Legends of Skyrim: The Wood Orc (BOOK ONE)

III - Hired Muscle

The Bannered Mare served as Whiterun's most popular gathering place. It was a tavern and an inn that offered mead, food, and a warm, welcoming fire. Almost anyone could be found in the tavern after the shops and stalls closed. A sign outside of a horse carrying a banner swung in the cool breeze. Durag, his face obscured by his new iron mask, stepped through inside. The interior had a central tavern area and an adjacent kitchen with a roasting spit. To the rear of the main bar area was a small bedroom and an office where shady deals were no doubt conducted. There were two sets of steps to separate bedroom areas. As Durag stepped inside, a Redguard woman approached him with a warm smile. "Welcome to the Bannered Mare," she greeted, "Would you like to look at the menu?"
Before Durag could answer, a loud drunken cry echoed throughout the bar, to the disdain of the other sober patrons. An old Nord in iron armour, his face similarly obscured by a horned helmet, was banging on the bar, demanding another drink. A man in a black robe beside him tried to talk him down. "Please, Sinmir," he protested, "You've more than proved your worth, I think it's time you--"
"DAMN IF I HAVE!" he suddenly gripped the man by his collar, "You challenged me, a drink for a staff, and by the Eight I intend to drink until I drop dead to win this, now pick up your tankard, man!"
The Redguard rolled her eyes and sighed. "Please excuse the disturbance," she lead Durag to a table by the back wall, "He isn't usually like this. If anything, it's that Sam Guevenne. Never thought he'd actually get someone to accept his absurd drinking game."

Durag didn't drink, and could never work out what was so appealing for the Nords about it. He had no doubt that this Sinmir was who he was contracted to rough up. He cracked his knuckles, never breaking eye contact with the drunken fool. "Excuse me?" he was broken from his gaze by the waitress.
"Uhm..." he cleared his throat and spoke, "I would like... the Hammerfell goat stew."
"Excellent choice," she smiled, "With puffed wheat and local tomatoes?"
Durag nodded, "Please," never looking away from the drinking contest.
Finally, when it looked like Sinmir was growing rowdy again, he stepped forward and placed a hand on the Nord's shoulder. "I've been sent to resolve a dispute," he informed, "Go home. You're drunk."
"Get your hands off me!" Sinmir gripped his tankard, "Filthy ORC!"
Whipping his arm around, he smashed it into Durag's mask, sending him to the floor. The impact, while only denting his new mask, smashed the iron into his nose. An audible crack echoed through the Bannered Mare, as Durag removed his mask to spit out some blood in surprise. Looking up, he cracked his nose back into place before smirking, "Okay... I was hoping it would come to this."
The Orc lunged up, taking the Nord by the neck, and slammed him into the bar. His foot shot out, catching Durag in the stomach and sending him into one of the pillars surrounding the central fire. His ears started ringing as the wooden hilt of an iron warhammer was placed at his throat, pinning him to the wall. Other patrons attempted to help, but Sinmir elbowed the first two away, dissuading any further attempts of help. "You filthy savages!" the drunked Nord spat, "Skyrim would be a lot better if you all just died!"

With that final insult, Durag took the hilt and snapped it clean in half. Then, grabbing Sinmir by his armour, he headbutted him directly in the face, breaking the iron helmet in half and sending the drunk to the floor. With a few quick breaths, he wiped the blood from his face and turned to the Redguard woman. "I'll take that stew to go." he said, leaving a pouch of coins at his table.
As he entered Jorrvaskr, Durag tipped the bowl up and slurped up the stew in one go. He opened his mouth wider for the meat, and chewed happily as the taste spread about his tongue. Farkas was waiting for him inside. "I took care of the problem," Durag reported once his mouth was empty, "That drunk won't be causing anymore trouble."
"I figured you had it in you," Farkas smiled, pulling out a small coin sack, "Nicely done."
"Is there any more work to be done?" Durag inquired, pocketing his pay.
"Skjor said he was looking for you earlier," Farkas stretched with a small yawn, "Don't know what he wants. He just said he needed to talk to you before you do anything else. I don't like making him angry, but there is some work for you if you want it. Speak to him in the morning."
Both Companions trudged down into the basement, Durag slumped into a spare bed with the other Whelps. Before he fell asleep, he heard the Dark Elf beside him whisper, "What brings you to the Companions?"
Leaning up, he thought for a moment before answering truthfully. "Malacath abandoned me... Now I have to find my own new purpose in this world. Yourself?"
"Fortune and glory, friend," came the answer, which made Durag roll his eyes, "Fortune and glory."

The Companions leaders say they don't have any more work for me, but that I should speak to Skjor about "the next steps."
- Durag Ugrua, 13th of Sun's Height