The Shatul Succession

I arrive upon the icy tundra plains of the Shatul Range to find a stronghold in a state of dismay and disarray. The clan’s chief lies stricken upon his deathbed, fatally wounded defending his people from a vicious giant. Usually the clan’s warriors would keep the giants and other wild beasts at bay, but having suffered great loses of late to Winterborn raids, the chief was forced to take up the mantle himself to protect his hunters and farmers, only to find himself betrayed by old age.

The King of Orsimium had suspected disloyalty behind the reason why the Shatul clan had not sent the food that had been promised to help feed his flowering city. Kurog however sees conspiracy behind every failure and contradiction, when perhaps what he truly should be worried about are those who tell him just what he wants to hear.

The chiefs eventual death leaves two candidates vying for succession, one considered strong of body but weak of will, whilst the other, hiding behind a mask, turns out to be Chief’s daughter Ushruka, returning from exile.

Traditionalists will tell you that Orcs will never follow a female, even though throughout the history of men and mer Queens have proven themselves the equal of Kings; though in truth to be considered just equal they have often had to be better. Sure, there will be some of a stubborn age who may bulk at the idea of a female clan chief, but if they want meat upon the tables through the coming winter then they had best quickly get used to the idea.

And for those Chief’s joining the upcoming King’s moot who would vocally oppose Ushruka’s reign, I would strongly advise them to do it from a distance.

S.K

Only wrong answers

Deep within the foothills of the Wrothgarian mountains lies a hidden Reachman lair known to the locals as the Coldperch Caverns. The remote cave system serves the Winterborn as a perfect base from which to launch raids upon the Northern roads out of Orsinium, and the hunting ranges of the Shatul tribe. But the caves are also home to another savage that even the Winterborn Reachmen fear. At its heart stands an alter belonging to a fearsome hagraven named Kraala Birdsong who is believed to have the power to transform both men and mer into birds to serve her. Indeed, her victims are not only the unlucky Orsimer who wander too close to the foothills, but also the Reachmen themselves.

It was a wood elf egg merchant back in Morkul who first tasked me to venture into these caves. He claimed that whilst he usually only deals in goose, kwama, loon, and spider eggs, the bird eggs found in Coldperch Caverns, whilst unnatural, are special and highly sought after.

I head into the caverns with the sole purpose of killing the hagraven and hopefully discovering a way to turn the birds back into people. But what of the eggs I find, even the wood elf admitted that they are an abomination? Some people believe that those who profit from a rotten deed are as culpable as the evil doer themselves. Yet the egg collector would argue that the Hagraven will do what it does whether he profits from it or not. Instead of fulfilling the merchants order, I could just leave the unnatural eggs with the Winterborn, or perhaps I could smash them all.

When every answer seems wrong, and there seems no lessor evil, I usually find it most prudent to go with the one that pays the most.

S.K

Entombed history

Deep in the ancient Orc ruins Ashaka discovers the entombed history of her clan’s most glorious traditions. Under today’s sun it paints her clan as brutal and savage, but in truth it was a necessary evil of the times in which they lived. The Orsimer muses whether tis better to rebury the past for good.

As Imperial recruits we were taught of the past horrors and atrocities that were inflicted during battle and war by both sides, often man upon fellow man. There is no way of going back and retrospectively removing these bloody deeds from our history, and nor should we. We should never cower behind modern sensibilities and entomb what shames us, tearing down old statues of sullied heroes, hiding and cancelling our past crimes and follies. We must acknowledge them for what they were, and move on.

Our ancestors were just ordinary people living in extraordinary circumstances, as are we; and to survive those circumstances they did what they had to do… as shall we.

S.K

Pride before Morkul Descent

Pride, so oft the spark that sets on fire the hearts of men, yet man’s pride is but a candle when compared to the volcanic hearts of the Orsimer. For the Orc’s wear their pride like the Breton knight wears a suit of armour, in battle it keeps them safe, but in other times it only weighs them down.

When the King of New Orsinium insisted on taking a Morkul daughter for his forge-wife, he passed over the chief’s strong-minded eldest in favour for her more accommodating younger sister. The king’s rejection wounded Ashaka’s pride and she headed off alone in search of Morkuldin, the ancient home of her clan, to recover an ancient relic and prove the King a fool for passing over her.

Whilst pride can indeed drive you to achieve great things it can also lead to greater mistakes. The caves of Morkul Descent, where the ruins of the legendary Morkuldin are rumoured to lay, has long since become home to a tribe of ogres, durzogs and giant spiders. But as I reach the bottom of the caverns I discover that perhaps the Orsinium King’s own pride may well have prevented him from choosing a more worthy forge-wife. For Ashaka had indeed discovered the hidden entrance to Morkuldin.

S.K.

The forges of Clan Morkul

The Morkul Stronghold is home to one of the oldest and most respected clans in all of Wrothgar. Chief Abzug leads a proudly self sufficient stronghold, with their own market, docks, stables, forges and crafting workshops. They even boast chapters of the The Fighters and Mages Guilds within their walls.

The clan though is most famed for their blacksmiths who are said to produce the finest arms and armour of any of the Orsimer tribes. They say that every child of Morkul is born with a heart shaped like an anvil. Evan King Kurog can’t deny that it is upon the flaming forges of Morkal that the fortunes of New Orsinium are wrought.

Night and day the measured beats of heavy sledge, and the hoarse howling of their bellows can be heard echoing across the Wrothgarian Mountains, whilst captains traversing the High Rock Sea at night oft report that they navigate not by the stars, but by the burning sparks from the Morkul forges that set light to the night sky like warring torchbugs.

S.K

The Frozen Fleet - part 2

There is a darkness within every mortal, both you and me, all of us with a heart that beats, a soul that hopes, and a mind that dreams. Most of us keep that darkness bound and buried deep within,
with chains wrought of conscience, empathy, and shared morality. But all it takes to break one or more of those chains is a perception of injustice, misunderstanding, or fear. And in that unleashed darkness do the deceitful flames of bigotry burn brightest, and in flares of umbrage we begin to justify that which we once held unjustifiable. Treachery and violence however are spears pointed at both ends, and wounds us just as deeply as those who were once our friends.

S.K

The Frozen Fleet

A Breton fleet has run aground on the ice sheets of Eastern Wrothgar after being blown off course by a blizzard whist attempting to round the Icy Shores. A small band of survivors from the three ships have set up camp to the southwest of Fharun Stronghold after their shipwrecked fleet was quickly overrun by scavenging Riekrs. The ships passengers were on a diplomatic mission between High Rock and Wrothgar, the Daggerfall Ambassador Lady Sovelle and her entourage on-route to negotiate a potential trade agreement with new Orsinium.

The camp survivors speak highly of the now missing ambassador, telling of how she stayed behind to help survivors escape from one of the sinking ships. Of her husband Ethian however, whose father owns the fleet, their opinions were saltier then the ocean waters. Whilst the fleet’s captain, Henrisa, seems almost uncaring about the fate of the Ambassador. I’m no navel expert but I am sure the traditional maritime practice is for a captain to be the last person to leave a sinking ship?

Whilst investigating the shattered wreck of the Pride of Northpoint, I was to discover an old ally trapped beneath a pile of crates. That most noble of Orcs, Skordo the Knife, is physically in bad shape; but in an even worse mood. He claims Ethian and a mage named Coris walked away from the wreck, leaving him there to die. Every tragedy has at least one of three causes, bad luck, bad decisions, or bad intentions. Scordo firmly firmly believes that the later is to blame for the grounding of the fleet, claiming that not everyone agrees with the peace between Bretons and Orcs, on both sides. He also claims to have overheard Captain Henrisa telling the ambassador just what she thought about the Orsimer. A letter I discover seemingly from Lord Ethian’s father to Captain Henrisa appears to support his accusations.

Lord Ethian may not have been fully privy to the perniciousness of this conspiracy, but still the treachery of a friend or family cuts far deeper than that of a foe.

S.K

The simple things

What is a man’s worth, his past achievements? his present labours? or his ambitions? For most people as soon as they attain one ambition they see another one glittering higher still, but what if your past achievements were so extraordinary that they cannot be outshone? Is then every future ambition dulled by the shadow of your past achievement?

Near the entrance to a small cave I encounter the Dark Elf, Raynor Vanos. He explains proudly that as experts on Dwarven artifacts, he and his sister Kireth were invited by the King himself to survey the Dwarven ruins of Wrothgar. They had arrived at what he believes to be the ruins of Zthenganaz when his adventuresome sister Kireth had either slipped, fell, or jumped into the cave; he seems uncertain as to which. At the sight of the ice wraiths and dwarven automatons roaming the buried ruins, the more bookish Raynor was understandably reluctant to follow.

I was to find Kireth exploring much deeper inside the ruins, she asks that I might steal a Dwemer power core currently being guarded by a particularly large Dwarven centurion she calls ‘the Ztheng Guardian’. Apparently her brother can make use of the power core to create one of his ‘devices’ with which he hopes to impress his scholarly colleagues at either the Mages Guild or Shad Astula, or perhaps both.

I remember Raynor and Kireth were both members of the Coldharbour invasion force. The Mages guild had apparently sought them out for their aid, specifically for their dungeon-delving expertise. They were also members of the Army of Meridia, helping to guard our rear during our final assault upon the Planar Vortex, ensuring we were not flanked by the daedra. Kireth explains that after all the excitement of Coldharbour, they thought coming back to the mundane ruins of Nirn would be boring. But not only did they find their deeds opened up new opportunities for them, “it also gave us an appreciation for the simple things.“ She said.

By contrast, after returning from Coldharbour to my modest home in Daggerfall, I was to find no comfort, and no appreciation in ‘the simple things’. Indeed, as the restlessness of my returned soul grew day by day, I felt an abrading need to go somewhere, see something, find something. It turned out all that would fill the empty hole left by an extraordinary ambition fulfilled, was a voracious appetite for more, no matter how dulled and tawdry they seemed. As to my worth? Well we shall see, but an Orc king’s ransom doesn’t sound too unreasonable for either my achievements, labours, or ambitions.

S.K

What’s past is prologue

Whilst searching through the Bonerock Caverns I was to discover a lone Khajiit apparently looking for his lost cat; surprisingly it turns out that he was also a member of the Orc hunting party for whom I was searching. The young Zhasim was apparently raised by the Orc tribe after being found forsaken in caverns as a cub. As we talk I begin to suspect that perhaps it was neither a lost cat nor the viscous Riekrs that led him here, but serendipity. For we were soon to discover that these were in fact the very caverns in which he was found abandoned.

My first thought was to send the Khajiit back to the safety of the camp, but sometimes even the most stoic of us reluctantly cede to empathy, for at some point in our lives we all suffer from a conflict of identity or loyalty. For me it was in the wake of the great anchor falling upon the City Isle that I, like many Legionnaires, was forced to choose between my vows to the Ruby Throne and my loyalty to the people of the Heartlands. Whilst others I have travelled with include Bretons who, whilst living in Rivenspire, were forced by Rancer to choose between King or kin. Redguard’s whose familys must choose between Crown or Forebear, Elves of Summerset who chose between nationalism or Alliance. The point is whether human or mer at some point in our lives we all make a choice of who we are.

I recall an old tale from Skyrim of a Nord hunting party who came across an Elven toddler who had lost his parents. After some discussion, they decided to take the toddler into their village and raise him as they would one of their own. Being raised as a Nord naturally the Elf grew up mistrusting others of his own natural race. But of course he always knew he was different from the family and people that raised him and eventually, once he’d grown to maturity, he set out into he world beyond the village to discover his identity for himself. He was soon to meet with other elves and when he told them of his strange upbringing, they informed him that his parents had been killed in a Nord attack that had wiped out his entire village. Feeling angry and betrayed he was persuaded to join up with an Elven guerrilla group who used his unique knowledge of the Nord territory to raid, pillage, and raze to the ground every rural Nordic town along the coast, including the one that raised him, killing everyone there. It was only later he was to discover that he had been lied to, and that in fact his parents had been killed during a Maormer raid.

I don’t know whether this tale is true or but propaganda or bard’s baroque, but there is a Bosmer saying which goes, ‘people without the knowledge of their past are like trees without roots.’ Whatever we discover together in these caverns it will be for Zhasim, and Zhasim alone to discover, and decide, who he really is.

S.K

A hunter’s first lesson

A band of novice hunters from a local Orc clan who wanted to prove their worth by gathering meats, and furs for their tribe before the onset of winter, have been ambushed in hills by a tribe of small Ice Goblins known as Riekr. The little goblins whom inhabit the near-by Bonerock Cavern, are thought to be particularly gifted spellcasters, and share their caverns with a group of frightfully large Orges. The young hunt leader Orgotha requests that I rescue her captured comrades and kill the Riekr chief, claiming his tribes totem so that they might save face with their clan elders.

Unlike scholarly students who are taught lessons and then given a test; hunters like Orgotha are given tests that teach them the lessons. The youthful hunters feel that the cards just turned against them today. But much like the novice player at a Tribute table, we oft learn more from being wrong then being right, and nothing from being lucky.

S.K