AoaRD #10: An Orc’s End

After much postponing, the adventures of Urbal gro-Dushnikh begin again.  Skyrim is a strange and fantastical place, filled with mystery, adventure and surprises, but Urbal just want to learn how to smith and for the rest of the world to just leave him alone.

Flashback     Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9

3rd of Heartfire, 201

Uthgerd and I left not long after the incidence with the ghost.  Neither of us could sleep with it babbling on about his soldier friend.  Markarth was near. We made it to the gates just as the shops were opening for the morning.  It was a quick visit, only long enough to buy supplies and assure those we’d promised to help that their requests had been completed.

After we’d set out for Riften, we were attacked by another dragon.  I still don’t like these fiddly bows, but I have a hard time arguing when Uthgerd can knock a dragon from the sky with one.  I’m getting more comfortable with the prospect of fighting dragons, although I still wish they’d simply leave — they can go to Elsweyr and bother the Khajit.  Sounds like most of them’ve left anyhow.

Started to rain late afternoon. Chose to duck into a little cave to keep dry. Some sabre cats in there, but nothing we couldn’t handle.  We also found an old sword, still in great condition.  There was a note with it that said it was the sword of the last Blade, the old king’s guard in Cyrodiil’s Imperial City. I doubt it. The skeleton next to it wasn’t clad in blade’s armor. Still fine craftsmanship, none the less.

We’re staying the night in the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverrun. I like this inn. The locals leave me alone.

Urbal gro-Dushnik
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4th of Heartfire, 201

After deliberating with the innkeeper and Uthgerd late into the night, we decided the southern mountain pass would be the faster route to Riften, even if the weather might slow us down if it turned ugly.  Following the river North just seemed like it would take forever and I have already delayed the start of my Journmanship too long.

As we climbed through the mountains, we met an Orc standing sentry by the roadside. I inquired as to his purpose, but he told me he had none, that he was past usefulness. There is an old Orc saying Ghorza used to say all the time — that an object without use should be destroyed.  He was waiting for a worthy assailant who could give him an honorable Orcs death in combat.  For all her battlelust, I doubt Uthgerd will ever understand why he and I crossed swords.  

May Malacath exalt his soul.

In the afternoon, we were struck with a blizzard, as we had feared we might.  We took refuge in a cave, which turned out to be the home of a vampire coven.  As we delved deeper, we found the old dog Barbas and a great statue of Clavicus Vile.  Like his dog, he seems able to speak to my mind.  I’m not fond of these mental invasions.  He wants me to bring him an axe from the other side of Skyrim.  As if all of the dragons weren’t enough of a problem.

We’re resting in the small town of Ivarstead for the night, just on the other side of the mountains.  We’re almost to Riften.  Looking forward to working with Balimund with great anticipation.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #9: Ghost Stories

Postponed for a week to make room for a back log of comic reviews, Baker Street Holmes returns with another adventure in the life of journeyman blacksmith, Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an Orc in skyrim who just wants to be left alone.

Flashback     Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8

1st of Heartfire, 201

Arrived early afternoon in Solitude, in time for a beheading.  Poor fool is apparently responsible for Ulfric’s escape after he killed the the late King Torygg.  I care not for the politics of Nords, but for how it effects my business, and Torygg’s death was very good for the blacksmiths of Skyrim.  Still, it is good to see that somewhere in Skyrim the humans still know what a proper punishment was.  This man opened a gate and lost his head.  You may recall, journal, that not long ago I was sent to prison, framed for nearly a dozen murders, escaped from prison and they let me live free as though nothing had ever happened.

My pleasure at learning that there is a functioning judicial system left in the land of men was shattered by a very loud Meeko.  Damn dog doesn’t seem to like being in a city too much.  Finally took him to the bard’s college and left him on their doorstep.  He sings about as well as some of the bards I’ve seen, maybe they’ll like him.

We were able to get good prices from the blacksmith and general store.  Blacksmith’s apprentice was an idiot, but I guess I’m not really there to trade with him.  Still, I might remember that for when I’m looking for a job…

We’re sleeping at The Winking Skeever tonight.  In the morning, we head south for to pick up some lost cargo belonging to Lisbet from Arnleif and Sons in Markarth and then we’ll make one last trip back.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh
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2nd of Heartfire, 201

Only a small forsworn camp around the stolen supplies today.  At this point, it was a little matter for Uthgerd and I at this point.  The four saber cats, six wolves, two mud crabs and a bear that we fought to get there made the Forsworn camp look like a Saturalia party.

Regardless they had some good supplies which will make for good trading back in Markarth.  Stopping for the night at this little inn called Old Hrolden we’ll be off in the morning.

     ***     

The innkeeper’s scream woke me not long after I meant to be up.  It seems there is ghost in the inn.  I figured it was just a story the inn keeper told to entice customers, and yet, there it is, sitting by the fire.

Draugr I can stab.  Vampires can be beheaded.  Skeletons: smashed.  Ghosts… ghosts creep me out.  Probably not sleeping any more tonight.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #8: Loose Ends

After a brief sojourn to focus more intensely on his master’s thesis, Baker Street Holmes returns to Skyrim and the adventures of an Orc named Urbal, who just wants to learn to craft the finest weapons and armor.  We now return to the two week posting schedule.

Flashback     Part One     Part Two     Part Three     Part Four     Part Five     Part Six     Part Seven

30th of Last Seed, 201

It is late, and I am at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun.  When I left Markarth this morning, I thought it would be the last time I saw it in many months.  But one of the many reason I enjoy travelling is the time it gives to think, at least when one it’s fighting off bandits and wild animals.

I realized have two tasks I really must complete before I leave indefinitely: the Jarl has a standing request for me to deal with a Forsworn raider camp in the north, and there is that dog, Barbas, who was speaking and belonged to Clavicus Vile.  I think it’s best I not keep a deadric prince or a Jarl waiting much longer, seeing as I am temporarily freed of my duties as a blacksmith in training.

I met with Uthgerd here in the inn, the Nord woman I brawled with a few weeks back.  She’s agreed to accompany me in the morning to deal with these quests.  I still do not think that one person could clear out a whole forsworn camp on their own, but together, I believe we may stand a chance.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh
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31st of Last Seed, 201

We’ve stopped to set up camp on a hill just outside the Forsworn camp.  We move in the morning, early, in hopes of catching them before too many have awoken.

Uthgerd has already proven a good choice for a travelling companion.  On our way to the Forsworn camp, we were attacked by a dragon, and instead of running she drew her bow.  Amazingly between us, we were able to bring down the beast, though I was nearly frozen in my armor from its breath.  Afterwards I had a very similar, nauseating, dizzying experience of rushing light as the dragon immolated.

Uthgerd seemed quite concerned about me for a heartbeat and then turned around and questioned me for not pulling out a bow to fight while it was air born.  Orcs don’t shoot.  It shows no strength.  She insisted on teaching me every time wee stopped to rest, but I still don’t think I like it much.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh
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1st of Heartfire, 201

Our assault on the forsworn camp went well, or as well as can be expected.  But we did slay the leader as the Jarl requested and we collected quite a lot of armor and weapons to trade.  Knowing weapons and armor of such an origin would be unwelcome in the Reach, we have decided to make the short trip to Solitude to trade, resupply and rest in more comfortable accommodations.

I’m writing this at midday from a shack Uthgerd insisted we rest at.  Her insistence is likely due to the assassin that just tried to kill me, though I see that as a very good reason to keep moving.  For all of her fighting spirit, I often forget that she is still a human after all and much more compassionate than Orcs would be.  I have yet to decide if this is a good thing.

The owner of the shack lay dead in his bed though he doesn’t seem to have been attacked in his sleep.  His dog was darting around like mad chasing a rabbit for food, so I suspect it’s been a few days.  In another of her silly sentimental acts, Uthgerd as suggested that we take the dog, his tag says his name is Meeko, to Solitude to find him a new home.  Something tells me she’s going to want to keep the mutt.

Urbal gro-Dushnik

AoaRD #7: Journeyman

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc who just wants to be a blacksmith, even though it seems Skyrim has other plans. You can follow his journey through these journal entries with new entries every two weeks. Enjoy!

Flashback     Part One     Part Two     Part Three     Part Four     Part Five     Part Six

29th of Last Seed, 201

After I got some sleep yesterday, I went to Calcelmo.  He’s eccentric, completely obsessed with the dwarves and the dwarven ruins, but that just means he’s got access to some of the few samples of Dwarven Steel not lost to the mountains.  Despite what he told Ghorza, he insisted I take care of a large spider in the antechamber before he would give me a keep to the actual site.  He neglected to mention the spider was nearly the size of a dragon and that none of his research assistance had come back.  I didn’t find all of them, but clearly none of them were Orcs because that spider may have been huge, but it was a wimp.

He granted me entrance and come to find out the place is swarming with Falmer.  Every Orc can fight but I am not so blinded by battlelust that I would take on four warriors and a mage alone.  I killed off stragglers and loners, grabbing any sample of Dwarven steel that I could as I went if I thought I could smelt it down.  When I had plenty, I got out of there and fast.  I am not a maid, Calcelmo can clean up his own messes.

He had also granted me permission to visit his museum and while I could not spare much time, I did take chance to go in and look at the armor designs they used, later making my own, though probably not quite the same quality as their work since I am quite new to this material, but solid enough all the same.

I right this by the light of the forge as the sun has long since set.  Ghorza set me to an unusual first task making bows rather than knives and told me to work as late in to the night as I felt I could.  She said if my work was satisfactorily, she’d tell me in the morning why I’m doing bows.  I have ten now.  I wonder it that’s enough…  I’ll make a few more before I go to bed.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

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30 of Last Seed, 201

I spoke to Ghorza this morning and she was pleased about the bows I’d made.  She explained that she’s had me work with leather, wood, iron, steel, and now Dwarven steel.  I’ve made everything from helmets which must be solid and never dent to bow which must be supple and still not break.  Then she taught me of Orichalcum, an ore that Orcs have used for centuries to forge their greatest armor, and how to smelt it properly and how to forge it.  She says I’m not ready quite yet to work in it, and that it is quite rare, but that this is the last thing she has that she can teach me.

I am no longer an apprentice smith.  I am a journeyman.  Rather than study under one accomplished smith, trapped in a single city, I am to travel and see different places and different styles of artisanry.  Of course it also means leaving Markarth, which has been my second home for years now.  Ghorza says she knows of an excellent smith in Riften, Balimund, who uses fire salts to make a stronger fire.  I guess I’m going to be crossing Skyrim in the next few days.  Farewell, Markarth.  I’ll return someday.  I promise.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh.

AoaRD #6: Daedra and Dragons

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc who just wants to be a blacksmith, even though it seems Skyrim has other plans. You can follow his journey through these journal entries with new entries every two weeks. Enjoy!

Flashback     Part One     Part Two     Part Three     Part Four     Part Five

29th of Last Seed, 201

Why are things so complicated these days?  This entry was supposed to be simple: I went on my usual route, made some maces, came home.  Why can’t my life ever actually go according to plan, at least for a couple days?

I left the evening of two days ago, intending to make for Dushnikh-Yal so I might have a head start in the morning.  About half way there, with the sun starting to set, a dragon come out of nowhere.  I saw the last one dead!  A second dragon in Skyrim in as many weeks?  Unheard of since long before my people came to these lands; one was impossible enough.

I am as brave a warrior as any Orc, but no Orc in his right mind would face off against a dragon in single combat, unless he was seeking to have Malacath take him.  There was a river near by and I dove in before he could land.  A little protection from both fire and vision.  And they say Orcs are dumb.  The current was strong, so I just swam with it.  Took me over three waterfalls, but my armor is strong and I was barely injured.  When I landed in the pool at the bottom of the third waterfall, I saw there was a cave hidden behind the falls.

Inside there was little of interest, save a metal carving of a dragon’s paw with claws made of emeralds and a note declaring the door ahead was sealed because there was some horrible tragedy and many died beyond it.  The claws might be worth something, so I admit I took them, but I did not disturb the tomb.  I was taught to respect the dead.  That didn’t stop me from eating a late dinner and getting some shut eye before setting out in the wee hours of the morning.

Dragon was gone when I got up, and I made my way towards Falkreath.  Just after sunrise, I spotted this dog.  I kid you not, it talked.  Not really with a voice, it still barked and such, but it talked to my mind, I guess, sort of?  I really didn’t understand what was going on.  He “says” he’s Clavicus Vile‘s dog.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I don’t mess with Daedric Princes.  I’m considering returning at some point to reunite them, because it never hurts to have a Daedra less inclined to cause you trouble.

Later, I randomly stumbled upon a mine I didn’t recognize and when in to see what ores I might mine.  There wasn’t much of use and bandits everywhere.  Pretty much a waste of time.  But I came across this dimpled orb in a chest, it probably was about the size of my fist, maybe a little smaller.  I snagged it to sell (the bandits probably just stole it anyways) and what do you know: more voices in my head!  A Daedric Prince directly this time.  Meridia.  Wants me to bring her the orb.  My head is getting a little crowded these days.

I got to Whiterun mid-afternoon, made my maces and hoped in the back of a wagon bound for Markarth so I could sleep off some of the trip.  I did not sleep well.  A month ago in Skyrim, this would have been the only paragraph in today’s entry.  What is Tamriel coming to?

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #5: The King in Rags

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc who just wants to be a blacksmith, even though it seems Skyrim has other plans. You can follow his journey through these journal entries with new entries every two weeks. Enjoy!

Flashback     Part One     Part Two     Part Three     Part Four

27th of Last Seed, 201

It’s the wee hours of the morning.  My stay in Cidhna Mine was brief, but it’s beginning to sound like I’ll never hear the end of it.

I must say the company wasn’t as bad as one would expect.  There was this orc, Borkul.  He’s undoubtedly done terrible things, theft and murder mostly, but he’s friendly enough and gave me one of the best brawls I’ve had in a long time.  Some of the men in there were like myself, there for things they didn’t really do, others were genuinely murderers or Forsworn raiders, but at least they owned up to their deeds and stand by their beliefs.

And then there is old Madanach, the King in Rags.  I’m not sure what I expected, a barbarian perhaps?  A savage?  He’s a man.  Cunning, conniving, maybe, but a man, civilized and together as any I’ve met since I left my stronghold.  He was quick to offer help in escape from that mine, were I to not kill him.  It still makes my skin crawl not to have severed his head then and there, but I needed out of that place.

He had a key to a back door exit, one that lead through the old Dwemer ruins on which the city is built.  Fool should have left decades ago, but for some reason he waited until now.  All the better for me, I guess, since it made my escape possible.  We made most of the escape with no trouble, but as we exited to the surface just after midnight, we found ourselves face to face with the bastard Thonar and his corrupt guards.  It was quite a fight, enough to really get one’s blood pumping.

I write this sitting on the very sidewalk from which we exited.  I am exhausted.  Maybe I’ll just go sleep down at Ghorza’s forge…

     ***     

Found out from one of the guards this morning that Thonar is missing and Madanach escaped last night.  Neither of them deserves to live, but if either of them shows up in Markarth again, the town guard will be all over them.  Still, I wish at least one of them had met the bite of my battleaxe.

Ghorza has set me to working on steel maces today.  She seems to be the only person in town who doesn’t feel the need to comment on my escape from the mines.  This is one of the first times she’s ever had me work with wood (for the central shaft), and I’m still very bad at working with a lathe; it always makes me wish I had a third arm.  If Malacath had intended us to make weapons out of wood, he’d have made it so it could be smelted down and it wouldn’t splinter so easily, that’s all I’m saying.

Still, Ghorza says if I can show sufficient progress with this, she’ll begin teaching me how to work with “Dwemer steel” as it’s called.  It’s harder to work than regular steel and the blend of metals that compose it are a lost secret, so only pre-existing materials will work.  Luckily, Ghorza has made friends with Calcelmo, the wizard of Understone Keep, famous for his research of the Dwemer, and she says he may be willing to let me into the anceint Dwemer ruins of Nchuond-Zel.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #4: Guard for a Day

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc who just wants to be a blacksmith, even though it seems Skyrim has other plans. You can follow his journey through these journal entries with new entries every two weeks. Enjoy!

Flashback     Part One     Part Two     Part Three

25th of Last Seed, 201

The Jarl’s offer turned out to be a selfish one.  He wanted someone to attack a Forsworn camp near by, that is why he offered to make me his Thane.  I told him I’d think about it.  A raid against a Forsworn camp is not a light task.  I believe he may just want me dead.  Regardless it’s not a task I could take on alone.

I set out before the sun rose yesterday morning, headed towards Falkreath and some known Corundum mines.  Walking down from the keep to Markarth’s main gate, I heard guards shouting and came upon a vampire and a couple of it’s thralls.  I saw a vampire the other morning in the wilderness, but with the city walls!  Unheard of!  I steered clear of the fight and only end up leaving town a little later than expected.

I made for Gloomreach, but I had tapped it out of corundum in my last visit so continued on to Greywater Grotto to the South of Helgen, and made at least a little collection there and in some of the surrounding hills.  I passed through Falkreath on the way, but decided to stay at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood as I had before.  It was closer to my final destination of Whiterun and Falkreath is just so grim.

This morning, I made good time to Whiterun and was able to sort out enough small daggers that I should hopefully be able to prove to Ghorza that I’m ready for her next lesson.  I even got a chance to sharpen my ax and fix the fitting on my armor a little.  Whiterun is charming enough I guess, but ever since the whole thing with the dragon, everyone there is calling me “the Dragonborn”.  It’s obnoxious.  This one little kid kept following me around the whole time.  I hope I don’t have to come back here any time soon.

I’m writing this just after a nice lunch at the Bannered Mare, mercifully hidden away in a backroom away from gawkers, and riding a carriage towards Markarth.  Normally I would loath to take a carriage, stupid, lurching things, but at this point in the day it’s the only way to reach home by tonight and it is the cheapest way to get there.  The driver, a Nord named Bjorlan or Bjorlim or something will not shut up.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

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26th of Last Seed, 201

Another vampire attack in Markarth when I got in last night.  By the time I came in the main gates, one of the guards had already died, so I did what I could to help.  I hate Death Hounds.  This morning one of the guards from last night asked if I’d help in finding out why Margaret was attacked in the market.  That was nearly a week ago, I was surprised they had not resolved it.  They handed me a guards uniform and sent me on my way.

I decided to check the murder’s room in the Warrens, and he had a note from someone who called themselves “N”.  Leaving the warrens a man attacked me, saying to drop the case.  Strangely, not only did the same thing happen when I asked around the Silver Blood Inn, but this time the man that accosted me was a guard.  All signs pointed to Thoran Silver-Blood and the reclusive Nepo, so I figured I’d pay them a visit in that order.

     ***     

Thoran is an ass and in an Orc stronghold, he would have been beheaded years ago.  At first he was uncooperative, but a pair of assassins broke in to kill him, and kill his wife when they got in their way.  can’t say I feel sorry for the man, but at least he was more talkative after he saw it  might cost him his life.  Turns out he and Nepo work for the “King in Rags” a man they call Madanach who organizes the Forsworn from within Cidhna Mine.  Nepo was an ambush, but an Orc nose can smell and ambush a mile away.  His head was rolling across the floor before his little Forsworn housemaid could even get off her first spell.

I followed a note Eltrys gave me the night of the murder, saying to meet him in the Temple to Talos, but when I arrived there he was dead.  Two guards and the local Imperial Legate, Legate Admand, were waiting for me.  They said that I was under arrest for all the murders, as they needed someone to pin it on.  They explained that I wasn’t really supposed to figure any of this out, they just needed it to look like they were investigating.  I am a proud warrior, as all Orcs are, and probably could have taken three random guards on.  But with the Legate, I knew resistance meant death, and I was forced to go.

I’m scratching this on my pick ax with a shiv, in case I get out of here.  I originally started this journal to tell what it’s like for Orcs outside their strongholds.  I’ve been framed for murder.  Because I’m green.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

________________________________________________________________

To those familiar with Skyrim: no, I did not officially become part of the town guard, I just took the dead guard’s armor.  I wanted a reason to investigate, but in character he would have just left it to the professionals.  So I made him one of the professionals.

AoaRD #3.5: The Flashback

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the tale of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, a blacksmith in Skyrim just trying to make a living.  Unfortunately, Holmes is studying for exams and can’t devote four hours to video games right now.  So here’s a flashback.  We return to the regularly scheduled plot on May 16th.
Part One     Part Two     Part Three

5th of Midyear, 198

Today, I left my stronghold home and became a gro-Dushnikh.  I was provided with a couple days food, a mace from Gharol and some leather armor.  My tribe did not fuss as I left, true to their orc ways.  Their stoicism is an honor to Malacath and a credit to our tribe.  The armor was of course an insult from Chief Burguk.  Leather armor for an orc that wants to be a blacksmith.  He only sees it as a woman’s job, because he cannot see past the traditions of our people.

My mother was the forge wife of Dushnikh Yal; it’s in my blood.  She even named me for Urbul, the blacksmith in the Imperial City at the end of the Third Era.  Legend says that he armed the very hero who stopped the oblivion crisis.  Perhaps one day my own armor will be worn into battles that will be told of for centuries.  But I couldn’t do it back there.

Ghoral says there is a smithing teacher in Markarth to the North, an Orc by the name Ghorza gra-Bagol, who is looking for an apprentice.  I plan to make for Markarth and see if she will take me as her student.  So few Orcs leave their strongholds, especially given the prejudice against our kind in the wider world.  That is why I plan to keep this journal; to chronicle this experience for those orcs who cannot be spared from their strongholds.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

________________________________________________________________

31st of Evening Star, 198

Today is a Tamriel Old Life Festival.  We celebrate the close of one year and welcome in the new, but we also reflect on our own past.  I’ve been in Markarth for nearly seven months now and I’ve been doing a lot of looking back lately.  Besides myself and Ghorza, there are only four other orcs in the city and I admit feeling over whelmed and Gat’s been tamed by city life, so he’s practically not even an orc anymore.  And working along side this sniveling Tacitus.  He’s been learning from Ghorza for about a week less than I have and he still can’t make a damn nail right.  Ghorza’s been loosing her temper with him more and more lately, so I doubt he’ll be studying with her much longer.  If we were in an orc stronghold he would have been given a gash on his arm, some linens and told to play with the children by now.

I’ve been making progress, despite the frequency with which he distracts Ghorza.  She has me making iron helmets now, and the horns sockets have been quite the challenge to shape.  Of course, I’d be working shields by now if he wasn’t so pathetic.

Still I can’t complain about my life here.  I spent the first month or so sleeping in the Warrens until Ghorza saw me headed there one day she was working late.  He brother put me up in his forge in the keep, not that staying the keep has meant much to the locals.  All but the guards shy away from me as I pass, scared the big, mean orc will eat them or something.  Naive bigots.  But at least I’m not on the streets and despite my former misgivings about living in stone houses being like damp, chilly mines, they are nearly as comfortable as our longhouse back in Dushnikh.  I think I’m going to like it here.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #3: The Finest Steel in all Markarth

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc caught up in the crazy world of Skyrim who just wants to live a normal life as a blacksmith. You can follow his journey through these journal entries with new entries every two weeks. Enjoy.
Part One     Part Two

21st of Last Seed, 201

It was good to sleep in my own bed last night.  I’ve been very blessed, for an outsider to Markarth, as Ghorza’s brother was able to put me up in his forge in Understone Keep.  Markarth is a fine place during the day, but at night, it can be quite shady.  Coming in from my journey late last night, there was a murder in the market.  Thankfully it was night and there weren’t more people around, but the man killed one of the women I’ve seen around the Silver-Blood Inn.  Mary?  Margret?  Something with an M.  All these Nords have strange names if you ask me.

Ghorza was characteristically disinterested in my story of why I was so late, but must not have been too upset as she’s decided to teach me to work with steel instead of just iron.  I’m excited but it means I spent all day collecting Iron ore, and tomorrow will be spent collecting corundum.  I went mining in Left Hand mine, and then to Blind Cliff Cave, both quite near Markarth and rich with iron and forsworn.  I still don’t understand how barely organized marauders wearing next to no armor have yet to be wiped out.  Regardless, I made quick work of those who stood against me and stopped by Kolskeggr Mine for gold before it got dark.

When I made it back to Markarth, there was this odd man standing outside the famous “Abandoned Home of Markarth”.  A Vigilant of Stendarr, a Daedra hunter.  He seemed to think the place was cursed or haunted or something.  I guess even priests can go insane.  I waved him off.  The guards will likely deal with him.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

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23rd of Last Seed, 201

Yesterday was more or less uneventful.  I traveled without incident to Gloomreach.  The place was crawling with these pale, mumbling elves and large bugs like earwigs.  Chaurus, I believe I heard them called in our stories as orcish children.  They’re both tough fighters, but I fought from the shadows and thankfully did not have to go deep into the caverns to get the ore I came for.  I left late and stayed the night at my childhood stronghold in Dushnikh Yal.  It reminded me of all the things I miss about be surrounded by orcs, and all the reasons I left in the first place.

I write this at my midday meal and yet today has already been… exceptionally weird, and I do say that in light of all that has transpired in the last week, dragons and noisy walls included.  I left Dushnikh Yal in the grey hours just before morning, and on my way home I encountered two peculiarities.  The first was a vampire out hunting with her death hound.  Vampires are rare, even rarer for them to roam preferring to stay close to their lairs.  And so close to day light.  Then, after I dispatched their attacks, I found three drunk Nords by the river.  They invited me to drink with them, at 6:00 AM, mind you, and handed me some mead before stumbling off.  I tossed the mead in the river.  I don’t want to know what was in there.  And they think Orcs are barbarians.

When I arrived in Markarth, that Vigilant was still standing there.  I felt bad for the guy, asked him if I could help.  He just wanted someone to go in the house with him when he checked it out.  Dumb Nords.  Act so brave, can’t even enter a haunted house on their own.  We’re in there less than a half hour and there’s this voice, kind of in my head, and it says this man’s weak and I should kill him.  I’m not a murderer.  I ignored this intruding.  The voice persisted and things began flying around the room, and suddenly the vigilant attacks me.  I defended myself, but it turned out poorly for him.  The door was locked, so I looked around for another way out, and down in the basement there was this sort of altar.  Spikes came out, I was trapped, and the voice came back.  It said it was Molag Bal and he wanted me to help him murder a follower of Boethiah.  He released me and I ran.  I am no coward, but I don’t mess with Daedric Princes.

I was late for work at this point, and got to work smelting my steel and trying to get my mind off all the weird goings on.  Ghorza has set me to steel daggers, a standard starting point for a new material I guess, but boring.  No sooner have I finished work on my first dagger and a courier from the Keep approaches with a letter from the Jarl himself.  He has requested my presence.  He wishes to make me Thane of Markarth, though I can’t fathom what I’ve done to earn such an honor.  This day has made me quite tired, it isn’t even half done, and I’ve done almost no smithing.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

AoaRD #2: the Dragonborn Comes

Every two weeks, Baker Street Holmes tells the story of Urbal gro-Dushnikh, an orc caught up in the crazy world of Skyrim who just wants to live a normal life as a blacksmith. You can follow his journey through these journal entries that just happen to be found on a conveniently regular schedule. Enjoy.
Day One

19th of Last Seed, 201

The past couple of days I’ve been very busy.  From Riverwood I took a mountain path North to Whiterun to warn the Jarl of the dragon I saw.  He was pleased that I had come to warn him, and asked that I help his court wizard in his search for a stone tablet in Bleak Falls Barrow.  When I first arrived in Markarth, Ghorza’s brother told me that you never turn down a request from a Jarl, so I accepted.  This wizard, a man named Farengar, made it sound simple: get in, grab the dragon stone, and get out.  With any burial grounds in Skyrim, there is the risk of Draugr, but he failed to warn me of the bandits, guillotine traps and giant spider which guarded the place.

I stayed the night at a hunter’s campsite outside the near Bleak Falls Barrows and returned to Whiterun in the morning.  I demanded additional pay for the job since they had misrepresented the difficulties I’d be facing.  The Jarl agreed, but asked that I accompany his guards as they set out to challenge the dragon from Helgen. It might be against Moth’s advice, but I was forced to turn him down.  I was already going to be two days late returning to Markarth and Ghorza’s going to give me so much extra work to make up for it.  And I am certainly not capable of helping to fight a dragon.  It was too late to leave for Markarth, so I visited the shops and even visited the Skyforge to trade with the famous Eorland Gray-Mane.

Tonight I’m staying at the Bannered Mare Inn and Tomorrow morning I will leave early for Markarth.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh

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20th of Last Seed, 201

I slept poorly last night, dreaming of Bleak Falls Barrow.  It was not the beasts or traps that haunted my dreams, but this strange wall.  As I approached, there were these scratching like writing, but no language I’ve seen before.  There was this chanting that drew me to the wall and this one word, I guess it was a word, glowed an eerie blue.  As the distance between me and this wall closed, my vision blurred I heard whispering, indecipherable words and… then I would awake.  It wasn’t terror, not like a nightmare, but I still awoke every time.  I must have had that dream four, maybe five times last night.

I left for Markarth after a quick breakfast, but was stopped before I made it too far.  There, in the middle of the road, lay the dragon I’d seen in Helgen.  Around him, stood the Whiterun guards and the Jarl’s housecarl, coated in the beasts blood.  I can only assume that they had been attacked early that morning.  As I approached, I heard the same whispered chanting from last night and a torrent of whirling light rushed me from the massive beast’s corpse.  In an instant, it faded and the dragon’s flesh began to burn from the inside.  The guards began to whisper of the dragonborn, but that is just a legend.  Isn’t it?

I don’t know if it was the mysterious happenings with the dragon’s body or my lack of sleep, but I find myself tired despite the early hour.  I’m resting in the Western Watch tower as I write this, though I know soon I will have to continue home, if for no other reason than I doubt the structural integrity of the tower at this point.

Urbal gro-Dushnikh