Warriors and Thieves
Chapter Two
Death Cannot Be Found
Gromph wrapped a piece of ripped cloth around the small wound on his arm. He had heard of the legendary martial prowess of Boethiah Cultists and should consider himself lucky to walk away with but a small scratch. But in truth he was deeply disappointed.
The mutilated corpses scattered around him clearly proved that the daedra worshippers had been little match against a true battle hardened orcish veteran. And an old one at that, thought Gromph to himself with a sigh. It seemed that for him, an honorable death could not be found anywhere.
Once again he felt disappointed, disappointed and afraid, afraid that he might die old and frail, in a soft bed by a warm hearth. No proper death for a son of Malacath. No proper death for any warrior with regard for himself or his honor. No, Gromph would have to find an opponent skilled enough to grant him the death he sought.
He got up from the rock he’d been sitting on, his heavy plate armor grinding against the stone causing a deep rumbling sound, like thunder.
He walked a few paces, then grabbed the shaft of his mighty axe and pulled with a lazy retraction of his arm. The blade slowly uncovered itself from the chest of a dead cultist with a sloppy sound that reminded the orc of wet dough.
The corpse twitched as the blade came free. Blood ran thick from the wound coloring the snow around a light red. Gromph grunted, then wiped the blade of his axe clean in a mound of snow and began to make his way down the steep stairs which led to the shrine.
“An honorable death”, he mumbled to himself as he walked.
It wasn’t long before a soft snow began to fall, and soon Gromph caught himself daydreaming, recollecting things from his past. Good things.
He remembered the stronghold to which he was born. He remembered growing up with his brothers and sisters and how he grew bigger and stronger than any other orc in the settlement. A true warrior the clan’s chief would call him.
He remembered sparring with the other young-male orcs in the training grounds and how he, with time and practice, became the best fighter of them all. He remembered that when the time came, he decided not to fight his father for the title of chieftain. Gromph was not a leader, he never had been and he never would be. However, he knew that his younger brother was a born leader, perfect for the future of the clan.
So he decided to leave. Bringing only his armor, his axe, a cape to ward off the cold and a black leather backpack to store provisions. Then, without any goodbyes he set out to chart the vast unknown lands beyond The Dragontail Mountains.
That had been thirty years ago, at least, at a time when he had been young and eager. Now he was old and grey, scarred from countless battles against countless foes. None had been able to kill him, a few had been close, but somehow Gromph had always survived...
...A deep growl broke the trance of thoughts which Gromph was trapped in. He looked around, his brick jaw clenching shut, his muscles tensing.
It was a bear, the biggest bear Gromph had ever seen. It was further down the road, not more than fifty meters away. The magnificent creature swung its massive head in the air, tasting the wind.
Gromph, however, was upwind of the bear, it did not catch his scent. But the orc did not plan to hide from the beast, he saw in the creature a chance to end his predicament of age.
Gromph stood in the middle of the road, spread his legs, placed his hands on his hips and roared at the bear.
The animal froze, then turned it’s gaze at the challenger and, without a warning, charged.
It was but a matter of seconds before the beast was upon Gromph. In that time he had drawn his axe from his back and prepared himself for the collision as best he could.
The mighty bear crashed into the orc, knocking them both backwards onto the frozen ground with a heavy thud. Metal screamed as the bear clawed at Gromph’s armor, leaving long dents in the hard metal.
However, Gromph was holding his axe with both hands, placing it’s thick wooden shaft on the bear's chest so that it could not reach him with it’s deadly jaws. The two titans wrestled, the bear trying to reach Gromph’s head with it’s jaws - and Gromph keeping it at bay with the strength of his arms. He had to get off the ground, it would only be a matter of moments before the bear managed to get at him with its bite.
So with all his strength Gromph pushed his axe upwards, roaring in pain as his muscles ached from the sheer weight of the bear.
But somehow he managed to toss the bear off and over himself. Gromph got up as quickly as he could, noticing a warm sensation spreading around his ribs.
No time to think about wounds. Gromph swung his axe high with both hands as he turned to face the bear. The beast had been surprisingly quick in its recovery and once again charged at Gromph.
The axe arched high, then came crashing down with furious force behind it, striking the bear on the top of it’s skull, almost cleaving the beast’s head in two.
But it was too late, the bear, although dead the instant Gromph’s axe cracked its skull, tumbled into the orc with tremendous force.
Bear and orc both crashed to the ground, blood gushing from the bear's head, covering Gromph in a coat of crimson.
He lay there for a while. In the embrace of the dead bear. “Damn you!”, he whispered, disappointed for the second time that day. It seemed that for him, an honorable death could not be found anywhere...
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Comments
Also, I changed all the names to Gromph (looks more manly to me).
Nothing as badass as an old Orc looking for Good Death. This site needs more Orcs!