Equipment
1 Ebony Warhammer
1 Set of fine Orcish plate armor
1 Leather backpack
1 Sling and 10 stones in a pouch at the belt
1 Pair of spiked knuckles, attached to gauntlets
1 Blacksmith’s hammer, looped at belt
1 Steel dagger

Miscellanea
Enough jerky to last about four days for one person
1 Waterskin
2 Potions of Healing
A hunk of flint
1 Amulet of Malacath, non-magical
1 bottle of Nord mead
250 Septims
Crumpled-up letters from various suitors
A small bottle of red warpaint
A pouch of medicinal herbs and the like, and a little bowl to pound them in

Favored Skills

Highly Proficient:

Two-Handed (Years of training and constant combat have honed her muscles to swing a warhammer with ease and precision.)

Smithing (Her heart belongs to the forge, and she can craft and repair just about any Orcish weapon or piece of armor, in addition to a less extensive range of other pieces from other styles and cultures.)

Moderately Proficient:

Unarmed (She is not above dirty fighting, and should the quarters become too narrow or she is too exhausted, she can drop her weapon and wrestle, beat and bite her way to victory.)

Heavy Armor (The only time she removes her armor is to sleep or work at the forge, where it would be too hot otherwise. She cannot run very quickly or jump very high, but once she digs her heels in, she is a living barricade.)

Somewhat Proficient:

Alchemy (She knows, from her days in a stronghold and her training as a warrior, basic medicinal practices using herbs and roots, to help with minor sickness or wounds.)

Background and a "brief" history:

As the daughter of Morshum’s chief and his third wife, Magul, Urzoth was raised in the shadow of her older half-brothers. Her early few years were spent shoving her way into her siblings’ lives, consequently being shoved back, wrestled with, and tormented until she grew the mind to fight back with the fury of a child long scorned. Her uncle, the blacksmith and the man to watch after her when her mother could not, helped her work away her 9-year-old anger by pushing her to help him at the forge, sharpening her siblings’ weapons and watching him work. Eventually, she grew adept at repairing weaponry and, with practice, armor, and was allowed to spend long hours of her early teenage years toiling away at the forge, between fighting with her half-siblings and training to defend the stronghold from attack. In her free time, while her siblings would socialize, pray and explore the hills beyond the stronghold, she would be sweating over side projects, growing stronger than many of them from the constant pounding of her hammer and hauling of heavy equipment and materials.

Eventually, through the sheer number of times she repaired their prized accoutrements and threw them in wrestling, her siblings, most especially the younger ones, grew to respect and turn to her for guidance and advice. At 15, she was a promising young Orc of the stronghold, catching her father’s eye, most notably, when she dragged her brother from a pack of wolves he’d attracted while on a hunting trip. The stronghold had held a feast that day to commend her valor, solidifying her role both as one to be respected among her siblings and also as one to be disliked. Their resentment bothered her little, as her social life was dominated by her rigorous training and smithing, though she could taste sour twinges in their opinions of her that, as a hormonal teenager, shaped her into a solitary, bitter person. She stopped praying daily, to give more time to her work, and her impiety displeased some of the especially religious adults whom saw it as a bad omen or as brash disrespect for Malacath.

Only weeks after she threw herself wholeheartedly into her duties, a raiding party from a rogue stronghold that had converted to a more barbarous parody of Aedra worship attacked Morshum. Urzoth had been forging without any armor on, and only had seconds to scramble for a finished weapon when raiders assailed the forge and began destroying it. She fought, valiantly, but was struck viciously and fell into a thick bush behind the structure. The last thing she could hear was her uncle struggling against his attackers before she slipped into unconsciousness. When she awoke, many of the warriors, including her siblings, were dead or too wounded to fight again, and the stronghold had been looted and nearly destroyed. The chief was the one to find her in the bush, and when she awoke in his longhouse he cursed her, blaming her lack of respect for Malacath as the cause of this assault by heretics, and that if she had truly loved her stronghold she should have died fighting instead of his “more worthy” sons.

He could not afford to banish her, however, and simply opted to disown her as a daughter and push her to rebuild “what she destroyed”. Strongholds, thankfully, were built to be sacked and repaired, and in two years much of what was lost had been regained. But the chief had grown weary, sending warrior parties after their newfound enemies only to have few return, and was weighted with the loss of his children, brother and first wife. Urzoth still knew him as a father, even if he was not so anymore, and boldly requested to gather a final attack against the Aedra stronghold in exchange for her honor to be restored. He accepted, if only to get her away, and soon she was using a brutal form of diplomacy to coerce the remaining warriors of the stronghold to fight back. Despite many of them disliking her, the ones that agreed were given fine weapons she’d forged herself and a renewed sense of fury where once lay despair. Based on the accounts of the previous failed war parties, they drew up a schematic, organized a more thorough plan of attack, and used more strategy than the previous generations could dream of.

The assault was arduous, and more vicious than any battle Urzoth had ever seen. She watched allies get torn apart with axes and maces, crushed the skulls of enemy warriors, and, following the strategy they’d lain out, was the only one left alive of her smaller team with the task of killing a warrior of the stronghold famed for his brutality and size: Burz the Bloodied. She found him huddled in the longhouse, wounded from a strike he had received at the hands of one of Morshum’s warriors, tilting the duel, blessedly, in her favor. Their battle tore apart the interior of the building, and, just as the fighting died down outside, they crashed through the front door of the longhouse, where Urzoth messily slew him with a harsh blow of her hammer. The remaining enemy warriors were killed off quickly, their morale shattered at seeing Burz killed, and the surviving noncombatants were absorbed into Morshum upon swearing their allegiance back to Malacath.

Urzoth had regained the trust of her clan, and to honor her valiance, her father passed on his ebony warhammer. While, traditionally, it was given from a chief to his most honorable son, due to many of his warrior sons being dead, and Urzoth having rallied Morshum to defeat the rogue stronghold, he saw it fitting.

The addition of her new warhammer gave Urzoth a renewed lust for battle and encouraged her away from the forge, but she retained the same bitterness she always had at the insinuation that, had her brothers been alive, she may not have received the honor of carrying such an heirloom. She made a point of being the most brutal among her siblings, actively hunting for bandit camps springing up and leading aggressive parties against any trolls or goblins found to be lurking in the mountains, if only to remain in her father’s eye. The intensity of her need to keep him proud sent her packing for the Imperial City, to represent Morshum in the arena and bring him back her winnings as tribute. Having never been out of the region her home resided in, the city was a massive, jarring shift, and she met races she had only heard of. She spent much of her time below the arena, renting a bunk and repairing other fighters’ equipment as a way to make money between matches.

Her ferociousness brought her far, and she became well-known among smaller arena communities for a time, advancing to the middle tiers and eventually winning larger and larger boons. She caught the eye of a particularly skilled brawler at that point, and he offered to train her extensively in unarmed combat if she offered her smithing to him for free. The trade gave her an edge, and soon enough she combined her early skills in grappling with his lessons in street fighting, allowing her to fight at closer ranges without too wide of a gap in effectiveness. The lessons ended, however, when her teacher was killed in a match, and she moved on to practice and grow on her own. Soon enough, the matches grew even more challenging, her success hinging on close calls and timing, until finally she was defeated by a challenger notorious for her dexterity and speed. Only surviving the match because her challenger broke her bones enough that she couldn’t move, and killing her would displease the crowd, Urzoth was carried to the healer in an ashamed, agonized heap.

She quit the arena afterwards, at 21 taking her saved-up prize money and moving to Whiterun, her pride too wounded to bear seeing Morshum for a while. She stayed in a shabby home, but bought the materials to start her own forge, where she resided for much of the day. Her wounds healed, and soon she was honing her body once more to face battle. When not being paid to repair weapons, armor and other equipment, she spent her time as a sellsword, most often simply used as an intimidation factor for debt collectors or as a guard for caravans passing through the major cities. She met a city-born Orc named Fuzrath, and while his ignorance at the strongholds, his apathy at his true heritage, and his worship of the Eight Divines irritated her, she admired his skill as a hunter and his patience when listening to her stories. For a year or two, they danced around each other (or, rather, Fuzrath danced around a figurative brick wall) until, finally, their relationship bloomed, and for the first time Urzoth felt a romantic attachment to someone else. They became lovers (in that vein Urzoth discovered a disgusting shyness about herself), and she even considered bringing Fuzrath to Morshum to see if he could convert.

Before her plans could go as she wanted, fate demanded Fuzrath go missing during a hunt he had embarked upon with a few peers. The next morning, they returned without him, and ran to Urzoth to tell her that rogue giants had attacked them, killing Fuzrath and their horses, forcing them to flee and walk all the way back to Whiterun. Distraught in the most furious way possible, Urzoth demanded the location of the attack and travelled there, alone, not a single soul willing to face down potentially multiple giants. After camping out on the plains for two days, she spotted a few near the site, immediately and suicidally grabbing her warhammer to face them. It was the third fight of her life she’d had thus far, and by far the absolute worst. Old wounds felt reopened, her state so horrendous the giants thought her dead, leaving her. Somehow, through sheer will, she rose and limped to Whiterun, what was once pride in herself seeping out of her body in the blood that stained her armor. She was saved only by a sympathetic guard, one whom helped her get to the temple of Kynareth and be healed. Ashamed that she had to turn to a Divine worshipper for help, she did not wait for her wounds to heal fully, and hid in her home for days, drinking health potions for the pain and arranging Fuzrath’s things in the semblance of a wake.

A month later, she was healthy enough to work the forge, and returned again to the outside world, hardened, humbled and filled with hatred. For years she returned to her old life of odd jobs and smithing, until the auroras appeared, the whole of Whiterun seemed much more open to the Empire’s recent decisions, and people began to disappear. It was a subtle thing, and Urzoth only noticed it when she truly focused on other people (which was rare). Around a week after she found herself criticizing the newfound zeal for the Empire in the Bannered Mare, she awoke to her front door creaking open, figures rushing to her side (and promptly being attacked), and them, with much struggle, binding her wrists, gagging and blindfolding her, and stealing her away.

That was the beginning of her adventure. Bound to a slab, prepared to have her heart torn out. The first Khajiit she’d ever truly spoken to grew to become a man she could call brother, and despite her companions feeling distant simply due to her personality, she grew to trust and respect them all the same. Over the course of the journey, she uncovered a deeper side to herself that had been concealed under heaps of scarring and metal, and went from a harsh, hard-headed warrior into a more contemplative, wise guardian. She learned that seeking honor and approval could not dictate her life, and that loyalty to what she wanted to keep safe, be it friends or aspirations, was most crucial. For her boon, she desired new armor, a masterwork set made by the famed smiths of Orsinium, and resources enough to bolster her stronghold home and make their clan larger than ever before, adding new families and converts.

She returned to Morshum a true woman, astounding her family with her tales and showing them her new scars and armor. During her time away, however, the chief had grown weary, old, and died before he could see her free Tamriel of the curse and become a champion. The new chief, a half-brother of hers, congratulated her in their father’s honor, giving her his blessing and throwing her an enormous feast and celebration that lasted for days. She met many an admirer during the festivities, younger Orcs whom had converted and recently joined the stronghold, all of whom showed off with wrestling, drinking contests and horrifically-lettered notes she often found hidden about her old forge. She chased the unenticing ones off, one by one, and the more impressive ones, while a long time ago she’d find suitable, now found them lacking in what she now recognized as soulfulness, as Fuzrath had. He’d been patient, kind, and humbly skilled, whereas these men flaunted themselves and expected an answer from her straight away. She ended up courting none, and left the stronghold after the long celebration to find her glory in Orsinium.

The Orcs there chanted and sang loudly and rabidly, a cacophony of praise and a clamoring of people in such great droves that her vision blurred between them. With hardly a moment’s stop at the city’s fortified gates, she was paraded up through the streets, hitting the fortress at its apex and parting from the revelry to be shoved into an audience with the Orc king, Nagamog. After the previous king, years ago, had been slain in battle, he rose to the throne and had proven himself as warlordlike as he was ruthlessly loyal to Orsinium’s best interests. He saw opportunities for their people that Urzoth could not fathom, and before long, while Nagamog began pestering their neighbors to reach for more political leverage, Urzoth set up a forge in the warrior’s district of the city. Her business exploded in weeks, making her more Septims than she’d ever seen. While the temptation of hiring apprentices and settling down wafted before her, another offer was put forth by the king, one she couldn’t help but take up.

The coals of her forge went dark the day she was sent off, under hierarchal blessing and with a group of experienced skirmishers and Orcs loyal to Nagamog, to expand Orsinium’s wealth through scouting and cleaning out whatever crypts or dungeons they could find worth searching. For two years, she travelled Skyrim and northern Tamriel, sending caravans loaded with whatever could possibly be of any worth back to Orsinium. During a vacation in Orsinium, a letter floated into her life a month or so before she was meant to reunite with her old companions, a reminder sent by the Imperial City and a request she travel accordingly for the festivities.

Nagamog’s uses for Urzoth were too vast. He feared he would lose her as an asset should she decide that her loyalties lie with her old companions moreso than Orsinium, and so countered the glamor of the Imperial City with an offer of an army (a fraction of Orsinium’s forces) and a title as general. Faced with a choice between a social event and a future for Orsinium she could potentially mold more than ever before, she stayed in Orsinium and set to work on commanding her troops in Nagamog’s name.