Elder Scrolls Story

Contents

Characters 3

Chapter I 4

Chapter I

The rain was constant. A never-ending stream of cold and wet that was merciless in its assault upon the crude structure standing alone among the rocky outcrops of the Reach. A simple dwelling, with a roof held up at a 45-degree angle by two similarly sized sticks, the shelter was designed as much for effectiveness as it was for ease of transport.

To the large being huddled underneath it however, it felt about as useful as a wax kettle.

Shazrul, Shaz to his few friends, and the white-haired orc to his foes, was desperately trying to imagine himself somewhere warm, preferably in an inn where the drinks were flowing and the food hot. He wasn't having much success.

Standing at two metres tall, his huge, muscled body was ill suited to the shelter, leaving him with little space to move, and even when laying on the ground curled up into a ball, his hair and feet were exposed to the relentless rain.

Snorting in annoyance, he pushed off his meagre blanket, and stood in the rain, naked except for his fur leggings. Standing in the rain, he allowed the rain to penetrate every part of his body, rapidly cooling him and making him start to shiver. He closed his eyes and allowed the anger within him to rise, silently fuelling his muscles, making him hyper aware of his surroundings, distracting him from the cold and the wet.

With a sudden leap he sprang into a series of exercises, eyes still closed, twisting, and turning, leaping, and ducking, as if fighting an invisible opponent. He leapt high into the air before landing into a forward roll, springing upright in an instant, before jumping backwards, balancing on his hands, and using his mighty strength, pushing himself up, righting himself and landing on his feet, only swaying slightly as his body readjusted.

Opening his eyes, he smiled grimly. Five years ago, he would have done the exact same exercises perfectly. Five years before that and he would have done them one handed.

He moved back to his shelter, hot after the short but intense activity, and covered himself in the blanket once again. As the rain slowly faded into a mild drizzle, he settled down to sleep, hoping to catch a few hours of rest before the sun rose, and he would continue his journey north.

As the dawn approached, Shazrul awoke, and, after a breakfast of oats and honey from his backpack, dismantled the shelter, taking the reusable leather strips and small iron nails but leaving the wood. After rolling his blanket into the base of the pack, he heaved his pack to his shoulders, before using one of the sticks from his shelter as a walking aid as he moved north.

His kin had established a stronghold in the north of the Reach, a settlement called Mor Khazgur, and while he was not from the stronghold, he had spent years venturing from stronghold to stronghold across Skyrim and was well known throughout the orcish people.

The chiefs, while initially wary of him due to his size and strength, no longer saw him as a potential threat to their respective rule and were happy to entertain him when he came to visit, as he often brought news from other strongholds that were important commodities to tribal life, such as when Chiefs were looking to marry off a daughter or were seeking new wives, or even if they needed assistance against bandits or giants.

This time he brought no news, but after travelling in the wilderness alone for several weeks, he was longing for the company of his own kind. The local Nords were often agreeable enough, and those who remembered his service to the imperial legion would happily buy him a drink or two to help warm him during the colder nights of winter, but there was something about the stronghold way of life that gave you a sense of belonging, of purpose, that he was somewhat ashamed to say he missed.

Yet every time he spent more than a couple days in any one stronghold, he found himself itching to leave and explore the horizon, to scout the area for game or even some bandits to fight. Within weeks, he had packed his bags with supplies and left to travel yet again, often missing his orc kin the moment the stronghold left his sight.

Wanderlust was in his blood, and it was disease that no Aedra or Daedra could cure, even if he wanted to be free of it.

As he climbed to the top of the hill, he was able to see the brief speck of Mor Khazgur in the distance, still nearly twenty miles away. Gauging that he would be able to make it before sundown with ease, he sat down for a brief lunch, having been walking for nearly 6 hours already. He finished the last of his preserved venison and supplemented it with several bunches of snowberries he had found and kept the day before. Living in the wild meant he always had to be careful, never knowing whether his next meal could be his last, or how long he would have before he could restock his supplies, but it did mean that the little discoveries of berries and fruits could bring him great joy, an idea that would be ridiculous to anyone living in a city, where food was bountiful. Shazrul found that the continuous challenge presented by his travelling made life all the sweeter and he was loath to back down from the challenge anytime soon.

Finishing his lunch and musings, he resumed his journey, walking for another 2 hours lost in his reverie when he suddenly heard a wolf howl. Standing still, he listened, trying to discern if the wolf was nearby, and if so, whether it was alone.

Hearing no howl to match the first, he silently drew the war axe from the hoop in his belt, and pushed his pack off his right shoulder, angling onto his left forearm as a makeshift shield. He waited patiently for several minutes and was able to start walking again when he heard the faintest whisper of noise behind him.

Spinning to the sound, he barely had chance to raise his shielded forearm to the wolfs jaw, keeping the vicious bite from injuring him, but unable to prevent the force of the wolf's pounce from knocking them both to the ground, dropping his axe as he landed.

The wolf was large, but Shazrul was stronger, and with a mighty lift of his arms, threw the wolf over his head, where it landed awkwardly and tried to rise. Rolling to his feet, Shazrul took a moment to look at his adversary, noticing the scars over the dark fur of its right side, how it held its right paw in the air, unable to support the weight of its body.

Shazrul realised that the beast, somehow injured, was unable to chase its usual, swifter prey, and had attacked him out of desperation. It also meant; it could not afford to retreat.

Moving slowly towards his axe, Shazrul bent his knees to retrieve it, but the wolf attacked again, leaping towards him, and seeking to knock the orc to the ground again. Only this time, Shazrul counterattacked the beast with a leap of his own, colliding with the wolfs body and landing on top of it. Before the wolf could recover, Shazrul wrapped his huge arms across the furry mass surrounding its neck, clamping it tight in an embrace of steel.

The wolf struggled, clawing at his legs and forearm using every remaining ounce of strength it could muster, before Shazrul savagely twisted, breaking the beasts neck with an audible crack. The wolf went limp in his arms, and Shazrul lowered the body to the ground, pausing to catch his breath.

He felt no shame in killing the beast, as it was a life-or-death situation, yet he felt pity for the beast, as it was no way for such a noble creature to die. The way of the world was often a cruel one, as his people knew well, but it did not make it any easier to accept.

Drawing a skinning knife from his pack, he spent the next hour removing the pelt from the wolf and took what little meat remained on its body after its starvation, before leaving the body to the crows, and resuming his journey.

His wounds, while not serious, could normally become infected unless treated immediately, but Shazrul was not worried. By the time he reached the stronghold they would be fully healed, and he had washed the blood from his clothes using some of his remaining water in his canteen. He healed far faster than normal mortals, but didn't want them to know that, preferring to keep his advantage hidden.

As the soon was beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, Shazrul walked through the small valley that led to the stronghold of Mor Khazgur, feeling relief at the thought of being able to sleep somewhere warm and comfy for a change.

Walking towards the stronghold, he heard an arrow notch behind him, followed swiftly by the arrow itself, piercing the bark of the tree less than a metre from his head, where it stubbornly stayed, buried deep within the wood.

Without turning his head, he laughed and shouted "Borgakh your aim is terrible!".

Emerging from the undergrowth, a female orc wearing red war paint around her eyes, glared at him.

"How did you know it was me?"

Shazrul turned and pulled the arrow from the tree, running his fingers over the feathers at its end. "Hawk feathers, only one person I know it so particular with her feather choice."

"Next time I will aim for your head, and not the tree." Borgakh said, turning and walking along the path leading to the stronghold.

Chuckling, Shazrul followed her, making no effort to match her pace, knowing that if she wanted to talk, she would wait for him. Sure enough, after less than five minutes of walking, she stopped and waited from him to catch up.

"Where have you been this time? It's been nearly five months since your last visit."

"I visited my brothers in Dushnikh Yal and tried to keep the peace between them as much as possible. Then I travelled to Markarth, where I was paid to kill a giant frostbite spider called Nimhe. I swear that creature was the size of a mammoth! But it fell to my blade, nonetheless. After that, I began the slow journey northwards here, to your 'delightful' company."

He chuckled as he teased her, knowing that she enjoyed it, although she would die a thousand deaths before she ever admitted it.

She frowned as she said, "A pity I wasn't able to join you for that fight, that would have brought true honour to a warrior." She was silent as she pouted, feeling as if she had somehow missed out on a great battle.

"Borgakh, true honour isn't won in the slaying of some beast or by seeking out a pointless death. It is won by fighting another being in combat for the right to survive, or for others to survive. A spider knows no concept of honour, and so cannot bestow it upon you. A man, be him evil or good, knows of honour, and can be the only way of achieving it."

She nodded silently, pondering on his words. She knew Shazrul to be an orc of few words, and usually when he spoke, it was often worth listening to the words he has to say. Even with her, whom he was more vocal with than most, he didn't give into what he called 'idle chatter'.

They entered the stronghold together, still lost in their own thoughts, when Chief Larak boomed his voice across the courtyard.

"Well, well, well. Look what the sabre cat dragged in!"

Shazrul turned and faced the chief, matching the orcs gaze with his own. Neither orc looked away, determined not to show weakness in front of the other. Despite being nearly two decades older then Shazrul, Larak still posed an intimidating frame, being one of the strongest orcs in Skyrim, strong enough to resist his own sons challenge to his position as chief, having killed him as a result.

They continued to glare at each other for nearly a full minute, when the beginnings of a smile crept onto the chief's face, causing Shazrul to lose his own composure, and ending with them both bursting out laughing.

Larak threw his arm around Shazrul's shoulder, being one of the few beings tall enough to do so and pulled him into an embrace.

"Welcome my friend! It has been too long since we last had such a worthy visitor. Come, we can have food in the longhouse. I wish to hear about your battle against your wanderlust!" he teased, leading the orc into the personal residence of the Chief and his wife.

"And" he said, "I have a proposition for you, which I believe you will find very interesting."

Chapter II

With a thundering 'crack!', the pickaxe dug inch by inch deeper into the rock, powered by the mighty muscles of Shazrul's arms and shoulders. Working in the mines required a lot of strength, as well as plenty of stamina. Luckily, the orc had both in abundance.

Despite the hot temperature and constant activity, Shazrul found his mind wondering, replaying the events of the previous night in his head, trying to interpret his current predicament.

Larak had all but dragged him into the longhouse, plying him with Nord mead from Solitude and venison caught by his hunts-wife. It was a feast fit for a king, which made Shazrul uneasy. One of the earliest lessons he had learnt in life is that nothing comes for free, and if the chief is lavishing him with such luxuries, he must surely want something in return.

And so Shazrul patiently listened as Larak droning on about how his stronghold was the strongest, the most blessed with ore, produced the largest sons, the list went on and on. Eventually, the chief got to the point of his conversation.

"I have a proposition for you Shazrul" he boomed, his voice filling the longhouse. "One suited to your particular talents I believe."

"I'm listening" Shazrul replied, not wishing to agree to anything just yet.

"As you know, I have only one son left, Olur, after I killed my eldest in single combat. One day I hope he will be strong enough to take my place as Chief. My daughter Borgakh however, is what concerns me. She is willing to take up her place as a wife to a Chief, but I know that she longs for exploration and freedom. I cannot allow her to deny her destiny of marrying a Chief, but I would wish for her to be happy with her husband. Therefore, I am asking you to take her with you, travel to all the other strongholds in Skyrim, let her meet the Chiefs and make her own decision on who to marry. She can explore with you while travelling, and when she returns, she will be a better wife for whomever she decides to marry."

He drained the last of his mead, sighed and continued.

"What I am asking is for you to be her guide, her protector, and her father in my stead. Defend her honour if she cannot, be honest in your opinions of the various chief's, and make sure she is certain with her decision."

"In return, I will happily offer you anything that is within my power to grant. Within reason, of course." He laughed, seeking to add some humour to the tense conversation.

Shazrul did not show his astonishment but was taken aback at the Chief's request. Normally, a daughter is wed to whichever stronghold can offer the better payment, and she is rarely given any say in the matter, let alone allowed to make the choice herself.

Clearly the Chief cherished his daughter far more than he let on, and only wished for her happiness. A concept not usually seen within the pariah folk, especially if they were from the strongholds, but it was one that Shazrul couldn't help but admire.

His thoughts were interrupted when the chief spoke again.

"Take a few days to mull the decision over, I know it is not an easy task. Please stay for a long as you need to recover from your journey and come see me when you have made your decision."

As Shazrul stood and turned to leave the longhouse, the old chief called after him.

"Shazrul, there is truly no one else I would trust to do this task for me. It is a service I would never forget."

Returning his mind to the present, Shazrul laid down the pickaxe, and gathered up the chunks of ore he had freed from their stony prison, walking out to the daylight. Blinking as he readjusted to the brightness, he strolled down to the smelters, and gave the ore to Olur, who oversaw the smelters that day. Usually, the son of the chief was expected to work in the mines just like the rest of the orcs, but someone had to work the smelters, and today it was Olur's turn.

Just as well, for Shazrul wished to speak to the younger orc.

"Good day Olur, here's some ore to keep you busy".

Olur grimaced "You bring up more ore than any of the other miners. Which means more work for me".

Shazrul smiled, replying with a shrug of his shoulders, before then helping Olur load up the first batch of ore to be smelted. Once they had finished, Shazrul spoke again.

"Olur, what's your opinion of your sister?"

He snorted "As long as she is on my side, we'd win any battle. She will make a terrible wife to a chief though. Far too much wanderlust in her, just like you."

Shazrul agreed, hearing the same assessment as the one he himself had made. Leaving Olur, he sought out Sharamph, the wise woman of the stronghold and Larak's mother. Before he proceeded with making any decision, he needed to hear what the representative of Malacath thought of the situation.

Finding her in her alchemists hut, he waited patiently for her to finish brewing her latest potion, as he knew well how much concentration was required was required in the art of alchemy. After a short time, she turned to him and simply asked: "Well?"

"I seek advice on my current task."

She sighed, clearly having hoped to be given a simple task. She stood up from the alchemy table to her full height, grunting as her old bones clicked and ached. She beckoned him to sit on the mat behind him, and she moved to the chair by the doorway, which she swiftly closed.

"Now, what brings you to me this day, child of Malacath?"

Shazrul was hesitant to reveal too much information, as the Chief clearly wished for his task to remain close lipped, but he needed to discuss it with someone.

"The Chief has asked me to help Borgakh find a husband of her own choosing from among the other chiefs of Skyrim's strongholds" he began, scanning her face for hints of surprise. Her face was as unmoving as stone.

"I have met the chief's during my travels and have my own opinions of them. But I wish to gain the opinions of others to better aid Borgakh."

"This is an unusual task, yet not an unsurprising one" the wise woman said. "Our chief has always had a soft spot for his daughter".

She stopped to think for a while, before finally sighing, and saying "I will help you with your task. Which stronghold will you visit first?"

"Narzulbur. It will be a long journey and will give Borgakh plenty of time to get the wanderlust out of her system. Chief Mauhulakh is a good chief, although he has a terrible history of wives, as he has somehow lost every single one to tragedy."

"Hmmm, and I hear he had an unusual relationship with his maternal aunts." The wise woman remarked.

"Yes, but the chief himself is a good, although weak minded, orc. He would never mistreat his wife."

"Borgakh will not want him if he is weak minded. She is strong and needs someone as strong to match her. Otherwise, she will never be happy." The older orc mused, before continuing "I believe she will make the right choice to disregard him, but I have been wrong before. Where after Narzulbur?"

"Largashbur. Chief Yamarz is a proud fool. Last I heard, they were having trouble with the local giants intruding on their territory, yet Yamarz does nothing to stop them. Hopefully he will not remain chief for long, and Borgakh will have another candidate."

"Yes, I have heard of Yamarz, many believe that his weakness had caused his tribe to be cursed. Borgakh may see challenge in this and take it on for herself. But if she dies in the attempt, then she will not be able to contribute to the next generation, and her strength will be lost forever."

Again, the wise woman pondered in silence for several moments, before barking: "Next!"

"Dushnikh Yal. My brother Burguk is the chief there. He is strong, intelligent, and keeps the stronghold wealthy enough."

"But?" the wise woman discerned.

"But he already has wives, Gharol, Arub and Shel. I do not think they would take kindly to another wife entering their domain, and Borgakh would likely not find happiness as a fourth wife to an aging orc."

"Burguk is obviously the strongest choice, he has attracted many wives as per tradition, and he is strong enough to not worry about competition. Isn't it true that all three of his brothers, including you, are welcome there? Normally brothers are banished upon ascendance to chiefdom."

"It is true, me and Ghorbash, my younger brother, helped train Burguk for years to prepare him for his battle against our father. When Burguk killed our father and became chief, he celebrated with us instead of fighting us, and gave us his blessing when me and Ghorbash left to fight in the legion. When we returned, he welcomed us with open arms."

"Unconventional, yet it means he has more strong warriors at his beck and call should he need them. I believe that Borgakh will be more attracted to this warrior rather than the other contenders. Does Burguk have a son?".

"Several, Umurn, who works as the stronghold blacksmith with his mother Gharol, who is the forge wife to Burguk. Nagrob, who is the strongest of his sons, and acts as one of the huntsmen for the tribe with his mother Arub. I expect him to be chief one day."

Shazrul took a deep breath, and continued:

"Lastly this is Lurbuk. He is the shameful son of my brother. He left the stronghold to pursue his desire to be a bard, much to my brothers displeasure. My brother asked me to kill him if I ever saw him again, but I've heard tell of an orc bard in Morthal, which could only be him. He will never be chief."

"I see. Has his third wife provided him with any sons?"

"None, Shel is not a useful addition to the stronghold, and rarely does any work. If she ever has a son, he will be lazy and spoiled just like her."

"Not a good trait in a chief that he allowed such behaviour."

"She appeases him in… other…ways."

"Ha! One of those types of women. Borgakh would cut her into mincemeat if given half the chance. Make sure she has chance to meet your nephews when you visit the stronghold. She would be better suited to being the first wife to a new chief than a mere fourth wife."

"I understand, thank you for your advice."

"It is my duty. But now that we are finished, I need you to leave. There are many potions that require brewing, and I need my concentration to be total if they are to be effective."

Shazrul stood, and without looking back, turned to leave the hut. Crossing the compound, he thought over the wise woman's words, and decided that, while the options available to Borgakh were admittedly low, it was still far more than most orcish women had, and he was determined to make her make the most of it.

As he approached the longhouse, he found the chief lounging outside.

"Chief Larak, I accept your request. I will leave in three days' time with Borgakh. She will make her choice by the end of our journey."

"Excellent! I knew you were the right orc for the job. I will tell her shortly, and she will be ready to leave this stronghold forever."

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