Chapter 2: A Less Ordinary Day

The bear stood on its hindlegs and loosed a roar at Marzuum loud enough to rival that of a dragon. Not to be cowed, Marzuum roared right back, keeping the point of his spear pointed at the bear's chest. Though he'd had no need to hunt, Marzuum had woken that day with fire in his blood. Unable to quench the urge, he'd forgone his bow used for hunting, instead leaving his home with only a spear and a war axe. He didn't know what he would be facing when he left home, only that whatever it was, would need to be killed by the strength of his own hands, not by a bow. Such was the way of the orsimer when they entered their blood-lust.

Before the bear could lower itself on all fours for a charge, Marzuum decided to take the fight to it. Tossing his spear aside for the moment, he drew his axe, and threw it right into the bear's neck. Before it could drop, Marzuum lowered his head and charged. He was a head taller than other males of his kind, and unlike them, he had thick horns like a ram, that grew from his head. While this gave him an advantage in combat, they had also attracted challengers from every race who sought to claim his horns for their own. They were both boon, and curse from Malacath, a sign that he was destined for greatness.

As his horns sank into the bear's flesh, he felt its claws scrape against his back. The wound only enraged him further. The strength of his own charge made the bear fall backwards under its own weight, and as it struggled to regain its footing, he leapt onto its back. He grabbed the axe, still embedded in the bear's neck, and dragged it backwards towards the beasts shoulder, leaving a wide cut the size of a mammoth's tusk.

Pulling the axe free, he leapt from the bear's back towards his spear. The beast wobbled unsteadly on its legs now, but it was too late. Marzuum threw his spear and watched it sink deep into the bear's chest. It fell dead at his feet. Marzuum roared his victory. Though he had not planned to hunt, he wasn't about to let the meat and fur go to waste.

*

Marzuum had just finished butchering the last of his fresh bear meat at the top of the Crest when he heard a cry for help. He turned his head towards the sound. Wherever there was prey there was predators. Maybe he'd get to kill something else fun. He grabbed his weapons and set off at a jog for the road.

In a few moments, the problem became clear. A figure in imperial armor was running down the road with a group of five Stormcloaks giving chase. The figure in imperial armor had one of those imperial shortswords at their side as they ran. The Stormcloaks could be heard laughing as they fired arrows at the retreating legionnaire. One finally found its mark, sinking into the hamstring of the legionnaire, who went down with a cry. All but one of the Stormcloaks dropped their bows, advancing instead with their iron swords on the fallen figure. Marzuum shook his head. So ends the hunt. He had just turned away when he heard a cry of pain. Turning back, he saw one of the Stormcloaks fall to the ground.

The wounded legionnaire had slashed the Stormcloak's thigh when they approached and now stood, crooked on their own legs. The legionnaire parried a sword slash before the Stormcloak archer put another arrow in the legionnaire's arm. Unable to hold onto their sword, it fell. One of the Stormcloaks used the hilt of their sword to strike the legionnaire across the face. Another kicked them once they were on the ground. Marzuum had seen enough. The legionnaire had fought valiantly against greater numbers, and deserved an honorable death against a worthy foe. Not a slow, unknown death on a random road. Marzuum loosed a war cry that echoed across the valley, and every figure on the road froze to turn his way, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't long in coming.

Marzuum advanced on the group throwing his spear into the nearest Stormcloak. The spear struck with such force that the Stormcloak was flung backwards and impaled into the ground next to the road. Marzuum drew his war axes and continued his advance. One of the Stormcloaks called to the archer, who then sent an arrow towards Marzuum. He moved his head slightly to the side and it missed. The archer fired again, this time at his torso. It struck Marzuum in his thick, right pectoral muscle. Enraged once more, Marzuum broke the shaft of the arrow and then threw his axe into the archer who went down without a sound. There were three Stormcloaks left now. One was already wounded by the legionnaire, but the other two charged with their swords high, and their voices loud.

Marzuum lowered his head and charged. He made contact with one of the Stormcloaks, and the impact sent the soldier flying into a large rock with a loud smack. Marzuum knew he was dead on impact. Turning around, he threw his axe into the remaining stunned soldier before he could so much as move. All that was left now was the wounded Stormcloak. Marzuum had been so busy that he had failed to notice that while he had engaged with the rest of the group, the legionnaire had retrieved their sword, and engaged the wounded Stormcloak. With both combatants wounded, it made for a poor contest. Upon seeing Marzuum approach, the Stormcloak threw his sword down and fell to his knees crying for mercy. Marzuum glared in disgust. The legionnaire didn't hesitate, but swung their sword, taking off the Stormcloak's head.

Marzuum grunted his approval, and the legionnaire turned to face him, removing their helmet. Though most might have been surprised to see that the legionnaire was a young woman, Marzuum was not. There were plenty of woman warriors among his kind. However, he was surprised to see that she was a nord. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders without her helmet to hold it back. She opened her mouth to speak—and immediately collapsed. Though from wound or exhaustion Marzuum was unsure. He sighed. There was still work to be done.

*

Marzuum carried the legionnaire to the Crest. He needed to check if she had any mortal wounds, and he was sure she'd prefer he didn't do so in the middle of the road. Unfortunately for the legionnaire, inspecting her for wounds while she was unconscious meant a serious invasion of her modesty.

Back on the Crest, he laid the legionnaire on a small pile of furs before he began stripping off her armor and tunic to check for chest wounds, though he took great care to keep her nether region covered as he was fairly confident she hadn't taken any wounds there. During his inspection, he noticed a shallow cut, just under her breast, an already darkening bruise on her ribs, and puncture wounds in her arm and calf from the arrows. He'd noticed she was fit, as was expected of any who served in the empire's legion, but Marzuum still couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.

The sun was beginning its descent by the time he was sure of the extent of her wounds. He had removed the arrow heads, placed a salve on the cuts, bandaged them, and sat her up among his furs before giving her the last of his minor healing potions. All there was left to do now was wait…