Animal Urges - Chapter XII

Chapter XII -- Agony

I was sick for a different reason. The 'bandits' that Aela, Vilkas, Farkas, and I slaughtered last night did not appear to be such at all. As I surveyed the scene of the encampment - Vilja and Lydia no longer accompanied me on these 'follow-up tasks', whilst Aela and the twins had returned to Jorrvaskr - I could tell these were not bandits, nor any other kind of scoundrel.

Although torn apart, they were still recognisable as orcs. Of course, this alone did not prove anything, but Skyrim bandit groups typically appeared of mixed races and genders, and these all seemed to be male orcs. I did not know much about the tusked, green-skinned peoples of Skyrim - properly known as Orsimer - except that they were no better or worse, as a race, than any other, including the three distinct ethnic groups of elves: the Dark Elves or Dunmer; the Wood Elves or Bosmer; and the High Elves, the Altmer. Although racial prejudices abounded, in my experience none were any more or less inclined to violence or criminality than another, including the racial subgroups of humans, such as my own Redguard, the native Nords, the Bretons, or the Imperials. In fact, it may be argued that, since the cat-like Khajiit and saurian Argonians were mistrusted in Skyrim, a disproportionate number were forced to the edges of society, whence ofttimes circumstance obliged one to do what was necessary to survive, thus earning their reputation. Yet, what came first, the mistrust or the behaviour? None of it was an excuse for banditry, however.

Regardless, my hunch appeared confirmed, as a search of the remains and camp revealed nothing of typical bandit loot; they had meat - most in the process of smoking and salting - furs, hunting bows, no heavy armour, and few other weapons but skinning knives.

I buried what was left of them; I could not leave these innocents to scavengers. What little 'loot' I found I interred with the bodies; would that I knew who they were, so that I could somehow return it to families.

Thus did my guilt instigate my meeting of Borgakh the Steel Heart. The nearest orc settlement I knew of was Mor Khazgur in The Reach, yet they had no knowledge of a hunting party, missing or otherwise.

Borgakh is the daughter of their chief, Larak, and when we met in the bailey of their fort, she appeared to be taking out her frustrations on a training dummy. When I enquired as to her role in the tribe, she related how she would soon come of age, and hence be off to marry a chieftain in some distant orsimer community. She did not seem enthusiastic about this future, saying something about feeling as though she were in a cage, and wishing to see new places and people, yet I do not believe it was this declaration that prompted me to invite her to accompany me. Hesitant at first, she finally agreed when I offered to pay her dowry and assured her that she would be free to return and marry when the time came.

Aside from the aforementioned sudden remorse for orcs in general, I felt sorry for her, not being free to do as she pleased - although, who am I to question others' customs and beliefs? Regardless, I needs must admit to lustful curiosity prompting me as well. Although generally considered ugly by almost everyone - to me, orcs were fascinating. I found myself enthralled with Borgakh's body: greenish-brown skin; pointed ears lying nearly flat against her head, which was close-shaven other than a broad strip of dark brown hair on top, plaited into a ponytail; deep-set green eyes surrounded by purplish-brown tattoos running cheek to jaw to throat, thus resembling twin rivulets of dried blood. Not to mention the tusks. Of course, I also confess my desire to see what was under her armour - which did not take long.

If she was atypical of her race, then she was certainly not shy, as she often as not walked around nude in our camps, or perhaps wore aught but a pair of ragged trousers. She even liked to cook in the nude, which I thought was risky, considering how many important bits risked being splattered: For example, her full breasts, crowned with huge reddish-brown nipples akin to my own. Somewhat surprisingly, the chief's daughter had little body hair, but she did have marvelous dark tufts growing in her underarms and betwixt her legs; I yearned to nuzzle and find what remained hidden down below. Otherwise, she was wide-shouldered, broad-hipped, strong; if she was immature, I could not see where. She seemed innocent of sex, but perhaps this was only due to the dearth of males in our camp (Vilja had rejoined me, but Lydia stayed at Breezehome to look after an orphaned child I had recently adopted), and she had no experience of women. Borgakh had said she was not yet 'of age', albeit I do not know what that means, in orc terms. Yet, I would needs check my hunger nevertheless, in view of the fact that we were not alone in camp.

As it betided, I could not have sex with her regardless, for the slaughter of the orc 'bandits' was not all I had done. Scant days later, I learned what Aela had been trying to tell me: Elda, the Vilemyr whore whom I had... patronised some time ago was found near death right after we left Ivarstead, and in fact died not long thereafter. Justifiably so, there was a bounty on my head in The Rift. I immediately travelled to Riften, intending to see the Jarl to clear up the misunderstanding, however, the hold's guards intercepted me just inside the border, and I faced the choice to pay the bounty, get an escort to gaol, or else defy them and flee - or kill them - and continue to be an outlaw in the hold. Thus, I paid my bounty - 40 gold septims (I am not sure why the amount irritated me; perhaps that it was the value of a life?). I also sought to make amends to Elda's family, but found she had none.

The rage abruptly took me, so I went on another hunt. Loping tirelessly in the darkness down a road to I-know-not-where, I reacted to a cry in the darkness of, "Die, monster!" before I knew who was attacking me. I whirled, lashed out, had the man torn apart before I realised he had only a dagger - hardly a bandit, then - and I knew him, even in beastmind: It was Talsgar the Wanderer.

I had met the itinerant bard a few times, and bade performances of him; it was a welcome respite on the road. Now I had killed him, and he would perform no more.

I did not feed. My rage blinding, I raced away from the road; ignoring brush, rocks, and even most trees, I fled on into the darkling woods. I came upon two cave bears about to make a meal of some unfortunate. In my fury, I took them both on, was perforce obliged to feed on them as well as the unknown corpse to heal my serious wounds. Yet it was not enough, and thus I was fortunate to happen upon another battlefield; I fed only enough to heal almost completely, and then lay down amongst the corpses to await my transformation.

Although I did not need sleep, I must have dozed regardless, as next it was dawn and I heard voices.

"Damned Stormcloak rebels!" An Imperial patrol approached, likely looking for wounded. Fortunately, it was not quite light, and some trees and rocks hid me. If I could but snatch some bits of armour and clothing, I could at least explain my half-nakedness as a survivor, having lost consciousness on the battlefield and now trying to heal her wounds.

"Gods below!" came more cries. "Damned wolves! Stay sharp, soldiers." They must have seen my handiwork on some of the corpses.

I crept, shivering and ill, toward the nearest heap; a male Stormcloak sat by two female rebel soldiers who embraced, in death, a male Imperial, whilst a female Legionary lay nearby. The male Legionary appeared to be a Redguard, like me. Curiously, although several arrows protruded from the bodies, wounds were not visible, and there was little blood; they looked as though they merely slept. Normally, dismemberments and eviscerations abounded in such battles, and the blood... The lack of such grisliness was perhaps the reason I found it so poignant.

It may heretofore have been the saddest thing I had seen in this war, having witnessed several such skirmishes, either just after they ended or in passing as they raged. I had yet to take sides - I did not want to - but my conscience nudged me toward forcing another kind of choice from me.

Swallowing a lump in my throat the size of Mount Anthor, I sneaked away; found some discarded bits of equipment, donned them, left.

I sought Aela.

Lying together in the room I had taken over from Kodlak, she queried, "Could you not have made the same mistake as a human?"

I doubted that, but she was either unconvinced or indifferent.

"That's just the way it is, sister," she growled. "We are hunters. Humanoids are prey."

"I do not accept that. Not all of them." I told her about my dealings with Hircine and subsequent adventure with Sinding. "I cannot imagine hunting... or feeding... on a child. Nor any other innocent." I had not mentioned the battle scene; she would probably scoff, think me weak.

She snorted - at least, that is how I took the guttural coughing sound she made. "There are no innocents in this world."

I disagreed, but the query she posed next took me in a different direction.

"Yet what of this Sinding - you spared him?"

When I admitted I had, she asked why.

"Because we are the same. How could I kill him?"

"But he killed an innocent, didn't he?" When I did not respond, she continued, "So you joined with him, and slew his hunters."

"Yes. I will not be manipulated - not even by a Daedric Prince."

"And you fed on them?"

All at once, I did not like where this was going, but admitted to assuaging my hunger and healing the wounds they had inflicted on me.

"What had they done to you - before then?"

I hesitated. "Well, nothing"

Unfathomable, the look she gave me. "So then, were they not 'innocent'?"

I had no answer, instead springing from the bed. "Go!" I spat. "Leave me. Get out!"

Languidly, the Huntress rolled naked from the piled furs, a smirk on her pale features - or perhaps it was simply the way the light fell on her green war paint.

Continued in Chapter XIII