ErsatzEmpress
Noctis
ButtsnBalls
Kaithe Dame
Andreyich
Rightful Heir
Naril
JJ Doe
DamyclesBahk gro-Khadba
 ____________________________________________________ Character Information Name - Bahk gro-Khadba Gender - Male Race - Osrimer Age - 60, 23rd of Last Seed, 3E388 Faction - Kingdom of Orsinium (former) Class - Warrior Birthsign - The Warrior ____________________________________________________ Skills and Attributes Major: Strength Minor: Endurance Expert: Two Handed and Smithing Adept: Hand to Hand and Acrobatics Apprentice: Heavy Armour ____________________________________________________ Spells Rien, “What do I look like, an Elf?” ____________________________________________________ Character Equipment Weapons Twin Orcish War Axes and a Steel Warhammer Armour An Assortment of Iron and Steel Heavy Armour along with a Chainmail Tee, Leather Pteruges and Leather Boots. Miscellaneous Mule Wagon Wooden Chest Tools set (Hammer, Shovel, Pick Axe, Tree Cutting Axe etc.) Blanket Farm clothes ____________________________________________________ | A P P E A R A N C E Even for an Orsimer, Bahk was always monstrous in size and stature. His skin, a deep pale jade, was so thick that his combat instructors referred to it as hide; fearing his inability to feel the sting of their practice weapons would hinder his proficiency. His hands, calloused beyond all repair, could perfectly wrap around the head of an Imperial, just as his strength was probably enough to crush the life from it. His body, rippled thick with muscle, is a whopping 230 pounds of meat layered like an onion on a towering 6’3’’ frame. So large, Bahk can fondly remember a time where his wife, Zaz, joked to their friends that his only fear was the first floor of any house. Nowadays the Orsimer has his fathers farm to thank for keeping him in shape. Excellent genetics combined with running the place almost single-handedly has ensured he hasn’t lost an inch. Jutting from his jaw, the beast's tusks have grown in a sharp and jagged manner, so hefty in width that it makes it difficult for Bahk to smile. Further up, the bone of his brow (flanked by two ring piercings) is shaped in a permanent furrow, drenching the rest of his face in a natural scowl. At the base of his forehead, a deep scar is carved, streaking from the middle of his eyebrows at a 45 degree angle up his skull. Additional scars are etched across his pec, abs and his left bicep, permanent reminders of the trophies he once collected for his Kingdom. Even though his natural look oozes intimidation, there is a noticeable pain in his walk and the air in which he keeps himself. The mer’s shoulders hang just a little too low, his head often falling forward as his feet barely lift off the ground. In tandem, long gone are the days where Bahk would take adequate care of his hair. Knotting into a singular dread, the black brush mohawkes from just above his forehead, down past the first few vertebrae of his spine. Others have also expressed concern regarding his smell, admittedly there are times where he is so absent from the world that the Orsimer forgets to bathe. The only time he truly comes alive is by the forge or in the heat of battle. Here his muscle memory snaps into place as the rest of his body verberates with a youthful energy. It’s in these moments where he is able to laugh, shouting and jeering as his face fills with a look of exhilaration. The flicker of a flame that once burned brightly as a young Orc. Bahk is also a simple creature, unphased by the flashier dress sense of some of his rebel counterparts. Only in possession of 3 outfits, he makes the choice to live simply, unattached to most of what he carries. His primary and only casual outfit is a simple farmer getup. A collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a drawstring that criss crosses at the bottom of a v-neck. It’s woven together from a fraying wool, dyed a dark green and buttoned loosely up the middle. His slacks, a dark maroon, are made from cotton and inundated with shoddy patch jobs all the way up each leg. Looped through their belt rungs is a simple rope, the bindings of which are so worn that it appears to be one meal away from total destruction. Finally, and in stark contrast, is his leather boots. Almost wide enough to fit their resident minotaur, the boots are well crafted and kept in good nick, stretching all the way up his shin and stopping just short of the knee. Crafting them himself, Bahk is of the view that a soldier is only ever as good as what’s on his feet and this pair is always ready for action. Choosing to fight in heavy armour as most Orsimer do, Bahk sports several bits of scavenged steel and iron plates. Crudely bent to fit the oversized beast, he wears a steel chest and back piece, taken from a rather short Breton. Unfortunately neither piece goes much further than the bottom of his rib cage and are held loosely together with ties of leather. In order to counter this, Bahk wears a chainmail t-shirt. Extended by removing the rings that would normally cover the forearms, it’s reshaped to cover his exposed stomach and lower back. Two iron guards are strapped to each forearm, along with an iron spaulder that barely covers his left shoulder. At last a pair of steel plated thigh guards round off the set, doing their best to hide his quads. Scavenged along with the pieces of armour, Bahk wields a steel warhammer as his primary weapon. A basic instrument, the Orsimer was surprised by it’s adequate condition. The handle, made of hardwood, is splinter and crack free, appearing to be barely used. While the business end of the stick is solid, flat on one end and pointy on the other. His final getup is his traditional war pteruges. A defensive multi-layered skirt made from a series of leather lappets, worn around his waist. The skirt sports two palm sized steel rings that hang from each hip; holsters for his twin, orcish, war axes. Passed down from father to son, these items are all Bahk has left of his old life. Worn underneath his plating, the pieces are specifically made for an Orsimer’s moments of berserker rage. Removing all other pieces of armour and laying down his primary weapon, the freedom of his traditional clothing allows his rage to be channeled unimpeded or unencumbered. The only item missing from this extensive range is a blacksmith's apron. Fashioned out of leather, tanned with a dark brown finish and maintained to a pristine condition; the smock haunts Bahk’s every waking moment with him feeling naked without it. |
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Eroded, that was once the word his son used to describe his father. A weary old Orc, long past his time; no room for joy or love or life, just a mer worn down to a nub. At the time, it was a statement of frustration. The poor boy remembered too much of his father from his younger years and was at his wits end trying to get him back. Zaghrab's words barely registered at the time, simply bouncing off Bahk like a dagger thrusting at plated steel. Now? They’re all he can think about, lying awake at night, staring at the stars.
What keeps you going when everything you’ve ever known has turned to ash and you’re the one holding the torch? Memory can become like an ocean of never ending nightmares, slowly stripping what remains of your personality.
So what keeps Bahk from going under?
On a good day, it’s the memories of the happy times. Watching as his son takes his first steps; the smell of his wife’s perfume as he follows her around their home; the hope he felt seeing his people dancing in the street at the word Orsinium finally stood as a Kingdom in it’s own right. These cherished moments often force a smile. They prompt the giant to try to reach out to those around him through small gestures. These minor attempts at connecting with others manifest themselves subtly, like the sharing of mead, the lending of an ear or just joining the crew around the fire as someone spins a tale. Rarely is it more than this.
On the dark days he looks to strip himself of all emotion, choosing instead to fall back on his childhood training. The culmination of thousands of hours of discipline have formed an unbreakable backbone of routine. In these moments Bahk will seek solitude among the armaments, maintaining, sorting and repairing whatever he can. He possesses little patience for anything other than work and warfare on such occasions, and is best left alone.
Oddly enough vengeance is not a driving factor when it comes to Bahk’s reasons for joining the rebellion. The murder of his son by the Counts men was merely a symptom of his inaction, just as the murder of his wife was a symptom of his actions. In truth, the Orsimer views himself to be irredeemable in the eyes of the universe, choosing instead to dedicate what remains of his life to finding a ‘good death’ in an attempt to please Lord Malacath. Though what that precisely entails is unclear as his father set the bar high by choosing to fight and die for the Emperor during the Oblivion Crisis. It was a noble end for a noble Orsimer and it begs the question - “How does dying for a bunch of farmers compare?”
Overall, Bahk isn’t convinced of the cause but beggars can’t be choosers and the Orsimer is done with his inaction. A single step is better than none.
When it comes to others, Bahk deals in practicality, acting on what he sees in front of him compared to what he hears. Everyone starts as a blank slate, with their own words and actions painting their character. As a result he either trusts you or he doesn’t, he interacts with you or he doesn’t. You won’t win any medals with Bahk just for doing your job as he expects those around him to act with the discipline and mindset of a soldier. Anything less and the Orsimer will not hesitate to voice his opinion or bark a command. He has no time for games or anything intimate.
Despite this, he’s not wholly unapproachable. His return to combat has resulted in him having more good days than bad, leaving him available for a stiff drink every now and then. Sober, he’ll be tight lipped about his past but is known to loosen his tongue after a few beverages. The Orsimer will engage in deeper, more emotional conversation with less hesitation. Though there are none who know his whole story, most are aware of the fate of his fathers farm and his son. In a group setting, he’ll shy away from the spotlight no matter what type of mood he’s in as his wife was always the real talker. The pain of her memory can often be too much to bear. In a similar vein, the reminder of the failure that is Orsinium still cuts a little too deep, leaving Bahk to try and avoid direct interaction with other Orsimer where possible.
His commander’s are treated with the utmost respect, orders are not questioned, only echoed. He does not seek to command troops for himself or give council, that was who his father was. Instead, during combat, Bahk is a soldier in every manner of the word. An unbreakable wall of muscle, sheer will and strict discipline. He comes alive for the fight, relishing in all its glory. Attack is his best defence, primarily using his size and strength to quickly overwhelm whatever enemy stands in front of him. Bahk likes to finish the fight quickly. He can, however, also fight defensively if forced. His endurance outlasts most on the battlefield, enabling him to gain an advantage over his foe in time, often forcing an error through exhaustion. Magic is somewhat of a problem for the Orsimer, he doesn’t have much in the way of defence when it comes to a mage, choosing instead to avoid a fight if they’re not within spitting distance.
Even though there are the times where anger worms it’s way up from the pit of his stomach, times where he drives the hammer into the enemy a few more times than necessary. It is still rare to see his true berserker rage. Taught that such an emotion was to only to be harnessed in the most dire of situations, fury bubbles just beneath the surface, always just an arms length away, waiting for the opportune moment to present itself.
What keeps you going when everything you’ve ever known has turned to ash and you’re the one holding the torch? Memory can become like an ocean of never ending nightmares, slowly stripping what remains of your personality.
So what keeps Bahk from going under?
On a good day, it’s the memories of the happy times. Watching as his son takes his first steps; the smell of his wife’s perfume as he follows her around their home; the hope he felt seeing his people dancing in the street at the word Orsinium finally stood as a Kingdom in it’s own right. These cherished moments often force a smile. They prompt the giant to try to reach out to those around him through small gestures. These minor attempts at connecting with others manifest themselves subtly, like the sharing of mead, the lending of an ear or just joining the crew around the fire as someone spins a tale. Rarely is it more than this.
On the dark days he looks to strip himself of all emotion, choosing instead to fall back on his childhood training. The culmination of thousands of hours of discipline have formed an unbreakable backbone of routine. In these moments Bahk will seek solitude among the armaments, maintaining, sorting and repairing whatever he can. He possesses little patience for anything other than work and warfare on such occasions, and is best left alone.
Oddly enough vengeance is not a driving factor when it comes to Bahk’s reasons for joining the rebellion. The murder of his son by the Counts men was merely a symptom of his inaction, just as the murder of his wife was a symptom of his actions. In truth, the Orsimer views himself to be irredeemable in the eyes of the universe, choosing instead to dedicate what remains of his life to finding a ‘good death’ in an attempt to please Lord Malacath. Though what that precisely entails is unclear as his father set the bar high by choosing to fight and die for the Emperor during the Oblivion Crisis. It was a noble end for a noble Orsimer and it begs the question - “How does dying for a bunch of farmers compare?”
Overall, Bahk isn’t convinced of the cause but beggars can’t be choosers and the Orsimer is done with his inaction. A single step is better than none.
When it comes to others, Bahk deals in practicality, acting on what he sees in front of him compared to what he hears. Everyone starts as a blank slate, with their own words and actions painting their character. As a result he either trusts you or he doesn’t, he interacts with you or he doesn’t. You won’t win any medals with Bahk just for doing your job as he expects those around him to act with the discipline and mindset of a soldier. Anything less and the Orsimer will not hesitate to voice his opinion or bark a command. He has no time for games or anything intimate.
Despite this, he’s not wholly unapproachable. His return to combat has resulted in him having more good days than bad, leaving him available for a stiff drink every now and then. Sober, he’ll be tight lipped about his past but is known to loosen his tongue after a few beverages. The Orsimer will engage in deeper, more emotional conversation with less hesitation. Though there are none who know his whole story, most are aware of the fate of his fathers farm and his son. In a group setting, he’ll shy away from the spotlight no matter what type of mood he’s in as his wife was always the real talker. The pain of her memory can often be too much to bear. In a similar vein, the reminder of the failure that is Orsinium still cuts a little too deep, leaving Bahk to try and avoid direct interaction with other Orsimer where possible.
His commander’s are treated with the utmost respect, orders are not questioned, only echoed. He does not seek to command troops for himself or give council, that was who his father was. Instead, during combat, Bahk is a soldier in every manner of the word. An unbreakable wall of muscle, sheer will and strict discipline. He comes alive for the fight, relishing in all its glory. Attack is his best defence, primarily using his size and strength to quickly overwhelm whatever enemy stands in front of him. Bahk likes to finish the fight quickly. He can, however, also fight defensively if forced. His endurance outlasts most on the battlefield, enabling him to gain an advantage over his foe in time, often forcing an error through exhaustion. Magic is somewhat of a problem for the Orsimer, he doesn’t have much in the way of defence when it comes to a mage, choosing instead to avoid a fight if they’re not within spitting distance.
Even though there are the times where anger worms it’s way up from the pit of his stomach, times where he drives the hammer into the enemy a few more times than necessary. It is still rare to see his true berserker rage. Taught that such an emotion was to only to be harnessed in the most dire of situations, fury bubbles just beneath the surface, always just an arms length away, waiting for the opportune moment to present itself.
H I S T O R Y
"I aspire to raise my race from the mire. I will bring them to equal standing with the other races of Tamriel…My goal is not to conquer Tamriel, but to create the orcish homeland." - King Gortwog gro-Nagorm
There once was a time where the name Bahk gro-Khadba was heralded all the way from the borders of Wayrest to the tops of the Wrothgar Mountains. A stalwart champion of the people, the Orsimer was a leader worthy of aspiration, carrying a family name that could’ve given way to a dynasty had the winds of fate been kind. Destiny, however, can be a fickle thing, giving to the creatures of Tamriel just as easily as it takes away.
Bahk’s story begins with his father, Khadba gro-Yazol, right hand to King Gortwog himself. Khadba was a fine example of what the King envisioned for the future of his people. Loyal, strong, formidable but most of all tactical; an Orsimer that thought before he spoke, watched before he moved and led the armies of Nova Orsinium to victory against their many enemies.
There are even those who say the idea for the duel against the Breton, Lord Bowen, was Khadba’s idea. For he expressed knowing that the Emperor would never have recognised their claim if they were to take land by force. More often than not, any praise for King Gortwog’s diplomatic accomplishments came hand in hand with the recognition of his valiant advisor.
So when a baby boy was born under the sign of the ‘Warrior’, it was seen as a direct blessing from Malacath; a gift for all Bahk’s fathers hard work. As such, the first and only child of Khadba, was made to repay the gift in kind by dedicating his life to the Daedric Prince and his Code. Training began as soon as the infant could stand on his own two feet. With his mornings being assigned to a series of combat drills and his afternoons consisting of pouring through texts and scrolls, that recounted the most famous battles of ages gone by.
As the years went by and adolescence creased the horizon, the boy began to grow large. Towering over his peers more and more with each passing day. His combat prowess came to him as naturally as his size and strength. Bahk was even capable of using dual fighting techniques born out of their infamous berserker rage. However, all was not perfect. Seemingly the more he succeeded outside the classroom, the harder it became to focus inside. Tactics did not speak to him the same way they spoke to his father. Recognising this, and determined to prove that all Orsimer were more than barbarians, Khadba introduced the growing boy to the smiths of the city. Discipline would be found in front of the hot coals that bound iron and orichalcum together.
"Orcish armor, hmm? Had me a set of that once. Ugly and strong, like those that forged it."
The practice did more than just speak to him. It sang a song more powerful than that of a siren, beckoning the Orsimer every evening to bask in the warm glow of the forge.
And that was it for a time. Combat in the morning, smithing in the evening and a private word to Malacath before bed. It wasn’t until he was 17 that he saw any real action.
The Warp in the West, an event that shaped several Kingdoms and yet is a mystery to almost all who were a part of it. When asked, Bahk would say it was akin to those first few moments in which you wake from a dream. You can only recall flashes of what you saw and while it was preposterous, you can’t help but question whether it was true or not. The armies of Orsinium fighting alongside an impossibly large golden statue? Slaying their enemies by the thousands? The ultimate Orsimer fantasy if there ever was one.
Regardless, left in the Warp’s wake was opportunity, a golden ticket handed to them by fate itself. Forty four Kingdoms had been reduced to four and the fight was on to see who could take a slice for themselves. The next few years were spent carving out new borders, with Bahk stepping out from the shadow of his father and forging his own path in his own unique way. The Orsimer proved to be an excellent soldier, unyielding on the battlefield and utilising the famed berserker rage at the most opportune moments.
Bahk’s claim to fame came during what started as a light skirmish on a newly formed Wayrest border, a year after the Warp. Initially, both armies were camped out on opposing sides of what was once the banks of a river, now turned marsh. Sat on either side of quite a wide stone bridge, the Orsimer had their backs against a rocky outface, with the only way to move being to follow the marsh up or down the banks.
On the opposite end, the enemy encampment was perched atop a slight incline, giving them enough of an advantage to stop the Orsimer launching an attack. Unfortunately for the armies of Wayrest, the bulk of their forces were spread thin fighting a three-way war on their western and southern border. This meant they were unable to press their advantage and with no reinforcements in sight, both armies had reached a stalemate.
The two groups had been there long enough for the Orsimer commander to grow a little too complacent. He believed he knew the enemy well enough not to try anything. While in reality the Wayrest army had a forced change of command, when a wayward arrow caught their previous leader in the neck. Their new commander was a Breton who was an intelligent but overly ambitious man. Desperate for recognition, he had the innovative thought to fashion their own bridge out of wood from their supply carts. Following the marsh downstream from where they were camped, they would build a bridge under the cover of darkness and move a significant chunk of their force across. Then they would begin a frontal assault across the bridge, followed by a surprise attack from the side, declaring aloud that reinforcements had arrived.
Initially the plan went off without a hitch. The Orsimer commander fell for their assault on the bridge, committing all his troops to their defence. The early hours of the morning mist covered the Bretons approach from their flank and by the time anyone realised, it was too late. The Breton’s forces cut neatly into the sides of the Orsimer. Horns blared as the men on the bridge cheered and cried out “reinforcements” as loud as they could, while the Orsimer troops began to buckle and fold. Believing their claim to be true, it wasn’t long before some of their rank began to rout completely.
Bahk, a captain at the time, was unconcerned about the surprise attack; not because he saw through the ruse but because retreat was not their way. He commanded his unit to break away from the bridge assault and form a thin, one man deep, shield wall, facing the enemy ‘reinforcements’. Rather than trying to try to stop the advance of the enemy itself, Bahk’s plan was to stop their own forces routing by giving them nowhere to retreat. Between their wall and the rock face, there was little else where to go.
The towering Orsimer stood in front of his own line, practically tearing his cuirass from his chest and throwing his warhammer to one side. Bare chested he roared, as more of their lines broke, pushing over any of his kin that came close to him before commanding them to stand and join his line. Any who got past the captain ran into the shield wall, forcing them to about face. Eventually Orsimer forces rallied and Bahk removed his twin axes from their place at his belt. He commanded his troops forward, still in formation, slipping behind them as they met the enemy line. His roars continued as they began to push the enemy back towards their newly made bridge. When one of his men spotted where they had come from, Bahk led a charge down the flank, along the riverbank, cutting off the enemy's retreat.
A great victory was had that day as the Orsimer slaughtered the force who had crossed the river before pushing what remained back over the bridge and securing the other side. Bahk was met with a promotion and many a commendation, becoming quite the celebrity in the process.
After a time, the region calmed, with the King opting for a diplomatic approach to their new found neighbours rather than at the tip of a sword. High off their victories and the founding of the new Kingdom, Gortwog partitioned the Emperor for official recognition and induction into the Empire. Envoys were sent back and forth from the Imperial City as the Orsimer people committed to them through taxation and the lending of military figures to the Imperial Army. Khadba was one such figure. In light of his son’s victories, promotion and adoration, Bahk’s father was sent along with a diplomatic envoy, swearing fealty to the Emperor and offering his services as a General in the Imperial Army.
Though Khadba started his time in the Emperor’s forces as a General in name only, he soon proved his worth and was fully integrated into the service. As such, he was assigned a plot of land in the county of Skingrad, for the day he sought to retire. A new right hand was assigned by the King and life prospered in Orsinium once more. Bahk took to writing letters to his father, sending them off with the Imperial Envoy that moved between the White Gold tower and Orsinium. It was during these moments (and probably through the intervention of his father on the other side of those letters) that a young Orsimer by the name of Zazsha gra-Badbu began to strike up conversation with Bahk.
Revered for her beauty and feared for her silver forked tongue, Zaz, as she liked to be called, was head of the diplomatic envoy. She was another Orsimer who fit the King’s bill of vision perfectly. The diplomat spun her words into an irresistible web with Bahk being caught in the middle, falling head over heels in love. The two became infatuated with each other, stealing whatever moments they could. It didn’t take long for the two to wed, with Bahk boasting how he had to lock her down before she talked someone else into it. The two married and produced a baby boy, giving him the name of Zaghrab gro-Bahk.
The boy was the spitting image of his mother and as time went on, he began to follow in her footsteps venturing into Cyrodiil alongside the envoy. Bahk was happy with his new life and despite murmurs within the ranks about his wife “dulling his blade”, the Orsimer took up a position helping command the city's guard. In his view, the borders were safe and the next step for his people would come from within, so there was nowhere more important he could be. The Kingdom was on the cusp of being formally recognised and even his father had taken up retirement on the farm, content with building a future for his new family before eventually seeking a good death, just as Malacath intended.
The story of Bahk would’ve ended here, happily ever after, if not for what came next. The Oblivion Crisis altered the world irrevocably and although the Orsimer were able to hold off the onslaught of Daedra long enough for Martin to sacrifice himself, the fallout would consume all that they had built.
The Emperor had died before officially recognising Orsinium as an official territory. Not that it would’ve mattered much as the whole of the Empire fractured, plunging into chaos. With no protection from the Empire’s legions, their enemies began to circle like vultures, poking and prodding at their borders. The King had grown old, with some fearing he had passed his time and others saying that his Hand sought the throne for himself. Whatever the reason Gortwog released a sweeping declaration that Malacath was nothing but a false god. A deceiver and a demon, their true god, Trinimac, was still out there.
Unrest gripped the city, whispers began to name the King as a heretic, a power mad tyrant putting their Kingdom in jeopardy. Zaz echoed these thoughts, expressing her concern for their people and their family to Bahk. At first the Orsimer refused to believe that such a thing could be true but as time went on and the reports from their borders became more and more concerning, the two decided something must be done.
Plans for a coup were hatched and a select mix of religious leaders, politicians and generals met in the dark of night to discuss their next moves. They couldn’t afford a prolonged changing of power, Gortwog had to be removed by force and they decided to replace the monarchy with a council. Doing so would make it easier to recruit others to their cause as the promise of power was always an enticing one. As quickly as things came together, they were even faster to fall apart. Someone slipped up and word got round to Gortwog long before they had the numbers to take a true stand.
All who were involved were bound and brought before the King’s Hand, Gurgoz, in one of the city's great halls. The punishment for treason was death, and all were handed the sentence bar Bahk and his family. For all the work his father, Khadba, had done and for the sake of their relationship, Bahk and his own were offered banishment. It was a charge that Gurgoz vehemently disagreed with, voicing his distaste as Bahk and his wife knelt in front of him, swords held at their throats.
Bahk, firing back, blamed the Hand and the King for dividing their Kingdom, stating that their enemies were in striking distance of their homeland and their time was coming to an end. Even if they truly believed in their newfound religion, they had made their people weak, dividing them at an inopportune moment. Death and banishment for all those involved would weaken critical infrastructure and the ability to survive the coming storm would be diminished. Gurgoz fired back, pointing out the fact that a Daedric Prince was responsible for destroying the Empire and worshipping one would mean that their people would never truly be free. They would never rid themselves of the base desires to destroy their progress and it was the final act of the only Orsimer to ever lead his people out of the darkness. A path to true freedom.
Gurgoz went further, getting personal. He faked surprise that Bahk had such passion left in him, especially after his wife had been nothing but poison in his ear, snuffing the oxygen from the fire that burned within. Pressing on, Gurgoz cited how everyone in the room regularly discussed how the Orsimer had become useless long before the final stage of his life, amazed that they had followed him into treason.
Bahk, on the other hand, lost it, flying into a rage about how all he had ever done was for the good of his people. With his hands bound in front of him, Bahk waited until the sword held at his neck swayed just far enough away to be ducked. Quickly moving to the side he brought his elbow into the groin of the guard, causing him to keel over. Determined to show him that he still possessed his rage in abundance, Bahk pounced, tackling Gurgoz to the ground and wrapping his hands around his neck. The guards, following strict orders not to kill Bahk, made an attempt to pull the giant Orsimer off the Hand. It wasn’t until one of them drove the pummel of their sword into the back of Bahk’s head that the rest were able to pull him off Gurgoz.
Still alive and even more enraged, the Hand took a dagger from one of his troops, walking over to Zaz and slicing her throat in one swift motion. Blood poured from her neck as she stared helplessly at Bahk, trying to reach out for her husband through her binds. Even in his condition it took almost every available guard to hold him down as she dropped to the floor, bleeding out. Gurgoz ordered Bahk to be re-tied and carried on a wagon out of their territory along with his son, proclaiming he was lucky even to be leaving with that.
The journey from the region was a blur, taken by two new recruits out of the city in the back of a wagon, Bahk lay face down, unable to speak or even calm his son from wailing for his mother. The guards, on the other hand, put a stop to Zaghrab’s cries by beating him into submission with Bahk barely registering what was going on. It didn’t take long for them to reach the border of Wayrest with the soldiers tossing the Orsimer from the cart, before cutting free the binds around his feet so he could stand freely.
Splitting up, one of the troops climbed back into the cart to grab the boy, while Bahk gestured to the other to cut the binds from his hands. Green as the recruit was, he followed the loose order, Bahk instantly snapping into action. The giant grabbed the guard's sword arm in one hand, stopping him from bringing it down into his own chest. With his other arm, the Osrimer grabbed the top of the recruits breastplate, pulling him in and delivering a powerful headbutt. The guard crumpled to the floor as the other moved towards Bahk, trying to slice down at him from the back of the wagon. Ducking the swing and retrieving the sword from the ground, Bahk was able to deflect the next few swipes before booting the cart with a powerful kick. Losing his footing, the guard fell from the back of the wagon and as he hit the floor, Bahk drove the sword through the gap in his neck, killing him instantly. The giant then pulled the head of the other guard up, just off the ground and slit his throat.
There was truly no turning back now, though consequences were of little concern to the Orsimer. Nor was his son for that matter, who, distressed by the sight of it all, had begun to wail once more. Returning him to the back of the wagon without another word, the two continued onwards towards his fathers farm.
The journey to the farm was long, made even longer by Bahk’s maintained silence and his refusal to stop along the way. Reaching his fathers farm they found it all but abandoned and overgrown. Weeds and crops ran wild, spilling over the boundaries of the fields and into the surrounding wilderness. While the cottage at the centre of it all stood eerily silent, watching over what was left.
Despite Zaghrab’s concern for his grandfather the two pressed on, with Bahk cutting his way to the front door. Entering the place he found a note sealed with the crest of the Empire, addressed to both him and his wife on top of a chest. Opening the letter, it revealed that just as the Crisis had occurred, his father had returned to the Imperial Legion to help them fend off the Daedra and hopefully find a good death in the process. It ended with Khadba signing off by expressing his pride; his son was truly worthy of carrying on his name and the future of all Orsimer would be safe in their hands.
Opening the chest Bahk found his fathers pteruges and twin axes, handed down to him by his father before him. No longer able to fend off the wave of emotion, Bahk fell to his knees and broke down. Head in his hands, the giant howled as his son stood frozen next to him, unsure of what to do as he had never seen his father like this before. Scared, Zaghrab cautiously approached the Orsimer, reaching out a hand in an attempt to comfort the Mer. Noticing the movement in the corner of his eye, Bahk quickly rejected the advance, choosing instead to bat his son's hand away before berating him in a fit of rage. Despite the condition of the cottage, Bahk sent the boy to a room telling him to stay out of his sight. Wearily, the aging Orc took the chest out back and began to bury it in the yard, hoping to bury his shame along with it.
The next few years were some of the hardest yet, between getting the farm up and running and Bahk's inability to deal with his role in the death of his wife, the relationship between father and son continued to sour. With Zaz’s features forever etched into his face, Zaghrab could do no right, his father criticised him on every possible occasion in the hope to drive the young Orsimer from his sight. Lost, Zaghrab began to blame his mother for the proverbial death of this once great warrior, placing the blame for their predicament squarely on her.
It wasn’t until word reached the farm of Orsinium’s fall that things came to a head. Overheard while trading in Skingrad, Zaghrab raced back to the farm to break the news to his father, pleading with him to venture to the strongholds in the North and help their people rebuild anew. Together they could make a difference, build a new Orsinium and dedicate it to their grandfather. Bahk scoffed at the notion, shooting down the idea. Greater Orsimer than they had tried, the dream of a free and independent Kingdom died with Orsinium, now whoever was left was just as lost and broken as he was.
Unable to bite his tongue for one moment longer, Zaghrab unleashed a volley of insults at his father, wishing he had never met the foul tongued witch that was his mother. Bahk offered nothing in return, choosing instead to simply head out into the field and finish the day's work. Not a single word in Zaghrab’s tirade swayed the old Osrimer, with it only ending when the young mer realised that there was no saving someone who did not want it.
And so he left, disappearing for days and even weeks at a time without so much as a word as to where he went or with whom. On the days when Zaghrab returned, he often came in reeking of alcohol, foul mouthed and covered in someone else's blood, muttering something about needing to lay low for a while. Bahk never cared, nor did he say anything to stop it, he just continued onwards, barely aware of the world that was slowly changing around him.
The end of the road came hard and fast one day when a small contingency of the Count’s men entered the farm. Back for a second time that month, the captain of the guard was demanding a further payment of septims. Alcohol on the Imperial's breath did not go unnoticed by Bahk who, while compliant, told him that they had taken everything during their last visit. It was at this moment, Zaghrab stumbled through the door, the stench of drink even more obvious on him. Immediately recognising the attempted shake down, the young Orsimer began to raise hell, telling the count’s men that they had no place picking on innocent farmers and to get off their property.
Noticing a few of the men’s hands drop to the hilt of their swords, Bahk stepped in front of his son, meekly asking him to calm down. Zaghrab turned to his father and began to push him, demanding to know where his pride had gone and asking why he had not gone to look for death yet. Amused by the family feud, the captain of the guard began commenting about how the boy might have his own position in the Count’s Army one day, likening his behaviour to theirs. Disgusted, Zaghrab pushed past his father, spitting at the captain and telling him that he’ll get his comeuppance soon as “the rebellion is coming”.
Immediately the troops responded by drawing their weapons, forcing the Orsimer to the floor before binding both of their hands and feet. The captain, crimson with rage, ordered both to be hung from the neck until dead, declaring them to be enemies of the Count. Dragged outside, by some of the men, the rest begin to set the farm ablaze by throwing torches on the roof and lighting their crops. Finding opposing tree’s both Orsimer are strung up in front of one another, their attempts to break their binds proving futile. Satisfied, the captain of the guard doesn’t waste any time clearing out his men, leaving Bahk and Zaghrab to their fates.
Whether it was the Nine Divines, Malacath, luck or just the sheer stupidity of the counts men, Bahk’s branch snaps right as the Orsimer loses consciousness; the fall to the ground shocking him awake. Still bound hands and feet, the giant writhes, attempting to get free as Zaghrab enters the final throes of his life. Fate delivers one final cruel twist of the knife as Bahk is forced to watch the life drain from the eyes of his boy.
His world darkened as the sound of fire roared in the background. Perhaps this was the will of Malacath, a punishment for one of the many crimes he had been party to. For a moment he conceded, envisioning himself wandering into the flame. He would bid his son goodbye, beg his father for forgiveness and end it all. Shifting in the dirt, the Orsimer flipped onto his side, looking up at the lifeless body of his boy, expecting to feel nothing but the pain of total remorse.
Fury found him instead.
Blinding white hot rage erupted from the pit of his stomach as the beast spewed up a blood curdling roar. An overwhelming strength seized every fibre of his muscles enabling the giant to fragment the binds that held his hands and feet. Leaping to his feat, Bahk unleashed another terrifying roar before vaulting up the tree and tearing off the branch that held his boy. The Orsimer set to work, grabbing whatever he could salvage from the farm, including his tools, and began to dig for his fathers chest.
Later that night, in the dying embers of the farm, Bahk laid his son to rest, erecting a small memorial to both him and his wife. Sifting through Zaghrab’s pockets, the Orsimer had found a note addressed to his boy, detailing that their group of bandits had been “chosen for the cause” and that they were to fight for Isobel.
Assuming this was the rebellion Zaghrab had spoken of earlier, Bahk went about gathering his things, tossing them in the back of his wagon. The note spoke of a well vetted meeting spot for potential recruits, so all the Orsimer would have to do is head there and wait.
Maybe it was the final words of his son, maybe it was the will of a god or the teachings of his father. Whatever it was, the warrior had finally returned.
There once was a time where the name Bahk gro-Khadba was heralded all the way from the borders of Wayrest to the tops of the Wrothgar Mountains. A stalwart champion of the people, the Orsimer was a leader worthy of aspiration, carrying a family name that could’ve given way to a dynasty had the winds of fate been kind. Destiny, however, can be a fickle thing, giving to the creatures of Tamriel just as easily as it takes away.
Bahk’s story begins with his father, Khadba gro-Yazol, right hand to King Gortwog himself. Khadba was a fine example of what the King envisioned for the future of his people. Loyal, strong, formidable but most of all tactical; an Orsimer that thought before he spoke, watched before he moved and led the armies of Nova Orsinium to victory against their many enemies.
There are even those who say the idea for the duel against the Breton, Lord Bowen, was Khadba’s idea. For he expressed knowing that the Emperor would never have recognised their claim if they were to take land by force. More often than not, any praise for King Gortwog’s diplomatic accomplishments came hand in hand with the recognition of his valiant advisor.
So when a baby boy was born under the sign of the ‘Warrior’, it was seen as a direct blessing from Malacath; a gift for all Bahk’s fathers hard work. As such, the first and only child of Khadba, was made to repay the gift in kind by dedicating his life to the Daedric Prince and his Code. Training began as soon as the infant could stand on his own two feet. With his mornings being assigned to a series of combat drills and his afternoons consisting of pouring through texts and scrolls, that recounted the most famous battles of ages gone by.
As the years went by and adolescence creased the horizon, the boy began to grow large. Towering over his peers more and more with each passing day. His combat prowess came to him as naturally as his size and strength. Bahk was even capable of using dual fighting techniques born out of their infamous berserker rage. However, all was not perfect. Seemingly the more he succeeded outside the classroom, the harder it became to focus inside. Tactics did not speak to him the same way they spoke to his father. Recognising this, and determined to prove that all Orsimer were more than barbarians, Khadba introduced the growing boy to the smiths of the city. Discipline would be found in front of the hot coals that bound iron and orichalcum together.
"Orcish armor, hmm? Had me a set of that once. Ugly and strong, like those that forged it."
The practice did more than just speak to him. It sang a song more powerful than that of a siren, beckoning the Orsimer every evening to bask in the warm glow of the forge.
And that was it for a time. Combat in the morning, smithing in the evening and a private word to Malacath before bed. It wasn’t until he was 17 that he saw any real action.
The Warp in the West, an event that shaped several Kingdoms and yet is a mystery to almost all who were a part of it. When asked, Bahk would say it was akin to those first few moments in which you wake from a dream. You can only recall flashes of what you saw and while it was preposterous, you can’t help but question whether it was true or not. The armies of Orsinium fighting alongside an impossibly large golden statue? Slaying their enemies by the thousands? The ultimate Orsimer fantasy if there ever was one.
Regardless, left in the Warp’s wake was opportunity, a golden ticket handed to them by fate itself. Forty four Kingdoms had been reduced to four and the fight was on to see who could take a slice for themselves. The next few years were spent carving out new borders, with Bahk stepping out from the shadow of his father and forging his own path in his own unique way. The Orsimer proved to be an excellent soldier, unyielding on the battlefield and utilising the famed berserker rage at the most opportune moments.
Bahk’s claim to fame came during what started as a light skirmish on a newly formed Wayrest border, a year after the Warp. Initially, both armies were camped out on opposing sides of what was once the banks of a river, now turned marsh. Sat on either side of quite a wide stone bridge, the Orsimer had their backs against a rocky outface, with the only way to move being to follow the marsh up or down the banks.
On the opposite end, the enemy encampment was perched atop a slight incline, giving them enough of an advantage to stop the Orsimer launching an attack. Unfortunately for the armies of Wayrest, the bulk of their forces were spread thin fighting a three-way war on their western and southern border. This meant they were unable to press their advantage and with no reinforcements in sight, both armies had reached a stalemate.
The two groups had been there long enough for the Orsimer commander to grow a little too complacent. He believed he knew the enemy well enough not to try anything. While in reality the Wayrest army had a forced change of command, when a wayward arrow caught their previous leader in the neck. Their new commander was a Breton who was an intelligent but overly ambitious man. Desperate for recognition, he had the innovative thought to fashion their own bridge out of wood from their supply carts. Following the marsh downstream from where they were camped, they would build a bridge under the cover of darkness and move a significant chunk of their force across. Then they would begin a frontal assault across the bridge, followed by a surprise attack from the side, declaring aloud that reinforcements had arrived.
Initially the plan went off without a hitch. The Orsimer commander fell for their assault on the bridge, committing all his troops to their defence. The early hours of the morning mist covered the Bretons approach from their flank and by the time anyone realised, it was too late. The Breton’s forces cut neatly into the sides of the Orsimer. Horns blared as the men on the bridge cheered and cried out “reinforcements” as loud as they could, while the Orsimer troops began to buckle and fold. Believing their claim to be true, it wasn’t long before some of their rank began to rout completely.
Bahk, a captain at the time, was unconcerned about the surprise attack; not because he saw through the ruse but because retreat was not their way. He commanded his unit to break away from the bridge assault and form a thin, one man deep, shield wall, facing the enemy ‘reinforcements’. Rather than trying to try to stop the advance of the enemy itself, Bahk’s plan was to stop their own forces routing by giving them nowhere to retreat. Between their wall and the rock face, there was little else where to go.
The towering Orsimer stood in front of his own line, practically tearing his cuirass from his chest and throwing his warhammer to one side. Bare chested he roared, as more of their lines broke, pushing over any of his kin that came close to him before commanding them to stand and join his line. Any who got past the captain ran into the shield wall, forcing them to about face. Eventually Orsimer forces rallied and Bahk removed his twin axes from their place at his belt. He commanded his troops forward, still in formation, slipping behind them as they met the enemy line. His roars continued as they began to push the enemy back towards their newly made bridge. When one of his men spotted where they had come from, Bahk led a charge down the flank, along the riverbank, cutting off the enemy's retreat.
A great victory was had that day as the Orsimer slaughtered the force who had crossed the river before pushing what remained back over the bridge and securing the other side. Bahk was met with a promotion and many a commendation, becoming quite the celebrity in the process.
After a time, the region calmed, with the King opting for a diplomatic approach to their new found neighbours rather than at the tip of a sword. High off their victories and the founding of the new Kingdom, Gortwog partitioned the Emperor for official recognition and induction into the Empire. Envoys were sent back and forth from the Imperial City as the Orsimer people committed to them through taxation and the lending of military figures to the Imperial Army. Khadba was one such figure. In light of his son’s victories, promotion and adoration, Bahk’s father was sent along with a diplomatic envoy, swearing fealty to the Emperor and offering his services as a General in the Imperial Army.
Though Khadba started his time in the Emperor’s forces as a General in name only, he soon proved his worth and was fully integrated into the service. As such, he was assigned a plot of land in the county of Skingrad, for the day he sought to retire. A new right hand was assigned by the King and life prospered in Orsinium once more. Bahk took to writing letters to his father, sending them off with the Imperial Envoy that moved between the White Gold tower and Orsinium. It was during these moments (and probably through the intervention of his father on the other side of those letters) that a young Orsimer by the name of Zazsha gra-Badbu began to strike up conversation with Bahk.
Revered for her beauty and feared for her silver forked tongue, Zaz, as she liked to be called, was head of the diplomatic envoy. She was another Orsimer who fit the King’s bill of vision perfectly. The diplomat spun her words into an irresistible web with Bahk being caught in the middle, falling head over heels in love. The two became infatuated with each other, stealing whatever moments they could. It didn’t take long for the two to wed, with Bahk boasting how he had to lock her down before she talked someone else into it. The two married and produced a baby boy, giving him the name of Zaghrab gro-Bahk.
The boy was the spitting image of his mother and as time went on, he began to follow in her footsteps venturing into Cyrodiil alongside the envoy. Bahk was happy with his new life and despite murmurs within the ranks about his wife “dulling his blade”, the Orsimer took up a position helping command the city's guard. In his view, the borders were safe and the next step for his people would come from within, so there was nowhere more important he could be. The Kingdom was on the cusp of being formally recognised and even his father had taken up retirement on the farm, content with building a future for his new family before eventually seeking a good death, just as Malacath intended.
The story of Bahk would’ve ended here, happily ever after, if not for what came next. The Oblivion Crisis altered the world irrevocably and although the Orsimer were able to hold off the onslaught of Daedra long enough for Martin to sacrifice himself, the fallout would consume all that they had built.
The Emperor had died before officially recognising Orsinium as an official territory. Not that it would’ve mattered much as the whole of the Empire fractured, plunging into chaos. With no protection from the Empire’s legions, their enemies began to circle like vultures, poking and prodding at their borders. The King had grown old, with some fearing he had passed his time and others saying that his Hand sought the throne for himself. Whatever the reason Gortwog released a sweeping declaration that Malacath was nothing but a false god. A deceiver and a demon, their true god, Trinimac, was still out there.
Unrest gripped the city, whispers began to name the King as a heretic, a power mad tyrant putting their Kingdom in jeopardy. Zaz echoed these thoughts, expressing her concern for their people and their family to Bahk. At first the Orsimer refused to believe that such a thing could be true but as time went on and the reports from their borders became more and more concerning, the two decided something must be done.
Plans for a coup were hatched and a select mix of religious leaders, politicians and generals met in the dark of night to discuss their next moves. They couldn’t afford a prolonged changing of power, Gortwog had to be removed by force and they decided to replace the monarchy with a council. Doing so would make it easier to recruit others to their cause as the promise of power was always an enticing one. As quickly as things came together, they were even faster to fall apart. Someone slipped up and word got round to Gortwog long before they had the numbers to take a true stand.
All who were involved were bound and brought before the King’s Hand, Gurgoz, in one of the city's great halls. The punishment for treason was death, and all were handed the sentence bar Bahk and his family. For all the work his father, Khadba, had done and for the sake of their relationship, Bahk and his own were offered banishment. It was a charge that Gurgoz vehemently disagreed with, voicing his distaste as Bahk and his wife knelt in front of him, swords held at their throats.
Bahk, firing back, blamed the Hand and the King for dividing their Kingdom, stating that their enemies were in striking distance of their homeland and their time was coming to an end. Even if they truly believed in their newfound religion, they had made their people weak, dividing them at an inopportune moment. Death and banishment for all those involved would weaken critical infrastructure and the ability to survive the coming storm would be diminished. Gurgoz fired back, pointing out the fact that a Daedric Prince was responsible for destroying the Empire and worshipping one would mean that their people would never truly be free. They would never rid themselves of the base desires to destroy their progress and it was the final act of the only Orsimer to ever lead his people out of the darkness. A path to true freedom.
Gurgoz went further, getting personal. He faked surprise that Bahk had such passion left in him, especially after his wife had been nothing but poison in his ear, snuffing the oxygen from the fire that burned within. Pressing on, Gurgoz cited how everyone in the room regularly discussed how the Orsimer had become useless long before the final stage of his life, amazed that they had followed him into treason.
Bahk, on the other hand, lost it, flying into a rage about how all he had ever done was for the good of his people. With his hands bound in front of him, Bahk waited until the sword held at his neck swayed just far enough away to be ducked. Quickly moving to the side he brought his elbow into the groin of the guard, causing him to keel over. Determined to show him that he still possessed his rage in abundance, Bahk pounced, tackling Gurgoz to the ground and wrapping his hands around his neck. The guards, following strict orders not to kill Bahk, made an attempt to pull the giant Orsimer off the Hand. It wasn’t until one of them drove the pummel of their sword into the back of Bahk’s head that the rest were able to pull him off Gurgoz.
Still alive and even more enraged, the Hand took a dagger from one of his troops, walking over to Zaz and slicing her throat in one swift motion. Blood poured from her neck as she stared helplessly at Bahk, trying to reach out for her husband through her binds. Even in his condition it took almost every available guard to hold him down as she dropped to the floor, bleeding out. Gurgoz ordered Bahk to be re-tied and carried on a wagon out of their territory along with his son, proclaiming he was lucky even to be leaving with that.
The journey from the region was a blur, taken by two new recruits out of the city in the back of a wagon, Bahk lay face down, unable to speak or even calm his son from wailing for his mother. The guards, on the other hand, put a stop to Zaghrab’s cries by beating him into submission with Bahk barely registering what was going on. It didn’t take long for them to reach the border of Wayrest with the soldiers tossing the Orsimer from the cart, before cutting free the binds around his feet so he could stand freely.
Splitting up, one of the troops climbed back into the cart to grab the boy, while Bahk gestured to the other to cut the binds from his hands. Green as the recruit was, he followed the loose order, Bahk instantly snapping into action. The giant grabbed the guard's sword arm in one hand, stopping him from bringing it down into his own chest. With his other arm, the Osrimer grabbed the top of the recruits breastplate, pulling him in and delivering a powerful headbutt. The guard crumpled to the floor as the other moved towards Bahk, trying to slice down at him from the back of the wagon. Ducking the swing and retrieving the sword from the ground, Bahk was able to deflect the next few swipes before booting the cart with a powerful kick. Losing his footing, the guard fell from the back of the wagon and as he hit the floor, Bahk drove the sword through the gap in his neck, killing him instantly. The giant then pulled the head of the other guard up, just off the ground and slit his throat.
There was truly no turning back now, though consequences were of little concern to the Orsimer. Nor was his son for that matter, who, distressed by the sight of it all, had begun to wail once more. Returning him to the back of the wagon without another word, the two continued onwards towards his fathers farm.
The journey to the farm was long, made even longer by Bahk’s maintained silence and his refusal to stop along the way. Reaching his fathers farm they found it all but abandoned and overgrown. Weeds and crops ran wild, spilling over the boundaries of the fields and into the surrounding wilderness. While the cottage at the centre of it all stood eerily silent, watching over what was left.
Despite Zaghrab’s concern for his grandfather the two pressed on, with Bahk cutting his way to the front door. Entering the place he found a note sealed with the crest of the Empire, addressed to both him and his wife on top of a chest. Opening the letter, it revealed that just as the Crisis had occurred, his father had returned to the Imperial Legion to help them fend off the Daedra and hopefully find a good death in the process. It ended with Khadba signing off by expressing his pride; his son was truly worthy of carrying on his name and the future of all Orsimer would be safe in their hands.
Opening the chest Bahk found his fathers pteruges and twin axes, handed down to him by his father before him. No longer able to fend off the wave of emotion, Bahk fell to his knees and broke down. Head in his hands, the giant howled as his son stood frozen next to him, unsure of what to do as he had never seen his father like this before. Scared, Zaghrab cautiously approached the Orsimer, reaching out a hand in an attempt to comfort the Mer. Noticing the movement in the corner of his eye, Bahk quickly rejected the advance, choosing instead to bat his son's hand away before berating him in a fit of rage. Despite the condition of the cottage, Bahk sent the boy to a room telling him to stay out of his sight. Wearily, the aging Orc took the chest out back and began to bury it in the yard, hoping to bury his shame along with it.
The next few years were some of the hardest yet, between getting the farm up and running and Bahk's inability to deal with his role in the death of his wife, the relationship between father and son continued to sour. With Zaz’s features forever etched into his face, Zaghrab could do no right, his father criticised him on every possible occasion in the hope to drive the young Orsimer from his sight. Lost, Zaghrab began to blame his mother for the proverbial death of this once great warrior, placing the blame for their predicament squarely on her.
It wasn’t until word reached the farm of Orsinium’s fall that things came to a head. Overheard while trading in Skingrad, Zaghrab raced back to the farm to break the news to his father, pleading with him to venture to the strongholds in the North and help their people rebuild anew. Together they could make a difference, build a new Orsinium and dedicate it to their grandfather. Bahk scoffed at the notion, shooting down the idea. Greater Orsimer than they had tried, the dream of a free and independent Kingdom died with Orsinium, now whoever was left was just as lost and broken as he was.
Unable to bite his tongue for one moment longer, Zaghrab unleashed a volley of insults at his father, wishing he had never met the foul tongued witch that was his mother. Bahk offered nothing in return, choosing instead to simply head out into the field and finish the day's work. Not a single word in Zaghrab’s tirade swayed the old Osrimer, with it only ending when the young mer realised that there was no saving someone who did not want it.
And so he left, disappearing for days and even weeks at a time without so much as a word as to where he went or with whom. On the days when Zaghrab returned, he often came in reeking of alcohol, foul mouthed and covered in someone else's blood, muttering something about needing to lay low for a while. Bahk never cared, nor did he say anything to stop it, he just continued onwards, barely aware of the world that was slowly changing around him.
The end of the road came hard and fast one day when a small contingency of the Count’s men entered the farm. Back for a second time that month, the captain of the guard was demanding a further payment of septims. Alcohol on the Imperial's breath did not go unnoticed by Bahk who, while compliant, told him that they had taken everything during their last visit. It was at this moment, Zaghrab stumbled through the door, the stench of drink even more obvious on him. Immediately recognising the attempted shake down, the young Orsimer began to raise hell, telling the count’s men that they had no place picking on innocent farmers and to get off their property.
Noticing a few of the men’s hands drop to the hilt of their swords, Bahk stepped in front of his son, meekly asking him to calm down. Zaghrab turned to his father and began to push him, demanding to know where his pride had gone and asking why he had not gone to look for death yet. Amused by the family feud, the captain of the guard began commenting about how the boy might have his own position in the Count’s Army one day, likening his behaviour to theirs. Disgusted, Zaghrab pushed past his father, spitting at the captain and telling him that he’ll get his comeuppance soon as “the rebellion is coming”.
Immediately the troops responded by drawing their weapons, forcing the Orsimer to the floor before binding both of their hands and feet. The captain, crimson with rage, ordered both to be hung from the neck until dead, declaring them to be enemies of the Count. Dragged outside, by some of the men, the rest begin to set the farm ablaze by throwing torches on the roof and lighting their crops. Finding opposing tree’s both Orsimer are strung up in front of one another, their attempts to break their binds proving futile. Satisfied, the captain of the guard doesn’t waste any time clearing out his men, leaving Bahk and Zaghrab to their fates.
Whether it was the Nine Divines, Malacath, luck or just the sheer stupidity of the counts men, Bahk’s branch snaps right as the Orsimer loses consciousness; the fall to the ground shocking him awake. Still bound hands and feet, the giant writhes, attempting to get free as Zaghrab enters the final throes of his life. Fate delivers one final cruel twist of the knife as Bahk is forced to watch the life drain from the eyes of his boy.
His world darkened as the sound of fire roared in the background. Perhaps this was the will of Malacath, a punishment for one of the many crimes he had been party to. For a moment he conceded, envisioning himself wandering into the flame. He would bid his son goodbye, beg his father for forgiveness and end it all. Shifting in the dirt, the Orsimer flipped onto his side, looking up at the lifeless body of his boy, expecting to feel nothing but the pain of total remorse.
Fury found him instead.
Blinding white hot rage erupted from the pit of his stomach as the beast spewed up a blood curdling roar. An overwhelming strength seized every fibre of his muscles enabling the giant to fragment the binds that held his hands and feet. Leaping to his feat, Bahk unleashed another terrifying roar before vaulting up the tree and tearing off the branch that held his boy. The Orsimer set to work, grabbing whatever he could salvage from the farm, including his tools, and began to dig for his fathers chest.
Later that night, in the dying embers of the farm, Bahk laid his son to rest, erecting a small memorial to both him and his wife. Sifting through Zaghrab’s pockets, the Orsimer had found a note addressed to his boy, detailing that their group of bandits had been “chosen for the cause” and that they were to fight for Isobel.
Assuming this was the rebellion Zaghrab had spoken of earlier, Bahk went about gathering his things, tossing them in the back of his wagon. The note spoke of a well vetted meeting spot for potential recruits, so all the Orsimer would have to do is head there and wait.
Maybe it was the final words of his son, maybe it was the will of a god or the teachings of his father. Whatever it was, the warrior had finally returned.
Janus: “Three blades, nothing fancy but well maintained. His boots tell me that he is ready for action but he moves slow. It’s not age, I do not hear his bones ache for death but there was that one moment. An instant when his face met mine and for a split second, it was like looking in a mirror… Bah. Three blades. Knows how to swing them. It will do.”
Akamon: “His blade, I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s orichalcum but no Orsimer has ever crafted something so delicate. It doesn’t matter anyway, the Redguard prefers to dance with the thing more than he does fight with it. Prefers to charm those around him into the fight too. At least the fire in him burns brightly.”
Reyna: “I keep hearing talk of two young humans who hate Orsimer. A Breton and a Nord. The mages and the farmer swear it’s not them and that messenger boy just wets his pants everytime I look his way. Ugh who cares, there’s so many little humans scurrying about, it could be any of them.”
Quintus: “He fights with a pitchfork and talks to what should be food. If this is our army then death is on the horizon.”
Durzum: “I don’t care what the heretic fights with, he should’ve died at Orsinium.”
Velyn: “Hmph, Dunmer. Always too concerned with how their weapons look, rather than the strength of them. This one in particular talks in riddles, howling them at the moon as he plucks an instrument. He fights with reckless abandon of which the man beside him may end up paying for.”
Ando: “An unguarded Akaviri blade, kept in pristine condition. To wield such a thing speaks for itself. Don’t fight this one.”
Elara: “A mage; fights with a glorified twig and spends her time buried in books. Her hands are too clean and she sits too high on her horse.”
Reinette: “I’ve watched her for some time now. Not in the way Akamon does with those wandering eyes but in adoration. The way she dominates a room, commanding it with her words, just like she used to. Sure, there are days it pains me to watch but I can never bring myself to look away. I am drawn in, sworn to protect her, even though she may never know why.”
Guifort: “A crossbow, the weapon of choice for the unskilled. Luckily he is half Orsimer which means he can lift the damn thing. If the Count’s men could be talked to death then we’d have just the army for that. Not sure what good a priest is for anyone who isn’t already dead.”
Akamon: “His blade, I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s orichalcum but no Orsimer has ever crafted something so delicate. It doesn’t matter anyway, the Redguard prefers to dance with the thing more than he does fight with it. Prefers to charm those around him into the fight too. At least the fire in him burns brightly.”
Reyna: “I keep hearing talk of two young humans who hate Orsimer. A Breton and a Nord. The mages and the farmer swear it’s not them and that messenger boy just wets his pants everytime I look his way. Ugh who cares, there’s so many little humans scurrying about, it could be any of them.”
Quintus: “He fights with a pitchfork and talks to what should be food. If this is our army then death is on the horizon.”
Durzum: “I don’t care what the heretic fights with, he should’ve died at Orsinium.”
Velyn: “Hmph, Dunmer. Always too concerned with how their weapons look, rather than the strength of them. This one in particular talks in riddles, howling them at the moon as he plucks an instrument. He fights with reckless abandon of which the man beside him may end up paying for.”
Ando: “An unguarded Akaviri blade, kept in pristine condition. To wield such a thing speaks for itself. Don’t fight this one.”
Elara: “A mage; fights with a glorified twig and spends her time buried in books. Her hands are too clean and she sits too high on her horse.”
Reinette: “I’ve watched her for some time now. Not in the way Akamon does with those wandering eyes but in adoration. The way she dominates a room, commanding it with her words, just like she used to. Sure, there are days it pains me to watch but I can never bring myself to look away. I am drawn in, sworn to protect her, even though she may never know why.”
Guifort: “A crossbow, the weapon of choice for the unskilled. Luckily he is half Orsimer which means he can lift the damn thing. If the Count’s men could be talked to death then we’d have just the army for that. Not sure what good a priest is for anyone who isn’t already dead.”
