Legends of Skyrim: The Wood Orc (BOOK ONE)

VIII - Blood's Honour

Walking from the room, Aela staying behind, Durag slowly approached Kodlak as he sat, sipping from his flagon. "Welcome, boy," he gestured to the chair beside him, "Sit, please. We have much to discuss."
Durag obeyed, and sat. His eyes for a moment would not meet Kodlak's, but they soon found them. "I hear you've been busy of late." Durag couldn't tell if Kodlak was annoyed or impressed.
"Aela and I work to avenge Skjor's death." he felt a compulsion to be honest, as Aela had instructed.
"Your hearts are full of grief," Kodlak sighed, "And my own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honour demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time. In any case, I have a task for you. Have you heard the story of how we came to be Werewolves?"
"Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine." Durag recounted.
"Aye," Kodlak smiled pleasantly, "That sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, the reality is more complicated than one believer would tell you."
Durag leaned forward, intrigued. "So what is the truth, then?" he inquired.
"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old," Kodlak explained after another sip, "This matter of Beast Blood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the Witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their Lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power."
Durag's eyes widened in surprise. "This is how you became Werewolves?" he asked.
"They did not believe the change would be permanent," Kodlak looked away for a second, "The Witches offered payment, like anyone else.

"But we had been deceived." he suddenly glared.
Leaning up a little, Durag asked, "But didn't they fulfil their bargain? Aren't you more powerful now?"
"They didn't lie, no," Kodlak agreed, "But it's more than our bodies. The disease, you see, seeps into the spirit. Upon death, Werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord. And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home."
"Is there any way to cure yourself?" Durag wondered.
"That's what I've spent my twilight years trying to find out," the Harbinger answered, "And now I've found the answer. The Witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out, Durag. Go to their Coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."
Durag nodded and stood. "It shall be done." he said.
"Good," Kodlak smiled, "Now move quickly. And don't leave any of them alive. Talos guide you."
As he approached the cellar exit, he heard Aela ask, "Do you wish to be cured too?"
Turning to her, he saw a pain behind her cold stare. He did not know how to answer. "I'm doing this for Kodlak," Durag answered, "This is his wish."
"And what is yours?" she stepped forward, his mask in her hand.
He gently took and donned it, never breaking away from her face. "My wish is irrelevant," he answered, turning from her, "My fate is preordained."

With a heavy heart, Durag turned from Jorrvaskr and left for Glenmoril Coven. Night had by now engulfed Skyrim, the stars twinkling over Falkreath. The path lead the Wood Orc past a ruined tower as it climbed towards the cave entrance. As he neared the top, he noticed various symbols formed from the bones and antlers of large elk, spriggan and goat heads on stakes, and taproots hanging from trees, leaving under no illusion of what he was likely to face within. As he passed the lit braziers, they extinguished, leaving Durag alone in the darkness. His iron helm shielding his eyes, he drew his bow and slowly ventured down. He heard chittering and laughter the further he approached, before hearing a croaking scratchy voice warn, "A stranger approaches... He means to kill us!"
With a loud shriek, Durag fell to his knees as a screeching sound filled the cave. He felt blood seep from his ears down his neck until finally the noise stopped. As he slowly began to stand, his ears still ringing, he froze as he noticed that he could not hear the rocks slide beneath his feet, nor the scraping of his bow against his back. In fact, he could not even hear the wind from outside, even as it struck his face. These fiends had taken his hearing, and thereby the advantage. Pulling back his bow, he slowly backed against the cave wall, preparing to fire at anything that approached him. To his horror, he suddenly gasped at the feeling of something piercing his body. Looking down, poking through his side was a long black claw, stained in his blood. He heard a shrill voice in his head chide him, "Bad dog!"
Another laughed, "Put him down, sister!"
With a shove, Durag was thrown to the floor. Looking up while clutching his side, he found himself surrounded by five Hags, all a horrific cross between an old crone and a bird. They all spoke in unison, but each sentence was different, as if they were all speaking for one.

"Hircine has given you and your pathetic Hunters true purpose," another voice sneered at him, "And you seek to defy him?"
"The Hunt is your destiny, Orc!" the final cried.
Against the stinging in his abdomen, Durag rose and aimed his arrow into the surrounding darkness. "My destiny is my own!" he cried out.
Letting his arrow fly, he knew it would never find a mark. He didn't need it to, he needed his prey to know that he was not their usual puppet that they could deceive with their bargains. As the blackness began to dissipate around him, Durag strained himself to follow a passageway that opened up into a chamber, dominated by a shallow pool with a path around it to the right. A tent overlooked this pool, behind it a bloodied altar. The Hags gathered around it, all chanting with such ferocity that Durag's throat hurt just listening to it. "Hircine, protect us from your mutt!" they all cried, all five voices overlapping, "Grant us the power to smite him that we may continue our devotion to you!"
An arrow interrupted their prayers, as the altar quickly crumbled into a pile of small bones and pelts. They all screamed, turning back to the Orc. He slowly trudged towards them, as one extended its arm. Its palm began to glow a fierce red, but quickly died down. "No!" a voice shrieked in terror, "He has forsaken us!"
Beginning to strip down, Durag smirked as the transformation began. "Now you know how it feels!" he growled.
The slaughter of Glenmoril Coven was slow, and messy. The Hags tried to flee, but their twisted bodies were no match for Durag's Beast form. He feasted on their decaying flesh and, one by one, dragged his claws through their necks, collecting each one. Finally, the plight of the Companions was finished: the Witches of Glenmoril Coven were slain. As he transformed back, he fell to his knees and took a deep breath in as he overlooked the carnage.

The midday sun beat down on Whiterun as Durag approached the city. He immediately knew something was wrong, the main gate had been broken through. Rushing through the city, he looked in horror as members of the city guard and the Silver Hand lined the street. As soon as he rounded the corner up into the Wind District, he saw Aela push someone off her sword. As soon as their eyes met, she rushed to him and hugged him tightly, "We didn't know if you'd made it back or not," she suddenly pulled away at the feeling of blood, "Durag, you're bleeding."
Moving past her with the bag of Witch heads, he pushed the doors of Jorrvaskr open. Before he could say a word, he was gripped by his shirt and pinned to the wall. "Where have you been?!" Vilkas angrily demanded.
One look around was all Durag needed. The mead hall was in ruins. Tables were overturned, the fire was stamped out, and a body lay bare before it. "I was doing Kodlak's bidding!" he pushed his Shield-Brother away.
"I hope it was important," Vilkas moved, "Because it means you weren't here to defend him. The Silver Hand finally had enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but... The old man... Kodlak... he's dead."
Falling to his knees, Durag cradled the dead Nord in his arms. As he felt a tear hit the inside of his mask, he choked, "Was anyone else hurt?"
"No," Vilkas held his shoulder, "But they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad. But you and I are going to reclaim them. We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak. And they will know terror before the end."
Gently letting Kodlak down, Durag closed his eyes and whispered, "I am sorry I could not fulfil your desire, old man."
With a cold heart, Durag turned to Vilkas and said, "Let's go."

Vilkas has come with me to avenge the death of Kodlak by wiping out the Silver Hand.
- Durag Ugrua, 21st of Sun's Height