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The Adventures of Agrom the Orc by CombiningPowers

Part 1:

Perusing and poking around the dense woodlands near Riverwood with the summery wind on his face and the crackling of fire in his palms, Agrom Crolug searched for the entrance to Embershard Mine, convinced that the underground quarry held the item he was tasked with retrieving. Born as a Half-Orc to his tribe, it was often customary for the 35 year old creature to venture away from the confines of his Stronghold; his more human characteristics granting him better treatment by the Nord’s that densely populated the large province. Still, adventuring was much better than hammering swords and forging axe’s all day long; Agrom enjoyably immersing himself in the mystery and wonder that could be found under every rock and behind every mountain

“It must be nearby,” muttered the green-skinned beast to himself as he explored the twisting dirt paths that diverged off the rocky main-road, his hand gripped firmly around the Orcish mace that hung from his belt as he prepared himself for the hundredth wolf that day to attack him. Strangely enough, a lot of the wild animals that attempted to kill him on his adventures spilled handfuls of gold Septims and small jewels from their guts. Were they the undigested remains of the previous victims? These were the questions that spun around Agrom’s green dome as he travelled; his naturally inquisitive nature only adding to the list of reasons why he was on the outskirts of civilisation while his brethren were laughing and drinking around a roaring campfire.

Suddenly hearing voices from behind the dense shrubbery and grass that surrounded him like a cocoon, Agrom crouched down; wincing in discomfort as he heard his kneecaps pop with an audible click. Even though Orcish armour was heavy, rigid and worst of all tinted an ugly shade of swamp vomit, the 35 year old begrudgingly carried its immense weight on his muscular frame; still remembering the day many years ago when his mother hand-forged the set before his travels. Though it was scuffed and scratched to oblivion and back, the expert craftsmanship coupled with the pure orichalcum had protected him more than once from the deadly strike of an ebony arrow or the hearty swing of a battle-axe.

Sneaking closer as quietly as he could, Crolug followed the sounds of the chatter until he could finally see the entrance to what must’ve been the mine; the two ‘guards’ probably too busy arguing with one another to see a 6-foot Orc in full armour crawl towards them. As they were dressed like bandits and behaved like bandits, Agrom took a deep breath and quickly charged forward, raising his mace and preparing to strike. Distracted and caught completely off guard, the two poorly-armoured foes fell to the earthy ground dead from only two powerful swings; the green-skinned man shaking the crimson blood that had splattered across his one-handed weapon. The Orc then proceeded to quickly search the still-warm corpses, patting them down quickly and effectively with his tattered gloves. As usual, he found nothing but literal quivers of iron-arrows; despite the absence of a bow of any sort. He swore under his breath in discontent as he headed towards the rotten wooden entrance to Embershard Mine, disappointed that nothing of value could be obtained. It felt almost pointless to kill sometimes; though it’s not like it was his fault. He could literally pull a bandit’s spine out of his body with his bare hands and drink the blood as it squirted outwards like a fountain and that still wouldn’t stop the fiend’s friends from attempting to fight back to the death. “If only there was another way,” whispered Agrom quietly as he entered the musty mine, brandishing his bloodied wet mace once again; knowing that his armour would be a lot less green when he emerged once again.

“C’mon Orc, I’m not afraid of you!” shrieked the yellow-eyed Altmer woman as she blindly walked backwards through the sea of lifeless bodies that had been piled from the earlier skirmish; her furs tattered and covered in both soot and blood. “Really? You really wanna fight me?” questioned Agrom with disbelief as he gestured with his dripping weapon towards the handful of dead bandits that painted the cave; not even breaking a sweat from the excessive but easy battle. “You underestimate my power, the raw energy that flows through my veins!” continued the crazed woman as she raised her hands; her knuckles white as he held the tense pose. Scoffing impolitely and taking a step forward, Agrom was completely blown away when a massive fireball was suddenly thrown towards him; his armoured body crashing violently against a thick wooden support-beam. Groaning in immense pain, the Orc could barely stand; many of his ribs completely shattered from the magnified collision; his thick, metal armour enhancing the damage done tenfold at the very least.

“Foolish creature, you take me for a common thug when I am so much more,” taunted the Elven woman as she held a shining blue ward in front of her body; shielding her from the flames that had already begun to spread from the initial impact. Coughing up small amounts of blood as his internal organs bled; Agrom tried to get back up, knowing that even a single punch from his muscular arm would be enough to down the surprise sorcerer. That and maybe if he could reach his rucksack that he had dropped while soaring through the air, he could down a potion or two that would give him an edge once again. “You must be very proud of your armour. I saw as you deflected my friends blades and arrows as if they were made of candy,” taunted the magic-user as she dispelled her ward; standing over Agrom with a wicked grin slathered across her face. “You think you’re invulnerable … but you’re dead wrong!” cackled the Elven bandit as she began pouring a constant stream of fire from her palms; the flames arching out in a cone-like shape, engulfing the 35 year old completely as he remained broken and bashed on the cave floor.

Slowly but surely, the Orcish armour began to heat up; Crolug screaming loudly as he was mercilessly boiled alive. His face, neck and body was drenched in both sweat and blood as he was pinned down and scorched; the woman laughing manically as she readily converted her large pool of magicka into a fiery storm of destruction. Struggling to fight back or even move out of the sorcerer’s inferno, the Orc could not readily do anything; his body too broken and his armour literally liquifying around him. Closing his eyes slowly as the immense heat and steam overwhelmed him, Agrom could feel a growing sensation arise from within his chest. It was deep and primal and it felt like someone was hammering an anvil over his heart; the Orc mistaking the feeling for the cold embrace of death. It was however the complete opposite. All of a sudden, the green-skinned beast roared and threw his powerful arms in a large arc from his grounded position; his left arm colliding with the support beam while his right arm smashed into the Elf’s legs. Screeching as she fell, the spell finally came to an end; the precious armour still glowing red as if freshly pulled from the forge’s brimstone itself.

With all his energy, Crolug rolled over onto the downed woman, using all his strength to push his large and dense frame. “No wait, what are you-” began the inhumane witch as Agrom crushed her with his mass and his new weapon, his blazing hot armour searing her flesh and melting her skin as it firmly sunk into her. Within moments she was dead, her face permanently twisted with a horrifying expression as the Orcish set bonded with her body on the molecular level. Gasping for air and mustering more of his inner strength, the 35 year old pulled himself away from the now dead bandit, the buckles on the sides of his armour coming undone with ease; damaged by the blazing heat. Pained and close to death, Agrom closed his eyes and channelled his healing magic; holding his arms above his head as he concentrated on the novice spell. Born with the gift of restoration magic, the Orc groaned and moaned as he felt the sublime energy course through his badly injured body. He wouldn’t be able to use the spell for as long as he would’ve wished, but it was enough to keep him from dying of blunt-force trauma.

He looked at the charred remains of the evil bandit and felt a great hatred boil inside his veins; his Orcish armour completely twisted and damaged beyond repair. It was all his fault as well, he got cocky and nearly paid the price with his life. Unfortunately, nothing could be done; though he now knew the weakness to his once-thought indestructible armour. Wincing in pain as he attempted to get up, the proud Orc shook off his gloves and kicked off his boots; believing that he would either wear it all or nothing. Turning to pick up his rucksack that had fallen earlier in the explosion, Agrom quickly downed ALL the red flasks that littered the bag; its sweet taste flavouring his tongue in the most wonderful manner. Already he felt stronger and revitalised, but he knew it would take days or even weeks for his bones to fully mend and his muscle tissue to stitch itself back together. Even though the potions looked like they cured disease and re-grew limbs from stumps, they were most likely just liquid painkillers that numbed the person into thinking they were healthier. Not that anyone in Tamriel complained.

As he walked towards the convenient exit wearing nothing but but his own skin and carrying the small bag of essential items on his bare back, the curious Orc glimpsed upon an old book lying on what must’ve been the witch’s desk. Trudging towards the dusty furniture, Agrom’s eyes lit up with glee as he eyed a single tome scattered amongst empty mugs and upturned mead bottles; its inscribed symbol classifying it as an official tome for Destruction magic. Smiling wildly as he carefully swept the book into his bag, the Orc left the mine with a small sprig in his step, completely forgetting why he was there in the first place.

With the warm summer air once again sailing across his burnt flesh, Agrom smiled as his large feet crushed the stalks of grass beneath; his soles digging into the weak patches of soil below as he walked. It was good to be alive and even though he had lost a great deal that day, he had also learned a valuable lesson; a lesson he would carry with him to the grave. ‘Stay away from fire’ commanded the naked Orc to himself as he ventured away from the woodlands and towards the main road, eager to pick up even a potato-sack at this point to cover up his exposed tissue and dangling genitals. As he broke through the grassy clearing and took a single step towards the gravelly road, the air shook around him, as if he were placed in a glass bottle that was being hurled around a drunken tavern. Looking up through half-closed eyes as dust swirled around him like a shrouded cloud, the Orc could see the beating of huge, scaled wings. Dragon wings. The beast was immense and even though it was miles above him in the sky, he could feel the aftershock of its reckless and chaotic flying. To make matters worse, the creature exhaled a large stream of fire from its fanged mouth, as if showing the world below what it could do; its not like it was attacking anything that high up in the sky.

The green-skinned Orc shivered as he relived the daunting flames he had just escaped from, not eager to find himself in a similar situation too soon. Heading towards Riverwood, Agrom was surprised once again to hear the pounding of footsteps behind him on the dust-covered road; turning to face the new potential threat. Even though he could see the figure rapidly approaching him, it seems the dragon flying overhead was a much bigger distraction and before Agrom could call out; the individual crashed head-on into him. The unknown man shrieked in surprise as he collided with the Orc and the two were sent tumbling onto the rocky road, Agrom wincing in pain as his damaged body was once again subjected to unnecessary trauma. “I’m so sorry, I just escaped from Helgen and I MUST get to Riverwood,” rattled the human male nervously as he pulled himself off his unfortunate tackling victim, the dust cloud still shrouding the area in a light haze. “Please, let me buy you a drink for my clumsiness” began the man before his surroundings cleared just enough for him to see properly, his mouth agape as he gazed upon the Orc. A completely naked Orc to make things … worse?

“Wow, you are not wearing anything at all,” observed the human as he extended out his arm, looking completely sideways to avoid further insult to injury. Agrom grunted but accepted the helping hand, the strong man pulling him to his bare feet in one quick motion. “Seems we’re both heading towards the same location, lets get moving,” stated Crolug bluntly as he began walking, unaware of the social stigma’s of his nude state to the other races. The human male, unsure of what just happened, trudged along behind the tall and muscular Orc, taking a quick peek at the muscular ass swinging before him. It wasn’t the dragon that was distracting him anymore that’s for sure.

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