WIP Wednesday - Aristeia
I was tagged by @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish and @tallmatcha last week so now I am queuing up my WIP Wednesday post for early morning so it is YOU WHO ARE THE TAGGED BWAHAHAHA
Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the Orcs of Mor Khazgur
Summary: Borgakh is a dutiful daughter of Mor Khazgur, an orc stronghold in a remote corner of the Reach that has existed since the Merethic era. Expected to someday become the shield-wife of a distant chieftain, Borgakh tries to uphold the Code of Malacath as best she can. But when her father, the chief of their stronghold, goes missing while on a quest for vengeance, the suitors that show up to vie for his place cause no end of trouble and threaten the strength of Mor Khazgur. Borgakh soon finds herself traveling far from home across the Druadach Mountains to find her father and save the stronghold.
The fic so far is here on AO3.
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Borgakh stood, and Kharag lifted his head from the patch of clover at her movement. She looked around wildly. She could not un-hobble and hide Kharag in time to conceal both of them. The voices grew louder, and a branch snapped, echoing around the tall rocks that lined the clearing. The people coming down the path were not trying to be stealthy.
“If Forge-Mother hears you say that—” a young Orc, tall but thin, pushed through the brush on the far side of the little spring, saw Borgakh, and stopped dead in his tracks. They stared at each other: his mouth open around unsaid words and her hand hovering over her undrawn sword.
”Oof!” He staggered forward, pushed by another Orc stepping from the thicket.
“Hey, watch it Lurbuk—” This Orc was older, and instead of the tunic and jerkin of the younger one, he wore several skins around his waist and shoulders; his chest was bare. He too stared at Borgakh.
Both carried several rabbits at their belts; the younger one had a sling and a knife strapped to his hip, while the older had a bow at his back and the handle of a hatchet poked out from behind his quiver.
The younger of the two recovered first, pulled himself up to his full height, and spoke. “You stand on Dushnikh Yal terri—” his voice broke in a hoarse squeak, and a bronze flush bloomed on his cheeks as he continued, “—territory, identify yourself!”
Rolling his eyes, the other Orc pushed him out of the way and approached Borgakh. “I’m Nagrub, son of Arob, Hunts-Wife of Dushnikh Yal. This is Lurbuk, son of Hearth-Wife Umogza. Who are you? Why do you come armed onto our stronghold’s land?”
Borgakh lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the two, though it was challenging with Nagrub as he was at least a hand taller than she. “I am Borgakh Abbas, daughter of Bagrak, Shield-Wife of Mor Khazgur. I am on a quest from Malacath.”
Whatever answer Nagrub was expecting, it did not seem to be that. His brow climbed in surprise, but he recovered quickly.
“You can’t be an abbas,” Lurbuk interrupted whatever his brother was about to say. “You’re just a child!”
“Malacath thinks I’m old enough— I’m older than you!” Borgakh shot back as Nagrub kicked Lurbuk. Lurbuk scowled but fell silent.
