Lost Knife Hideout was fairly easy to miss from a distance, but Durag spotted it by looking for the small waterfall-fed pond. He also noted a few clusters of slaughterfish eggs, although there were none to be found in the pond. Instead, it contained smaller fish, for example the typical blue and orange dartwings feeding above the water. There was a patch of imp stool fungus to the left of the craggly entrance, which was marked by impaled corpses either side of it. Walking inside, the cave had a notable stream that ran beneath Durag's feet, fed by the pond outside. As he followed it downstream, he quickly dropped to his knees as he recognised the glint of silver. Two Silver Hands were talking by a campfire with stacked barrels on either side. Drawing his bow, aiming two arrows against the string, Durag released and awaited the sound of arrows sinking into flesh. As he released the string, however, it snapped, sending the arrows to the sides of the wall. The two looked towards the darkness, drawing their swords and walking closer. As they walked past him, Durag quickly rolled past the fire to follow the stream to a large cavern with an underground lake. It was surrounding an island with two earthen bridges, one crossing to the island and the other crossing from it. Across this bridge and round a corner, Durag found himself in the buried ruins of an old fort. Before him was a bar with a counter and tables. In a corner was a longer wooden table, an iron battleaxe and some firewood on top. To the right was a barrel and a set of shelves. Opposite the table was a cupboard, one door swinging open against the faint wind. There was a bottle of wine on the table, which two more Silver Hands were drinking greedily. Looking back at his bow, he began to strip down as he realised that he would have to use his Beast Blood if he wanted to get out of this hideout alive. Taking a deep breath in, he allowed the Blood to consume him. He noticed that each transformation hurt less and less, in fact, it felt pleasurable.
"... Lyin' little harlot..." one of the Silver Hand muttered in a drunked haze, "That brat ain't mine... could be anyone's... won't get one rusty septim from me..."
Before he could once again reach for the bottle, he was burst upon by a Werewolf. His cries of pain and despair as he was ripped apart echoed throughout the Hideout, alerting all other inhabitants. They grabbed and donned their silver, but the beast before them had but to swipe a single paw and their blood soaked his claws. Sniffing in the air, Durag sprinted down a corridor and ripped a door off its hinges. There, sharpening his silver sword, was the leader of this stray faction. He smirked and turned. "You'll make a nice rug, dog!" he cried, lunging forward.
Durag caught the blade, and whined. It burned his skin, and black blood trickled down his arm. The leader kicked out his knee and pinned him to the floor. "Look into my eyes," he commanded, "I want to watch you die!"
Before the sword could fall, an arrow pierced his eye. Durag then fell upon the body and began to feast upon it. Lapping up the blood, he turned to see Aela behind him, his newly strung bow in her hand. "Thank the divines I was here," she stepped forward, "I can see you still need more experience in the way of the Blood."
Durag whined a little as he licked his wounds. "Don't do that," she gently took his palm, "You'll get silver on your tongue."
Durag could feel his tongue already burning a little, so he obeyed. Looking towards her, she held the side of his snout, seemingly distracted. "Change back," she said, "We have more work to discuss."
Following her slowly outside, Durag felt himself shrinking as his body contorted back to normal. He felt drowsy, and fell to his knees before Aela caught him and helped him outside.
She had lit a fire by the pond outside. She handed him his clothes back, but noticed he looked at the mask before placing it by his pelt bed. "Why do you wear such a mask?" she inquired.
"... I've never told anyone before." Durag admitted.
"Would you tell me?" she turned to him.
He was quiet for a while longer. He looked down at it before turning it over. "Maybe another time." he whispered.
"... Well, at any rate, your attack here will have driven the Silver Hand into hiding," she decided to change the subject, "Keep this up. We'll wipe them out, yet."
The two lay beside each other, looking up into the night sky for what felt like an eternity. Durag heard something shift, and when he leaned up, he found Aela beside him, a look of restrained desire on her face. "Aela...?" Durag whispered.
"Durag..." she slowly leant forward, cupped the Orc's face, and kissed him.
The kiss was slow, but powerful. She felt his strong hands hold her sides as she gently rolled on top of him. She stopped the kiss to whisper, "They've bee scouring the world for more pieces of Wuuthrad. One group has hidden out in the Rift. Reclaim it, for the honour of us all."
"... Now?" Durag pulled back, a little disheartened.
She slowly pulled him back to her. "No," she whispered, "In the morning. Tonight... your services are required right here."
They looked into each other's eyes before kissing again. Durag had never felt this type of bliss before. All he wanted to do was to preserve this golden moment forever. To hold her and never let her go. Durag held Aela close that night, and she in turn clung to him as if she'd die if she let go. They fell asleep under the stars, together, as one.
Aela has heard that the Silver Hand are holding a fragment of Wuuthrad at Treva's Watch. I'm going to retrieve it.
- Durag Ugrua, 18th of Sun's Height
YOU ARE READING
Legends of Skyrim: The Wood Orc (BOOK ONE)
Fantasy"... They are a very different breed of Orc." - In the Company of Wood Orcs Durag Ugrua once stood proudly among his tribe, the Wood Orcs of Valenwood. Yet, despite his valour in combat, Durag found himself at odds with the chieftain's stance agains...
