Chapter 4
Adal Matar IV
Yamarz was standing outside, in front of the Longhouse, warming himself near the fire. He was tired, hungry and his bruises hurt, but he wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible. He didn't want to say no to the warchief of Adal Matar, but neither did he want to say yes. Not immediately. He wanted to discuss this matter with his wise-woman. Malacath's guidance would help him decide.
While he stood there, the Orcs of Adal Matar started to gather and they slowly made a circle around him. He wasn't looking at them; as a matter of fact, he barely noticed them, so deep in thought he was.
Orcs hadn't waged war in… He actually didn't know how long it had been since Orcs had last waged war. He had never heard about it. Orcs as a race generally didn't start wars, just because there was no racial unity between them. And even if they were united...the other races would always ally to fight against them. War meant too much death and Yamarz wasn't sure war was something his tribe wanted to be a part of.
The Orcs around him drew their weapons, waking him from his thoughts. They started slamming their weapons, creating a ringing sound that completely overwhelmed Yamarz's senses. He heard the sounds; he smelled the oil and metal of their weapons in the air - he could almost taste it too; he felt the vibrations created by slamming. His blood began to boil, as he heard the his own heartbeat between his temples; his vision became completely clouded by red mist. His savage side was awakening; the frenzy was right behind a set of closed doors. All he had to do was open them.
The Orcs suddenly made a way for a figure clad in ebony armor. And she was walking straight towards Yamarz. The warchief's daughter didn't wear a helmet, so he could closely study her face. Her hair was tied into a tight braid and her silver eyes shined like twin stars in the night sky, so much dark paint was around them. She had three scars on the left side of her face. One across the lips - probably from a knife - another under her eye and the longest on her cheek. She was as tall as Yamarz and probably of the same muscle strength, though it could have been her massive armor, bulking out her figure.
She circled him and the Orcs stopped clashing their weapons. She measured him with a curious look and grinned. “So you're the chieftain from the other side of the mountains? You look weak,” she said mockingly.
Yamarz had an insult on his tongue, but he didn't speak. He merely nodded and she mocked him with a laugh. You're confident, female. I'll give you that. And he probably knew why. Those five chieftains from Adal Matar had probably already fought her. And if they had won, Yamarz wouldn't have been there, would he? Maybe they underestimated her, but he wouldn't make that same mistake.
The warchief came out of the Longhouse, wearing only his fur kilt and Volendrung on his shoulder. Every Orc's eyes turned to him, but Yamarz was looking at his daughter. He was studying her posture, how her hand was close to the axe on her right side and the ease with which she held her shield.
“Alright, listen you lot. This is Yamarz, chieftain of Largashbur, and he's here to challenge my daughter, Ghorurz gra-Adal. I hope he succeeds where you all failed,” he began as Yamarz chuckled. The warchief certainly didn't give a crap about offending his “subjects”; he was the biggest lion in here. He was a king in all but name. “There is only one rule. The last standing Orc wins. And don't kill each other. You may proceed.”
And that was it, the time for words was over.
Ghorurz caught him off guard when she immediately bashed him with her shield as he drew his axes. He saw only darkness for a second, almost falling on his ass. When his vision cleared, he saw her slowly pulling out her axe. He heard the other Orcs laughing. And his blood started to boil again. Just open that door. Let out the rage and show her how a true warrior fights! he thought. But he didn't. He carefully locked that door.
He pulled out his axes and lowered them down, standing unguarded in front of her. She waited for him with her shield raised. He knew she wanted to test him. He could probably smash that shield relentlessly all day and she wouldn't move an inch, not showing him anything of her abilities. And he would show her everything. That didn’t seem to be a fair trade off.
So he stood motionless, his gaze locked in her eyes. And she was looking at him. She lowered her shield a little bit, as though it was too heavy for her. But it was all a ruse. And he still stood just as still as a stone statue.
“What's wrong with you? Are you afraid? Is every Skyrim Orc just as much of a weak coward as you are?” she mocked him and the surrounding Orcs laughed. But he didn't move.
She started to look nervous. This probably wasn't what she expected. She looked around at the laughing Orcs and then at her father. Yamarz saw the question in her eyes, but Burggrol was motionless, just like Yamarz.
“As you want,” she growled dangerously, and she charged. Yamarz raised both of his axes over his head and she raised her shield to block, predicting his strike, as she swung her own axe in a low arc from her leg to strike Yamarz from below her shield.
But Yamarz wasn't there. When she had raised her shield, she had blocked her own line of sight for two seconds and during those, Yamarz had spun on the spot, out of harms way, and extended his foot. She stumbled over it and fell on the ground.
And the surrounding Orcs laughed. She angrily stood up and shot him a vengeful look. Then Ghorurz let out a roar full of anger and bloodlust. At him, at the Orcs around, and at her father. Everything and everyone went silent.
And now there will be blood.
She charged again, but this time she took the initiative. If a fight between two of any other race were to be observed, he would expect a long trade of blows, with ruses and guards, and some fancy feints. But these were Orcs. They fought as they lived. Without restraints.
Yamarz took a step back to avoid her axe, then swung with his left arm at her ribs. She turned to the side and blocked the blow to her right with her shield, across her body, revealing her back. Yamarz struck again with his right arm, but she turned so quickly that her shield was there again to block his blow, as her axe came towards him from the side. He blocked with his own axe, but the blades locked and she ripped the weapon from his hand.
He then moved closer to her, leaning on the shield and grabbing it with his free hand. He was too close for her to land a solid hit with her axe. She tried to push him away, but there were two hard truths that prevented her from doing so. Orc males are heavier. And orichalcum armor is heavier than ebony. And he intended to turn that weight into his advantage. He tried to rip the shield from her grasp-
And then she suddenly dropped on her back and he was flying over her. But he didn't let go of her shield, ripping it from her forearm. She screamed as some bone broke. And then he landed. Very hard. Even a giant's club couldn't smash the ground harder. Somewhere between the ringing of his armor and her scream he heard - and felt - some bone breaking within him.
He tried to stand up but a pain in his side made him fall to the ground again. That's a rib. Or two, he thought. But he tried to get up once again. And while the pain was almost paralyzing, he managed to get on his feet. He dropped the shield, because he couldn't even raise his left arm. Ghorurz was on her feet too and, by the unnatural angle of her arm, Yamarz guessed she had dislocated her shoulder.
She grunted and put her joint back in its place. She growled in pain and grabbed her axe from the snow. She tried to move with her shoulder and grimaced at that. Yamarz saw that she was in pain, but she could move with it at least.
This time it was he who charged - without a weapon. She swung at him with her axe, but he got inside that swing before it could hurt him. His shoulder smashed into her body, close to her dislocated shoulder and she screamed in pain again. He ripped the axe from her hand and then swung his fist at her jaw. It landed hard and her head snapped to the side.
But she wasn't done yet. Her knee found his already broken ribs and broke them once more. He let out an animal roar, full of pain, and blocked another knee heading to his face. And then...he unlocked the door.
All disappeared in red mist and pain flew away. His right arm flew in an uppercut aimed at Ghorurz's chin, catching the female off guard, and when she saw stars in front of her eyes, he headbutted her. He felt her fangs tear his forehead, but there was a loud crack of her flat nose. She staggered a step back, but Yamarz wasn't done with her just yet.
He knocked her to the ground and landed heavily on her. His raised his right hand and pummelled her face once again. And again. And then there was someone holding him. He turned around to punch him too, only to see Burggrol's face close to his. He opened his mouth, as saliva flew from it.
His ears popped and then he heard again - not that he noticed that he had stopped hearing.
“It's over, Yamarz! You have won! You hear me?! You won!”
I won, he thought. I really won.
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