Upon the blood sacrifice of Osgrikh’s two siblings, Lashgikh swears an oath of vengeance to Malacath against the stronghold prince for the murder of her husband in the Obsidian Scar.
For the Orsimer, a tusk for a tusk is never enough. They consider that to be but justice, a weak human notion like forgiveness and clemency.
Humans see vengeance as a state of mind brought on by passion, we think it a sickness, as wounding to the avenger as it is to their victim. But for the Orc, vengeance goes much deeper than just a state of mind, it is in the beat of their hearts. It is the honour code by which they have survived, and it is what they believe both defines and unites them as a people; because even when a solitary Orc cries vengeance, it is as a chorus.
There is an old Orsimer adage which sums it up best; “Vengeance feeds upon the blood of man, the Orc feeds upon the blood of vengeance.”
Doom Witch Dekamma – Ogmash the Mighty
Bumbuk Bear-Slayer – High Overseer Kvotai
Grand Shaman Glazgor – Zilbash the Deceiver
Murgbakh Axe-Hands – Zozullu
As soon as I entered the hefty wooden gates, the mordacious air began to weigh heavily upon my lungs. The torches lining its cavernous halls battle against the onerous gloom, whilst the stone walls drip with tears of bile. Howls, gnarls, murmur and shadows torment my heart at every corner of the long dank corridors. Whatever the architects’ original purpose was for this crumbling subterranean edifice, now it is claimed as a home by the reviled Oathboand clan and their Daedric collaborators.
Whilst the Oathbound Orc tribe swears its loyalty to Orsinium, their fealty is firmly avowed to the Daedric Prince Malacath. Renowned for their violence and savagery both in and out of battle, yet it is their single-minded observance of Malacath’s code of honour that strikes most fear in outsiders. The Oathbound’s creed is to make victims of all others, before they have chance to make victims of them.
I meet a lone Orc named Lashgirk lingering just inside the fortress gates. She and her Redguard husband had been kidnapped by the Oathbound on behalf of her former clan. She displayed the true spirit of an Orsimer in fighting her way out, but her husband never made it. The sole reason I decide to venture deeper into this damnable charnel, is to discover his fate for this noble Orc.
In the hills overlooking Hoarfrost Downs I discovered a secluded cave whose only other visitor appears to be a rather large hill troll. Upon approach a most curious thing, a tree began to speak, not directly to me, but about me.
It is easy to see how a mischievous talking tree spirit might convince some of the more ‘uncivilized’ peoples of Tamriel that the tree itself is a God. Indeed, it would appear to be a rather simple scheme to convince the witless that you are a deity; just ask the next Dark Elf you meet about their Tribunal.
Here however, it appears a member of the Shornhelm Mages guild foolhardily attempted to extend his own life by spell and ritual, but somehow managed to trap his spirit in the body of the tree. Unfortunately as a result he has doomed not only himself, but also the spirit of the tree which is now trapped mid-enchantment in the nearby Sorrow’s cave.
Nature has always been the principle victim of man’s futile quest for immortality; and yet nature feels not anger or resentment towards mankind for their enduring folly, only pity.
Another of Molag Bal’s dark anchors falls upon Tamriel at the Westmark Moor in Rivenspire, and another disparate band of adventures set aside their banners and unite to defend our land.
Again and again the peoples of Tamriel come together to repel these Daedric invaders. Men, Mer, Feline, and Reptilians united by a common fear, not of the enemy in front of us, but for the safety of our families behind. Because no matter our allegiance, the fate of the Imperial City has shown us all that if we concede even just a little to these demons from the outerworlds, then eventually they will take it all.