The Cursed Tribe - Chapter 11

• Posted by Karver the Lorc February 24, 2016 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - #"Karver"  #"Cursed Tribe"  - 1,643 views

  

  Chapter 11

  Saying goodbyes

   

  There's a time in the life when you have to say goodbye, to either your loved ones or things you care about. Nothing lasts forever. And Decimus saw that Orcs understood that very well. More than a dozen Orcs now stood in front of Largashbur's gate, their weapons sharpened, their armors oiled, and their faces painted red. Decimus then saw Yamarz standing in front of them with bowl full of red paste. The Orc chief dipped his fingers into the paste and swiped his stained fingertips across his face.

   

  There were no ceremonial words, only silence, and once Yamarz was finished painting his face, the other Orcs of the tribe stepped towards him and dipped their hands into the paste. Decimus expected them to paint their faces, but instead, they walked to certain Orcs in the group, touching their armor, their arms and legs, so they were covered with red palms all over their bodies. Decimus noticed that those particular Orcs were all somewhat older, their hair slowly becoming grey.

   

  He saw Grulmar coming his way and smiled. He liked that kid. Runt. That's what they call kids here, but no way I'm calling them that. The boy was clever and curious, asking Decimus all sorts of questions about the world outside. Aye, he liked the boy. Shame that his brother is such an ass. Fucking brat. When Grulmar arrived at his side, Decimus pointed towards the warriors and whispered: “What's this about?”

   

  Grulmar looked at him like he was a complete fool. I know, even little runts know the answer to that. I'm really dumb.

   

  “They are growing old,” he whispered and Decimus saw how his tongue found the tip of his tusk. The Imperial noticed that Grulmar did that every time he was thinking about something. Decimus raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, but Grulmar didn't say anything more.

   

  So he had to ask. “And what's wrong with growing old?”

   

  The young Orc looked at him angrily and pointed a finger at him in an accusing gesture. “Now it is my turn to ask. What's the difference between an Imperial and a Nord?”

   

  Decimus sighed. Damn clever kid. Answer for an answer. He would be shrewd businessman one day. “How can you ask that? Nords are from Skyrim and Imperials from Cyrodiil.”

   

  “You're avoiding my question,” stomped Grulmar. “Nords and Imperials look the same. What's the difference then?”

   

  You little clever bastard. “Nords are from another continent, while we Imperials are from Tamriel. They are usually paler than us; we have more olive-hued skin. Will you answer my question now, please?”

   

  “Growing old means becoming weak,” murmured Grulmar so quietly that Decimus had to lean closer to him. “They don't want to die weak, so they will go look for their Good Death, so that Malacath will allow them to enter the Ashen Forge.”

   

  “Huh.” Decimus scratched his beard - yes, he had a beard now - thinking about it. Ashen Forge. Orcish Sovngarde?

   

  “When you'll come back again?” Grulmar pulled his sleeve, demanding his attention. He looked down into the Orc’s intelligent, yet disturbing, red eyes. Decimus remembered when he woke from his fevered sleep in the Longhouse, those three months back, and the first thing he saw was this lad's face. He would never admit it, but he freaked out a little in that moment. But during his two weeks spent at the stronghold, recovering, he grew fond of the boy. And the boy grow fond of him.

   

  But Yamarz wanted to find his brother and Decimus had to leave, looking for an Orc somewhere in Skyrim. Like a big fucking green needle in a hay stack. So he went looking for him, searching for any trace, until he heard something from...an associate of his in Riften. And so he came here, to inform Yamarz he was getting closer. The chief, however, was leaving, and not willing to say where.

   

  Decimus felt Grulmar pull his sleeve again, breaking him out of the prison that was his thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Not sure, lad. It might take some time 'till I get this Lorbulg.” He noted the boy's sour face and kneeled beside him. “Don't worry, I'll be back. Besides, you have something to keep yourself occupied right?”

   

  Grulmar grimaced. “That's hardly a challenge now. I can catch four coins with both of my hands like you teached me.”

   

  Decimus couldn't help but smile. He showed him the little trick to improve his speed - because what he was lacking in strength, he could compensate with speed and agility. Decimus extended his arm, reaching for Grulmar's ear. “Only four? But you have six coins.” Grulmar frowned, confused, and then Decimus did the trick, pulling coins out of his ear. The young Orc grinned when he saw two gold Septims appear from his ear. “Try it with six, lad.” He patted the boy on the head and rose.

  

  Yamarz watched the Imperial speak with Grulmar. Since that human showed up in Largashbur, Grulmar was like someone completely new. He was willing to train, he no longer complained, and he was learning fast. He was now able to pull his own weight. Yamarz knew that Grulmar would never be as strong as other Orcs, but the human got it right when he showed him another way.

   

  Yamarz heard them that day when Decimus showed Grulmar that trick with the coins. He was just on his way out when he caught sight of the two behind the Longhouse, so he stopped and eavesdropped. To make sure the Imperial didn’t spoil Grulmar.

   

  “Strength? You've got it all wrong, lad. Strength doesn't have to mean brutish strength, like your brother is trying to show you every time you train. There are other kinds of strength. Strength of your will, for example. Being strong doesn't have to mean you're able to lift something heavy. Being strong could mean that you can run very fast, or move very fast. You can make your body more flexible, because you don't have heavy muscles on you slowing you down. I'll show you something,” the Imperial said. Then Yamarz watched him pull four coins from his pouch. He put a coin on his wrist, and a second on his forearm; repeating the process for his other arm. Then he threw the coins into air, his hands becoming a blur they were moving so fast. The Imperial caught all of them separately and showed them to Grulmar. “Keep practicing that. Start with only one hand, switching left and right, and once you got the hang of that and want a challenge, try it with both at the same time.”

   

  And it helped. Grulmar practiced every chance he could get and his sparring with Gularzob now ended with Gularzob receiving more than he could deal.

   

  Ghorurz came to him and growled. “He is a bad influence on the boy.”

   

  Yamarz shook his head. “You're as blind as a Falmer, female. Quite the opposite.” He handed over the bowl with war paint to her. Normally it would be wise-woman who would be painting their faces, but because… Because she betrayed this tribe, Atub is no more.

   

  He waved at the human and Decimus with Grulmar behind him approached.

   

  “What's up, chief?” Decimus asked, and Yamarz suppressed an urge to punch him. Something about that human was just irritating.

   

  “You're close then?” he bared his teeth.

   

  Decimus seemed like he didn't even notice it, and if he did, he clearly ignored the warning. That human was ignoring almost everything that could kill him.

   

  “As I said, I am. I have to meet with someone in Riften who saw that brother of yours.”

   

  Yamarz leaned closer and growled: “He's not my brother. Not anymore.”

   

  Decimus raised his hand in gesture of surrender. “Whatever,” he murmured and raised his voice a little. “It's really not my business what family problems you have, I just want to pay the Blood-Price. I'll get him soon.”

   

  “I hope so,” said Yamarz. “For your own good.”

   

  Imperial showed fake smile, his eyebrows lifting upwards. “Yeah, or I'll meet a horrible death. I think I've heard that one before.” He gave Yamarz’ shoulder a pat that made the Orc grit his teeth, but as always, Decimus ignored the threatening body language. “Just don't worry, chief. I'll bring him back. Alive. Mostly. You sure you want him with all limbs?”

   

  Yamarz growled in response. Humans and their jokes. And this one is the worst of them. He doesn't take a single thing seriously, always talking nonsense. There were days when Yamarz considered making the Imperial pay the Blood-Price with all of his blood. But he still needed him and that was the truth that burned in him like hot coals burned in the stronghold's forge.

   

  Decimus raised his hand and waved it at him like some Breton woman. “I guess this means I'm dismissed. See you later then, chieftain.” He turned to Grulmar and pat him on head. “And you keep practicing, lad. Don’t you worry about good ol’ Decimus.” He then smiled a crooked smile and whispered: “I'll be back.”

   

  “We have a Goldpact then?” asked Grulmar, catching everyone by surprise, but Decimus was surprised the most. Yamarz didn't have clue what the runt talking about, but the Imperial clearly understood. “If you return, I'll pay you with these coins you gave me.”

   

  “You clever bas-” Decimus started to say, but stopped in the mid-sentence, his eyes finding Yamarz. “You clever rascal,” he corrected himself and smiled at Grulmar. “You want to trade the coins I gave you? You drive hard bargain, lad. Yes, we have a Goldpact.” He turned and walked out of the stronghold, passing between the warriors waiting in front of the gate. He waved without looking back. “See you soon.”

   

  “See you soon,” called Grulmar, looked at the frowning Yamarz and ran away.

   

  “You have any idea what was that about?” asked Ghorurz. Yamarz just shook his head and she added: “I don't like that human.”

   

  He looked at her and grinned. “You don't like anyone.”

   

  There was a playful fire in her eyes and that made him regret he was leaving. That fire in her eyes always turned a cold night into a very hot one. “I like you, my chieftain. Naked,” she purred in deep voice.

   

  That made Yamarz grin more. “Seems like we have something in common. I like myself naked too.”

   

  She grinned too, but then her face became serious again. “Enough words. Return back to your tribe, chieftain. Return back to me, my husband.”

   

  He nodded. “I will, shield-wife. I will.”

   

  He turned his back to her and walked out of Largashbur, with his warriors shadowing his steps. Goodbye. He wanted to say that, but it wasn't a word Orcs would use. Orcs come and go, live and die. There was no place for goodbyes in their lives. And yet...goodbye.

  

  Life wasn't easy, especially for Orcs, but Atub found out that life in the stronghold was much easier than living on her own in the wilderness. The winter was cruel to her, just as it was to anyone else who found themselves stranded in the wilds without shelter and provisions. Yet, she survived.

   

  She headed south from Fallowstone cave, her mouth full of blood. The canine Yamarz broke eventually became loose and she had to pull it out, otherwise she wouldn't be able to eat. Not that she had much to eat.

   

  As she headed south, she considered going to Riften. Where there was warmth and plenty of food. But then a tiny little voice inside her mind kept telling her that going to Riften was the easy choice and that she would pay for making it. She would be spat upon by the residents of that city, living on the street, looking for food between garbage… That wasn't an option. Not for an Orc. So she headed south along the Velothi mountains until she stumbled upon a ruined fort, with fire burning between its collapsed walls.

   

  The ruin was inhabited by pair of bandits and she caught them in the middle of lovemaking, or whatever humans called good old rutting. Oh, how she missed a good rutting. She killed those two bandits, stripped them bare, and used their furs for her own clothing.

   

  And then she hacked them to pieces, roasting a leg of the Redguard woman over fire. She might have been disgusted, but you would be surprised what hunger can drive you to do. When she slept that night by the warm fire, her belly now full, there was no remorse. She strung the bodies upon the closest tree, filling the air with the smell of blood, which was what she wanted. Blood would attract wolves.

   

  The next night, her belly was full again. And more furs. Another night passed and she expanded the tent of the previous owners, turning it into a small shack of Orcish design. Something that was meant to last.

   

  Thus Atub survived the winter.

   

  She wanted to hate Yamarz, she wanted to hate him so much, but she couldn't. Atub understood. Yes, she was meant to be loyal to Malacath first, to the chieftain second, but she wasn't really loyal to either, was she? She had lost her faith and she knew she deserved this exile.

   

  It is all just a test, it must be. Malacath is testing me, giving me a chance to prove my worth again.

   

  Atub had just returned to her shack with a bucket of water drawn from a nearby stream, when she noticed that the fire in the fort was burning. She narrowed her eyes and looked around cautiously. She didn't see anyone. Bandits? Hardly, I showed every group around that they shouldn't mess with me. She then shrugged and went into the ruins. It's all just test. Everything will happen as it must.

   

  Just in case, she drew from the currents of magicka, plunging her hands into that stream of ice cold water, pulling it to her, inside her, and she felt how her right hand became cold, with ice crackling at her fingertips.

   

  She entered and saw a figure in black leather armor crouching by the fire, with piece of meat on a stick, slowly roasting above the blaze. An Orc, his spiked gauntlets lying on the ground next to him, just as his axe was. He raised his head and chuckled.

   

  “What you're going to do, mother? Freeze that fire?”

   

  Atub frowned, not responding, and he chuckled again. She hadn’t seen her son for years and she saw how much he changed. She remembered how she hated that chuckle.

   

  “Come on. I'm not here to kill you. I swear by Malacath on that,” he continued.

   

  She relaxed a little bit, letting the spell flow back into the currents. Atub rested the bucket on the ground and approached the fire, warming her hands. Winter was gone, spring was coming, but that didn't mean it wasn't cold.

   

  “Then why are you here, Lorbulg?” she asked, looking at him across the fire. His face become much broader and stronger after years, with a few wrinkles around his eyes. He also had new scars on his face. He was still the same confident warrior, who just returned from Great War, she remembered. And yet, he was different somehow. When she looked at Yamarz, she saw him as...stiff, but Lorbulg seemed, to her, more relaxed.

   

  “Done looking at me as if I was a piece of meat?” he flashed his tusks. “I heard there's an Orc woman living in ruined fort, scaring off bandits from around, among other things. I had to see it with my own eyes. I thought it might be you, but I had to see it. Atub, wise-woman of Largashbur...exiled.”

   

  “That makes two of us,” she growled. He raised the skewer of meat and offered it to her. She hesitantly took a piece and chewed on the meat, eyeing him. “We're not the same.”

   

  Lorbulg nodded and began eating his own piece of meat. “You're right. You've probably been exiled rightfully. Not like me, because of your and Yamarz's schemes.”

   

  “You wanted us go into war!” she blurted out angrily. How he can't see the error of his ways?

   

  “Oh, yes,” he admitted calmly. “Well, we're Orcs after all. We're made for battle and death. Malacath wants us this way. Have you ever wondered why?” He asked and she narrowed her eyes.

   

  He's not talking like a typical Orc. More like a city Orc. Questioning Malacath.

   

  “You haven't been there, you know. In the Imperial City, with Altmer raining fire, ice, and lightings at us. Slaughtering us. We slaughtered them in return. If you had been there, you would have understood what danger the Thalmor represent. Not just to Men, but to Orcs too. I wanted to stop them, but you couldn't see it and now I understand that.” He looked at her and chuckled. “Do you know they're in Skyrim now? But I have to tell you that I don't care about them anymore. Let them burn this world. This world just isn't worth saving.”

   

  “Is that why you came here? To tell me that neither of us was right?”

   

  Lorbulg raised his head and she gulped. The fire was dangerously reflecting in his red eyes, and even without weapons he looked very dangerous. As he crouched there, in front of the fire, he looked like a bear, ready to charge anyone who made the mistake of trespassing in his territory.

   

  “See, I know we all made some mistakes, but there are things that can't be forgiven. We are Orcs, we don't forgive. We wait till next time.”

   

  “Not when it comes to other Orsimer,” she whispered, slowly retreating.

   

  Lorbulg rose to his feet and chuckled. “Well, when I was exiled, I stopped being a true Orsimer. I'm an Orc, wild beast, with one purpose. Kill.”

   

  She charged her spell, but Lorbulg kicked into the fire, sending pieces of burning wood in her direction, throwing her off-balance. An ice spear left her hand, but did not strike true. Through tears, she saw Lorbulg leapt over the fire and then pain exploded on the right side of her head. All went dark, only to become suddenly bright again and she found herself lying on the ground. She tried to reach for the currents, but her stunned mind wasn't able to draw magicka at that moment.

   

  Lorbulg pulled her to her knees and growled into her face: “When I said I didn't come to kill you, I wasn't lying. I came here to pass on what you did to me. To show you how it feels when you take everything that makes you an Orc from someone.”

   

  She felt his hands reach towards her mouth, grabbing the tusks, pulling at them. She cried in pain, trying to pry his hands off her, but they were like stone. She tried to kick him, to punch him, only to fail.

   

  “So, dear mother, this is how I felt.” And with those words, he pulled a final time, her tusks becoming free of her mouth, followed by a terrible scream. Her scream. And she screamed and screamed, overwhelmed by the immense agony. He let her go and she dropped on to the ground, holding her mouth in futile attempt to stop the pain overwhelming all her nerves. She felt hot blood in her mouth, she even swallowed some of it, the iron taste going down her throat, making her want to vomit.

   

  “Now we're even, mother…”

   

  She heard a voice, somewhere outside the pain.

   

  “I guess this is goodbye.”

   

  Malacath, is this a test? Is this some kind of fucking test?! Why don't you just kill me? Kill me! I want to die!

   

  Life wasn't easy. Dying was easy.

  

  Far away from the Velothi mountains, not that far from Largashbur, time had passed and night descended upon the birch forest of Rift. It descended upon a camp of hunters sitting down to enjoy some mead after day of skinning their prizes from the hunt; two deer and four rabbits. There were a few nobles willing to pay good coin for rabbit pelts, for they used rabbit to trim their fancy cloaks and such.

   

  It was a day full of hard work and they were glad they could finally rest, just sit around the fire, tell some stories, and drink mead. It didn’t work every time though, sometimes there were intruders straying towards the camp. Tonight was one of those nights, and they saw from the darkness into the light of the campfire, one such intruder draw near.

   

  An Orc – a huge Orc - in furs; his torso bare and his face hidden under a fur hood, an orichalcum axe in hand.

   

  “Leave now,” said the Orc to the four hunters sitting around the fire, watching as their hands closed over their weapons. “You are trespassing on the land of the Largashbur tribe.”

   

  One of the hunters stood, sword in one hand and a bottle of mead in the other. “Whoa, Orc. As far as I'm concerned, this is Jarl’s land. If there is a trespasser, it’s y-”

   

  His words were cut short by a swing of the Orc’s axe, burying deep into his skull. The other hunters cried out in surprise, but they weren't able to do much about the enraged Orc, who first pulled the axe of the hunter's dead body and then cut them down, moving like a whirlwind. After mere seconds, three Nord hunters lay dead on the ground, and the fourth trembled in fear, his sword pointed at the Orc.

   

  The savage easily knocked the sword out of Nord's hand and kicked him in the stomach, sending him to the ground. The Orc grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close to the fire, nearly putting his face into flames. “Listen to me very well, human. This is Largashbur land. We don't want any of you weaklings around here. Tell that to your Jarl. Tell him everything.” He stood the man back on his feet and sent him stumbling into the darkness, towards Riften.

   

  “Weaklings,” mumbled the Orc. Everyone has to pay the price.