old Fultheim, come to drink away a lifetime of bad memories, I'd wager. Course there's the Orc. Long-term tenant, that one. For what he pays, I could afford to shut this place down."
Orc? As in one? From what Gerda knew, they usually kept to their strongholds and rarely traveled. Even more rarely did they travel alone. "Tell me about the Orc."
"Him? Oh… Ah, his name's Balablob or Malaclob, one of them funny Orc names. Talks real good, though. Not a savage at all." Hadring leaned in and his voice got a bit more spirited, as if he was sharing a great secret.
"Said he's a writer. Don't know what kind of job that is, but it must earn him some pretty coin. He's paid up for the next few months." Then he leaned back and continued in that disinterested tone from before, "He mostly just hangs about. Goes down to the lake, sometimes samples the stores of wine in the cellar. Man can do whatever he pleases, far as I care."
That seemed to close that topic for Hadring, as he lost the little interest in the conversation he had and returned to polishing the counter.
Gerda couldn't help herself though and a small laugh escaped her at the ridiculousness of that statement. "Balablob? Hadring, friend, I can just imagine how you'd try to report him to the guard if something happened. 'He's an Orc, some writer, name's Balablob or something'. I don't think they'd be happy that you didn't even bother to remember the name of your one-and-only long term tenant."
She smirked at his dumbfounded and half-insulted expression and asked, "Where can I find him? I better ask him his own name." Maybe he'd be a better conversation partner than Hadring. That might give her something to do during the long nights of her recovery.
Leyawiin, where she was born, didn't have a lot of Orsimeri. The Orcs of Skyrim seemed more interested in fights than conversation, but this one sounded like a scholar. An Orc writer. What a fascinating combination. Maybe he'll have some good stories to share. She smiled a bit to herself.
Hadring replied somewhat coldly, "He stays down in the cellar. Best not to bother him." Seemed her little jokes were not appreciated. Ah well.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
'This is getting strange,' Gerda thought as she made her way down the stairs into the cellar. 'If he's rich enough to pay for several months in advance, why didn't he stay in the nice room upstairs?'
When she entered the cellar, the first thing she noticed was the cold. Not that it bothered her much, most likely she wouldn't even notice it if she was wearing her armor, but it was noticeable in this glorified fur underwear. Definitely not comfortable room temperature to sleep in, especially for a hot-blooded race like the Orcs. Second was the view - barrels full of wine, old crates and spider webs along the walls… it was a common view of a wine cellar, but definitely not a place for a rich writer to rent.
She went a bit further and saw the 'room'. It was little better than a hole in the wall. Didn't even have a door. It was also just as cold, if not colder, than the rest of the cellar. The inside wasn't anything great either. The straw bed was… common for Skyrim, but definitely overpriced for what he must be paying.
It seemed as if someone decided to create a new room just for this one tenant. Then they threw one bed and a wardrobe in here and considered their task done.
The lute by the bed was a bit surprising. It definitely must belong to the Orc, since Hadring wouldn't put something so nice in an empty cellar room.
She slowly made her way inside. That's when she finally saw the Orc.
He was sitting in one of the room's corners and his whole posture screamed defensiveness. He gave her a look as if he thought her an assassin, here to take his life or something. It was kind of insulting, really. Gerda decided to chat with him anyway, since she was already there and growing curious.
"Hello there. I'm a new tenant. I'll stay here for a week. Can you tell me…" she didn't even finish her sentence, before he interrupted her.
"I can't help you, friend. Talk to Hadring, the innkeeper."
Well, that was rude. Or, it would be, if he didn't say it so… gently. His tone didn't match his words. Actually, his words didn't match his race, either. She never heard an Orc call her friend, even after she was named Blood-Kin and saved an entire stronghold.
She just stood there and stared at him dumbly. Of all the possible scenarios, this one she didn't expect.
"I value my privacy. So if you don't mind?" He gave her a soft, almost pleading look, gently asking her to leave. That was even stranger. She expected at least a growled name. She expected an answer along the line of 'I'm Grr gro-Something, now get lost.' Instead he... politely asked her to leave and even pointed her in the right direction of help, in case the one-and-only door out confused her.
She studied him a bit more. He was tall, but then, most Orcs were. Slightly muscled, especially his arms, but obviously not a warrior. Not handsome, not even by Orc standards, but there was something...
With a start, she realized she considered him attractive. 'Gathrik must have hit my head harder than I thought,' Gerda told herself. She never found Orsimeri attractive and this one wasn't even good looking amongst his own kind. So why…?
He behaved like a green-skinned and tusky Cyrodiil gentleman. No. Better. He reminded her of what those 'noble' gentlemen should have been, not what they actually were - snobby, arrogant weaklings who sneered at her and considered her beneath them because she actually knew how to use her sword and shield. No matter how much money she had or what she achieved.
The Orc started to fidget. He was obviously getting more and more uncomfortable the longer she stood there.
"I really don't mean to be rude, friend, but I'm not feeling particularly sociable..." He seemed lonely, yet he didn't allow himself to accept company. Very strange.
'There is something odd going on here', Gerda thought. 'And I'm going to figure out what'.
Best not to make him any more nervous, though. Since her company was obviously not accepted at this point, Gerda decided to leave. She had a whole week to figure him out, after all.
As she was leaving his „room", she turned one last time to say a proper goodbye. The Orc's eyes were focused on her backside. When he saw her turn to him, his eyes slowly rose up to meet hers.
His wide-eyed look of embarrassment when he noticed she was looking back at him was surprisingly amusing. Since appreciative gazes never insulted her, Gerda decided not to call attention to it, simply smiled and said, „Fight well," before she walked out of The Orc's Cellar.
Maybe this week won't be so long after all.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
Gerda sat in the warm common room and thought about that strange meeting. The more she thought about it the less sense it all made.
The obviously rich Orc lived in a freezing basement, when he could easily have the fancy room upstairs. Growled like a gentleman. Had eyes that asked for company, even though his mouth said leave. Friendly standoffish. Considerately dismissive. Desperately trying to be polite, even as he sent people away.
He was a puzzle. Gerda grinned to herself. She loved puzzles.
Time to ask around a bit more. Fultheim might know something; people always underestimated the things those 'lower' than them saw and heard.
She bought a bottle of mead and sat next to Fultheim at his bench. Without preamble, she asked, "What do you know about the Orc?"
He tiredly lifted his head, stared at the tankard full of mead she offered him and started talking, "Well, he don't like company, I can tell you that much. Just wants to be left alone." Then he frowned and said thoughtfully, "But no... that's not really it. It's like... he wants to talk. Likes people and all. But he stays separate, because he's supposed to." He took a good long drink from his tankard and added, "Kind of sad, really."
Yes, that was what Gerda thought too. 'I don't know what you hide, friend, but if even Fultheim noticed, you are very bad at the hiding part.'
Secrets like these usually came back to bite her in the ass. She was used to solving them, more out of necessity than curiosity. Her true curiosity was reserved for Dwemer puzzles; those at least she solved willingly.
This one, though, seemed more like a private affair than a secret plot to murder her. The man was allowed to have some privacy, right?
Only privacy didn't seem to be what he wanted, but what he had to live with. Was someone blackmailing him? What or who was he hiding from?
Damn, she didn't have nearly enough information. She didn't even know his name.
Tomorrow couldn't arrive fast enough.