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Uglarog gra-Urgmar [18+]

Started by Alether
Post #92571

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Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant (Orc)
General Information

Name: Uglarog gra-Urgmar
Age: 18 or 19 at launch of TESO, depending upon the month it is set.
Sex: Female
Race: Orsimer
Date of Birth: Hearth Fire 7, 2E 564
Birthsign: The Lady
Birthplace: Cromrug Stronghold. Located in the Wrothgarian Mountains.

Appearance and Physique

Height: 36 pertans
Weight: 11,533 angaids
Build: Wide hips; broad shoulders; thin waist; muscles are well-toned from a lifetime of training and fighting for survival, but lacking in mass due to frequent undernourishment.
Skin Tone: Greyish teal

Hair: Jet black; straight; length varies from short to medium; she wears it parted in the middle or tied back.
Eyes: Icy blue
Facial Features: Sharp, angular brow; wide nostrils; thick lips; wide, rounded jaw; short tusks; crooked teeth; youthful complexion

[Image: 12481890.jpg]
Hearth Fire, 2E 580 - Uglarog at age 16, three years prior to the events of TESO

Skills and Proficiencies

Professions: Warrior; smith (specialization in the forging of orichalcum weapons, but also quite capable of crafting other items and working with other metals at a rudimentary level)
Weapon Preference: preferred armament is one-handed sword and shield (smaller shields allowing for greater mobility are preferred), but also quite capable with a two-handed blade (a mid-length 'bastard sword' is preferred over a true greatsword); some practice in use of most other classes of melee weaponry, but battle prowess suffers greatly when using such weapons; average to slightly below average ability in the use of ranged weapons such as bows and crossbows
Armor Preference: Ideal armor balances protection and mobility, with mobility being weighted somewhat more heavily. Uglarog often engages her enemies wearing simple garments of roughspun wool and boiled leather when additional protection is called for.

Other Skills: Above average hunting and basic survival skills; basic knowledge of dressing wounds and setting broken bones; some study of the written word, but literacy is fairly limited; above average knowledge of mining practices; rudimentary knowledge of herbs

Personality Traits

Positive Qualities: brave; loyal; honorable; honest; outspoken; humble (by orcish standards); generally confident
Negative Qualities: stubborn; hard on herself (she has very little tolerance for her own weaknesses); mildly paranoid; often mistrustful of men; tendency to take pity on the weak (like most orcs, she sees this as a flaw); insecure about how others percieve her (especially how they percieve her strength)
General Mood: Outwardly, Uglarog usually appears calm, collected, and generally contented. This is also usually true on the inside, as she is generally a fairly emotionally stable individual. Due to her upbringing, she sees most outward expressions of emotion as signs of weakness. The one exception to this rule is anger, which she has no particular aversion to expressing. However, she is just as capable of concealing her anger when necessary as the average person and neither is she particularly short tempered.
Goals and Motivations: Having spent the past six years wandering from stronghold to stronghold and living off the land in between. She has done what has been necessary to survive, be it fighting, hunting, scavenging, smithwork, hard mine labour, or even thieving when other options weren't available, all the while caring for a severly mentally disabled cousin. While she is by no means a weakling physically, she has come to realize that it is her other qualities that truly make her strong. She dreams of finding a place to settle down where her true strength is respected, where she is treated as an equal, and where she may marry a man of her own choosing (or choose not to marry at all if that is her decision). She has yet to find a stronghold that has met these critera, and thus has never stayed in one place for long. She has toyed with the idea of going to live in a city amongst other races, but in the end she can never stomach the thought of becoming a soft 'city orc'.

Character History

2E 564 - 2E 567

Uglarog gra-Urgmar was born at Cromrug stronghold, an orcish stronghold located in the Wrothgarian Mountains of Orsinium. It had been founded approximately half a century prior to her birth by Cromrug gro-Gorgrum. Cromrug’s grandson, Golgash gro-Gorgok, led the stronghold as Chieftain at the time of Uglarog’s birth and throughout her childhood.

Uglarog’s childhood was what most might call ordinary. From an early age she was instructed to fight with various weapons, she learned to use the forge, and she worked in the mines, just as any Orsimer girl might. However, in some ways, her childhood was not normal. The Cromrug bloodline had developed some unusual traditions and Uglarog often experienced a sense of unspoken dread regarding her future. In this respect, it might be said that she cherished her childhood.

However, despite some of the more unusual aspects of Cromrug tribal tradition, Uglarog was, for all intents and purposes, a typical Orsimer girl. That is, until the night her life was forever altered. . .

[size=5]Chapter 1[/size]
2E 577 - 5th of Frostfall - 8:00 P.M.

"A Mother's Warning"

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“You must leave, Uglarog!” Her mother spoke with urgency. Outside, the storm was raging. Rain beat down heavily on the thatched roof of the small hovel where the two had taken shelter. A flash of lightning lit up the night and for a moment Uglarog could clearly see her mother’s expression. There was fear in her eyes, or so it seemed. Uglarog knew she must have been mistaken.

“To run is the coward’s way,” she replied coolly. She studied her mother quizzically in the darkness. Urgmar had always been a strong woman, and whatever she had lacked in strength she had made up for with cunning and ferocity. She had been called many things, but coward had never been one of them. So why does she now urge me to the coward’s path?

“Then you must fight, Uglarog.” Urgmar placed her hands on Uglarog’s shoulder’s and gripped firmly. “You cannot let this happen.”

“But, mother!” Uglarog could not believe what she was hearing. Had her mother lost her wits? “If I fight, I’ll…” She stopped short of saying the word. She did not fear death, but she certainly would not invite it without cause.

“Yes, you will die,” Urgmar released her shoulders and slowly bowed her head. Lightning illuminated the hovel once more and again Uglarog glimpsed her mother’s face. The green skin of her cheeks was damp with tears, much to Uglarog’s shock. She paused a moment and then continued, “But believe me when I say that it is no worse than the fate that awaits you if you do nothing. Golgash is a monster.”

Golgash was a monster. Of that there was no question. Uglarog’s mother had certainly endured abuse over the years, as did all Golgash’s wives. He was indeed a cruel orc, but also a strong chieftain.

Uglarog would join her mother and the others at midnight as Golgash’s youngest wife. It was her thirteenth winter and she had had her first blood. Once it had been discovered, wedding arrangements had been quickly made. In but a few hours, Yazoga, the wise woman, would go to the chieftain and the tribe would gather in his longhouse. It was tradition for the girls of the stronghold to marry the chieftain when they became women. There would be a brief ceremony and the marriage would be consummated immediately for the tribe to witness. Of course, the chieftain’s daughters and those that had been mothers of chieftains were the exception. The chieftain’s daughters were traded to other strongholds and mothers of chieftains became wise women.

Uglarog had not had the good fortune of being born Golgash’s daughter. Being sent to another stronghold and being made wife to a stranger would have been far kinder a fate. Her father, Gorgok, had been the chieftain before Golgash. Golgash had also been Gorgok’s son, but by another woman. It was customary for the Chieftain’s strongest son to challenge the chieftain to a fight to the death when the time came that the Chieftain was no longer strong enough to lead. This had happened some months before Uglarog had been born. All she knew of her father she had heard from her mother and the older women of the stronghold. If they were to be believed, Gorgok had been but slightly less the monster that Golgash was.

A flash of lightning and crack of thunder brought Uglarog from her thoughts and back to the present. Her mother’s face still had that urgency and her eyes a deep sadness. “I cannot bear to see you suffer as I have,” she said, choking back her tears.

Uglarog had rarely seen her mother weep. It was unbefitting of a warrior of her stature and it made Uglarog uncomfortable now. “I am strong, mother,” she comforted. “I will endure, just as you have.”

“I only wish I could make you see.” Urgmar placed a gentle hand on Uglarog’s shoulder. She had regained her composure. “My path is set, my purpose clear. Rest now a few hours, love. You will need your strength this night.”

With that, Urgmar rose and marched proudly to her strawbed across the hovel before undressing and crawling beneath the furs. She must feel just as uncomfortable by her sudden display of weakness as I do, Uglarog thought to herself.

The rain began to taper off and soon all that remained of the storm that had raged outside was the distant rumble of thunder. Uglarog sat for a moment in the still darkness, disturbed by her mother’s behavior. Urgmar had always been so strong. Had thirteen years of Golgash’s abuse and mistreatment finally broken her? How could she show such weakness on the eve of her daughter’s wedding? Uglarog would need strength this night. That much was clear.

What if I am not strong enough? Uglarog shuddered at the thought as she undressed. I will be. She smiled to herself and crawled beneath the furs.

Chapter 2
2E 577 - 6th of Frostfall - 12:00 A.M.

"Unwanted Visitors"

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It was midnight when the men came for her. Uglarog had been asleep and was only woken when a mailed hand had painfully gripped her upper arm and cast her naked body to the dirt floor of the hovel. “It time! Girl wake up!” grunted a familiar voice.

“Dress yourself, woman,” came a second voice, also familiar. “Unless… you’re scared.” At that, the two men shared a boisterous laugh.

Uglarog cursed silently as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She had intended to wake sooner and avoid the summons, but she had overslept. No doubt these two idiots would make a grand show of getting to drag the unwilling bride squirming off to her fate. She didn’t plan on allowing them the pleasure. Pushing herself off the floor she sat up to face her visitors.

The first was Glufkim, a tall, hefty, brute of a man with more fleas than wits. It was his mailed hand that had torn her from her bed. The second was Gurgrem, a wretched, conniving, little orc with a loose tongue. A man of his mid-twenties, it was a wonder he had ever survived his teens. Malacath take me, Uglarog thought.

She rose to her feet and began to search for her garments, but she did not get far before Gurgrem had his hands on her. His rough, calloused hands groped her breasts as he squeezed her between the wall and his bony body. “How ‘bout I loosen you up for the Chief?”

Uglarog could feel Gurgrem hardening beneath his britches, pressing against her thigh. At first she was disgusted, but then a feeling of dread came over her. What happened now did not matter. There would be no escaping the fate that awaited her this night. I must be strong, she told herself.

“I’d sooner fuck a toad!” Uglarog snarled as she swiftly thrust a knee into Gurgrem's groin. Gurgrem, letting out a shrill shriek, released her and doubled over. It was then that the back of Glufkim’s mailed gauntlet caught her chin and she found herself on the floor once again, this time seeing stars and spitting blood.

“Glufkim! Gurgrem!” came a shout. Uglarog breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Glufkim backed off. Uglarog’s mother had a voice that commanded obedience, when it needed to. Clothed only in a rough-spun wool tunic that barely covered her hips, Urgmar stepped forth from the shadows. “Surely even two dolts like you know the blood price for this.”

“Yes… yes,” Gurgrem groaned, still doubled over, clutching his groin. Glufkim grunted and nodded his agreement.

“You have no right to lay hands on what does not belong to you,” Urgmar warned. “Touch her again and Golgash will bleed both your cocks!”

“We’re… sorry,” Gurgrem stammered. Glufkim again grunted and nodded his agreement.

Urgmar let out a contemptful snort. “Leave us,” she commanded. “My daughter is perfectly capable of dressing and escorting herself to the ceremony.”

Gurgrem and Glufkim scurried away like a pair of scolded pups. When they had left, Urgmar turned to Uglarog and spoke firmly, “You are not hurt bad. Pick yourself out of the dirt, child. Quickly now. Get dressed… and wipe those tears. I will not have my daughter appear weak before the tribe.”

Uglarog had not realized she had been crying. Her thoughts flashed back to her mother’s outburst earlier that night. Again she was faced with doubts. What if she wasn't strong enough? She would be shamed. She knew that. I am strong enough. I have to be.

Uglarog wiped the blood from her mouth and then the tears from her cheek. She rose and looked to Urgmar. “Yes, mother,” she said and began to dress.

Urgmar nodded and began to gather her own garments. "I will see you in the Chieftain's hall," she said, once dressed. "I'm going to fetch your brother." With that, she left the hovel.

Chapter 3
2E 577 - 6th of Frostfall - 12:15 A.M.

"What's a Wedding Without Bloodshed?"

The tribe had already gathered in the Chieftain’s longhouse when Uglarog arrived and the festivities were well underway. Directly ahead, around the central fireplace, two women were engaged in single combat. The clang of steel against steel filled the hall, but it was overpowered by the cheers and shouts of a roaring crowd.

To the left, the men of the tribe were gathered. Furthest from Uglarog and nearest the Chieftain were Golgash’s brothers; those also born of his mother. Among them was Lagrum gro-Golgash, the Chieftain’s eldest son. At age 12, he was a man grown and stood with his uncles in the place of honor. Further from the Chieftain were the rest of Gorgok’s sons; those born by other women. Further still stood the sons of Cromrug, Golgash’s grandfather. These were men of their late forties; well past their prime. Old and weak, they stood in the place of least honor, furthest from the Chieftain.

To the right stood the women and children not yet come of age. Their hoots and jeers rivaled that of the men in volume. At the far end of the hall, nearest Golgash, stood his mother, Yazoga gra-Morghash. She was an old, withered woman of 47. Yet hers was a place of honor. She was the tribe’s wise woman and she spoke Malacath’s will. Next were Golgash’s wives and their children, save for the two that now danced their deadly dance around the central fireplace.

It would only end in death, Uglarog knew. The Code of Malacath dictated that the Chieftain would keep eight wives, never more. Now that Uglarog was to be wed, one needed to die in order to make way. The two that now battled for their lives were the eldest of Golgash’s wives, Bagrug gra-Mogdurz and Ruloth gra-Narzush. Only three remained that had been Gorgok’s wives aside from Yazoga the wise woman. Urgmar was the third. And soon there will be only two, Uglarog thought.

As the women swung and parried, Uglarog made her way to her place beside her mother and brother, Ogrug. Ogrug was only seven. It would be some years before he came of age. Perhaps he will be Chieftain one day. Uglarog smiled at the thought. They’d always been close.

Uglarog had barely found her place when the fight came to a swift end. Bagrug had overextended and Ruloth had managed to knock her sword out of her grasp. Her opponent left with shield only, Ruloth seized the opportunity. Casting her own shield aside, she came down on Bagrug with a mighty, two-handed strike. Her sword shattered Bagrug’s shield and lodged between the floor boards.

While Ruloth struggled to free her sword, Bagrug unsheathed a dagger and charged her. Just as Bagrug was upon her, Ruloth’s sword let loose from the floorboards and arced upward between Bagrug’s legs, cleaving her pelvis and torso clean in half up to her breastbone.

The crowd roared with delight as Bagrug’s lifeless corpse slumped to the longhouse floor and Ruloth raised a blood soaked arm in victory. Several of the men scurried to carry away the body. Golgash rose from his high seat at the end of the hall. The crowd fell silent.

Golgash’s gaze fell upon Uglarog. “You’re late,” he snarled. “Do I terrify you so greatly that you hesitate to attend your own wedding?”

“I am not afraid,” Uglarog lied. Anxiety was creeping up on her, but she dared not show it.

“You should be,” Golgash retorted. “You see that?” he asked, indicating the corpse still being dragged out. “That’s what that pretty little hole of yours is going to look like when I’m through with it.”

The hall burst out in an uproar of laughter. Many of the men called out taunts and lude japes. Golgash allowed a moment before raising a hand to once again silence the tribe. “Bring her to me,” he commanded.

Uglarog felt hands from all directions, pulling, grabbing, pushing. Closer and closer they drew her to the end of the hall where Golgash stood in front of his high seat. One hand, she could not say whose, tore her tunic from her chest. Another unlaced her britches. By the time they had brought her before the Chieftain, she was naked. Golgash studied her up and down.

Yazoga, the wise woman stepped forward and began to recite the words of the ceremony. “These two, Golgash gro-Gorgok and Uglarog gra-Urgmar, shall now be joined in the bonds of marriage. By the will of Malacath, only the strongest may take wives. This is the sole right of Chieftain Golgash to breed with this woman. Let us all bear witness as the deed is done. If there are any among you whom wish to challenge your Chieftain for this right, speak now.”

“I do!” came a shout and the hall fell silent. Urgmar stepped forward.

Golgash looked on in disbelief. “What?!” he exclaimed.

Urgmar drew her greatsword. “I challenge you, Golgash, for the chiefship… and the sole right to breed. It is my right to make this challenge.”

“This is madness, woman!” Golgash looked to Yazoga.

The wise woman was speechless for a moment, but finally affirmed, “It is her right.”

It took another moment for that to sink in and then Golgash reached for his mighty war axe that had been propped next to his high seat. “Very well,” he spat. “If you are so eager to die, then I will appease you.”

The hall erupted into a roar once again as the two charged and steel met steel. What is she doing?! Uglarog wondered to herself. Her mother was strong, but no match for Golgash. Urgmar would die and Golgash would do worse to Uglarog out of spite. This was certain.

Urgmar pressed the attack, but for every stride she gained, she lost two. Golgash’s strikes with his heavy war axe were relentless. He struck with greater swiftness than Urgmar, despite the weight of his weapon, and twice the power, yet he showed no signs of fatigue. Urgmar, however, grew weaker and slower with every strike and every parry.

The end was imminent. With Urgmar growing weak, Golgash saw his opportunity. Hoisting his hefty axe high over his head, he brought it down with all his might. Urgmar parried, but the force of his attack brought her to her knees. Golgash hoisted his axe again in preparation for the killing blow.

It was then that something happened that could only be explained as an act of Malacath. The mighty war axe tumbled from Golgash’s grasp and thumped harmlessly to the floor. Golgash doubled over as if an arrow had pierced his shoulder. . . but there was no archer and no arrow. He fell with a great thud.

Urgmar did not waste time asking questions. She leapt forward. Kicking the war axe out of Golgash’s reach with one foot, she placed the other squarely on Golgash’s chest and pressed her greatsword to his throat.

“Go ahead,” Golgash spat. “Take my chiefship from me.”

“I don’t want your chiefship,” Urgmar retorted. “Only my daughter. You will not have her to abuse as you have had me.”

“Very well,” Golgash snarled after a pause. “She’s yours. You mate with her for all I care.”

Urgmar pressed the sword harder against Golgash’s throat. “Swear it!”

“I swear it by Malacath,” Golgash gasped.

Urgmar looked to Yazoga, the wise woman. “He has sworn in Malacath’s name. All have witnessed!”

Yazoga nodded and affirmed, “Malacath's will has been made clear.”

Urgmar cast aside her sword and removed her foot from Golgash’s chest. She extended an arm and helped him to his feet. Golgash winced in pain as he rotated his shoulder, but quickly shrugged it off. Urgmar began moving toward Uglarog. The men who had been holding Uglarog's arms released her.

“Seize her,” Golgash suddenly commanded.

Urgmar turned back. “You gave your word, Golgash,” she growled.

“Not her. . . you!” Golgash shot back. “Your display of weakness has shamed all of us. The blood price must be payed.”

“I showed you mercy!” Urgmar shouted.

“YOU SHOWED ME COWARDICE!!!” Golgash roared in a voice that shook the very walls of the longhouse. Two of his brothers stepped forward, each taking one of Urgmar’s arms.

Yazoga stepped forward as well. “Indeed the blood price must be satisfied,” she said. “Malacath demands it.” She paused for a moment and then spoke again. “The shame she has brought to us all is great. How much blood must be spilled?”

Golgash’s eyes narrowed. “All of it.”

Chapter 4
2E 577 - 6th of Frostfall - 3:00 A.M.


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The cold winds of an early Frostfall’s night nipped at her bare skin and chilled Uglarog to the bone. Her feet ached. Her knees ached. Her lungs ached. The pain in her side was such that it felt as though a spear had been driven through it. She’d been running for what seemed like hours, but Uglarog knew she had to keep going.

Golgash. . . no, names were for men. The chieftain was something else, not worthy of a man’s name. He was a. . . monster was the only word that came to mind. Uglarog shivered as she remembered what her mother had said. Why hadn’t she listened?

The monster had hung his mother by her ankles from the rafters of his longhouse and opened her throat. Uglarog had watched in horror as her mother’s lifeblood spilled out onto the floor and when the blood had slowed to a trickle, the monster cut down her body and gave it to the tribesmen to do with as they pleased. They had descended upon her like a pack of starving wolves, wasting barely a moment to divide up her garments and the few possessions that she had carried on her person, and when her body was stripped they. . .

Uglarog couldn’t bear to think about it. The thought turned her stomach and she felt like vomiting. She swallowed hard, forcing back bile, and kept running.

And when the men were all satisfied, the monster still was not. He insisted that the blood price had not yet been payed and so he had ordered they hang Uglarog from the rafters as they had her mother. They had bound her ankles with rope and were about to hoist her up when the sound was heard.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” a horn sounded from outside.

“Raiders!” somebody shouted.

“To arms!” the monster commanded. “Defend your stronghold!” He had his war axe in hand at once and led the charge.

Those that had been armed followed, while the rest scurried for the chests where the weapons were stored. They too were soon gone and the children were all that remained. Uglarog untied the ropes that bound her ankles. Her mother had been right. She had to leave. There was no other choice. Without hesitation, she made for the back door of the longhouse.

“Uglarog,” came a small voice. Uglarog stopped dead in her tracks. It was Ogrug, her young brother.

“I have to leave Ogrug,” she said, trying to force back her tears. This goodbye would be difficult, but she could not afford weakness now. She knew her window for escape was small.

“I want to come with you,” Ogrug pleaded. Tears were streaming down his bright green cheeks.

“It is safer for you here, Ogrug,” Uglarog replied. She hoped she was right. Golgash would not harm his own son, a mere boy of seven. Would he?

Uglarog pushed the thought from her mind. There was no time to second guess herself. She gripped Ogrug firmly by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I want you to promise me something,” she said.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Promise me, Ogrug. Promise me that when you grow strong you will slay your father. Do it for me. Do it for mother. Avenge her death.” She gripped him tighter. “Promise me.”

Ogrug nodded. “I promise.”

Uglarog hugged Ogrug tightly. “Goodbye, Ogrug,” she sobbed, unable to hold back her tears any longer. “You must be strong now.”

The rest had been a blur and Uglarog remembered very little. She remembered running. . . and running. . . and presently, she was still running. Her entire body ached. And she was cold. So dreadfully cold. Yet she pressed on. No doubt they would be looking for her once the raiders had been routed and she was discovered missing. And when they find me, I am a dead woman, she thought.

Yet some part of her was aware that if they did not find her, she’d still be just as dead. She had no food, no supplies, no weapons. In her haste to escape, she’d not thought to even take a dagger, though there had been plenty on hand. Those weapons belong to the tribe, she told herself. Malacath forbids us to steal. It was a sore excuse and she knew it. She hated herself for her costly mistake.

She had left with nothing more than the skin on her back. Her garments had been ripped and torn to the point of being unwearable and there had been no time to find new ones. She would die from exposure soon enough, she knew.

No! Uglarog told herself. She didn’t want to think about dying, not now. The monster had spilled enough blood for one night. She had to keep running. She had to.

Unfortunately, her feet and legs were in disagreement. As her foot fell on a patch of uneven terrain, she felt her leg buckle beneath her and she tumbled to the rocky ground below. Uglarog winced. Her knee was battered and bleeding, as was her wrist. She tried to stand, but a sudden urge grasped her as she bent down and spewed her stomach contents on the rocks. Breathing heavily, she rolled over onto her back. For a moment, before her eyes closed, she glimpsed the starry sky above.

Uglarog could not say how much time had passed when her eyes opened again. It was surely an act of Malacath that they opened at all. The nights of Frostfall were quite cold, and she had naught to keep her warm but her bare, goose-pimpled skin. The stars still shone above and there was no sign of dawn yet on the horizon.

Uglarog forced herself to her feet and limped forward a few paces before propping herself against a rock face to rest. Everything ached, but her knee was the worst. Although the bleeding had stopped, the color of her skin and the throbbing pain told Uglarog that it was bruised quite deeply.

A few moments passed. Uglarog had been slowly putting her weight on each leg for a few seconds at a time and the pain was beginning to dull. It still hurt, but Uglarog at last felt like she was ready to press onward. She’d taken no more than three or four strides when once again she came to a halt. This time she heard voices.

“. . . you bloody idiot! I told you, watch for the path leading down to the river! Now you’ve gone and gotten us bloody lost!”

“Glufkim sorry. Please no yell at Glufkim. He sorry.”

Uglarog cursed silently. Up ahead, silhouetted by the light of the full moon, Gurgrem and Glufkim were sauntering toward her, both heavily armed. Quickly, she hid herself behind a formation of rock amongst a sparse patch of bushes.

Gurgrem and Glufkim were like brothers. One was seldom seen without the other. In truth, they were both bastards, conceived illegally by weak men. This was one of the greatest crimes a man could commit against the tribe. The blood price for this was always the man’s manhood, except in cases where the crime produced offspring. Then it cost him his life. The offspring, however, were by tradition allowed to live. This, it was said, was so that they might serve as examples to the tribe of why only the strongest should breed. Gurgrem and Glufkim were both shining examples.

Gurgrem had always been a hunch-backed, bony little man, yet he was a braggart, an instigator, and always mean spirited. He was physically strong enough to be a threat to Uglarog, but for a man grown, he was quite weak. He was also, by all standards, an idiot, but nothing compared to his friend and fellow bastard. Glufkim was a large man, and very strong, at least physically. His dimwittedness more than made up for it, however. It was often said around the stronghold that most rocks had more brains than him. It was him that Uglarog truly worried about now. He could break her in two with his bare hands if the notion crossed that thick skull of his.

As Gurgrem and Glufkim came closer, Uglarog crouched low in her hiding place to avoid being seen. Gurgrem was still shouting at Glufkim.

“It’s all your fault, you stupid dolt! We could have found the girl and been back to the Chieftain for our reward twice already if you weren’t such a bumbling moron!”

They were very close now. Just a little further and they’d be past Uglarog’s hiding spot.

“Glufkim sorry,” Glufkim said again. “Glufkim needs make water now.”

“Alright, just hurry it up, will you? We’re never going to find the little wench at this rate.”

Uglarog cursed again. Glufkim had broken from the path and was headed directly for her hiding place. Malacath damn him! She thought. Of all the bloody places, why does he have to piss here? Quickly she searched for another place to hide, but there was nowhere and it was too late anyway. She’d been seen.

“Girl make water here too?” Glufkim whispered.

“Uh, yes,” Uglarog stammered. Maybe if she just played along with him he’d be on his way none the wiser. Could he be that stupid? “I just made water here,” she lied. “This is the best place.”

“Aaaaahhhh,” Glufkim exclaimed. “Girl nice. Girl show Glufkim best spot for make water. Glufkim thanks girl.” He unlaced his britches, whipped out his cock, and began to piss.

“Umm. . . it’s my pleasure,” Uglarog spluttered.

Glufkim, still pissing, grinned from ear to ear. He began to laugh gaily. It was a soft, gleeful chortle at first, but he was getting louder. Uglarog tried to hush him, but it was no good. Before long he was hooting and guffawing loud enough that surely he could be heard across the valley. Gurgrem would no doubt be coming to investigate.

Sooner than expected too. A cold orichalcum blade was pressed against her throat.

“Well look what we have here,” Gurgrem snorted as he pulled Uglarog to her feet, the dagger still at her throat.

“Girl show Glufkim best spot for make water,” Glufkim declared proudly as he relaced his britches.

“Is that so?” Gurgrem tittered. “Looks like tonight’s our lucky night.”

“Glufkim lucky night.”

“Chieftain said we could take her dead or alive. I say we have our way with her first and then take back her head.”

“Glufkim have way with girl,” Glufkim declared gleefully.

“Like you’d even know what to do with a woman,” Gurgrem sneered.

Glufkim pondered this a moment. “Gurgrem show Glufkim?”

“I’ll show you alright.” Gurgrem turned her around and pushed her back down hard against the rock formation. Sheathing his dagger, he dropped his britches and climbed on top of her. Uglarog kicked and punched and clawed and bit, but none of it was any good. Gurgrem, weak as he was for a man grown, was stronger than her. He had a hand at her throat now, his face nose-to-nose with hers. He breathed heavily, grinning from ear to ear. His breath was rancid.

Squirming, scratching, screaming, Uglarog felt around desperately for anything she might use as a weapon; a loose stone, or perhaps a branch. Nothing budged, but suddenly her fingertips brushed what she believed was the hilt of Gurgrem’s dagger, which he had sheathed at his belt. Just as quickly it was gone. She felt for it again, but it eluded her.

She clawed him again and feebly punched his side before reaching once again for the dagger. This time her fingers found it. She managed to get enough of a grip on it to slide it out from its sheath. With as much might as she could muster, she plunged it deep into Gurgrem’s back. She’d been aiming for his heart, and it would seem she had struck true. Gurgrem grunted, falling heavily and lifelessly on top of her aching body. Laboredly, she rolled the corpse off of her.

Uglarog was horribly sore, much more so now than before, but there was no time for rest. There was no telling how Glufkim was going to react to this. He was armed with a heavy war axe. . . and he was nearly three times her size. She could not outrun him, not with her knee in the state it was in. With only a dagger, Uglarog knew the odds were against her, but if she could get the jump on him she just might have a chance. The dagger raised, she lunged forward.

“No!” Glufkim wailed, throwing away his axe. “Please no hurt Glufkim! Glufkim do anything girl ask!”

Uglarog had him. There was a clear path to his throat, but before her dagger could taste his blood, something made her stop short. At that moment, despite all that had happened to her, she pitied him. I’m weak, she thought. Just like my mother.

Uglarog wanted nothing more at this moment than to lie down some place alone and cry until her eyes were bone dry. The night had taken a hefty toll on her, both physically and emotionally, but she knew that to survive she had to be strong. Turning from Glufkim (and hoping the oaf didn’t have a change of heart), she began stripping Gurgrem’s corpse. His leather britches and hauberk were big, but would fit her well enough and provide some protection against the chill of the night. She took his sword and dagger too, but his morning star she left. It would be heavy to carry and she was not well practiced with such a weapon.

When she had dressed, she turned to leave, but Glufkim called after her, “Wait! Where girl go?”

“I’m leaving,” Uglarog said. “I don’t know where I’m going. Some place far from here.”

“Glufkim come with girl,” he said. It was more question than statement. “Glufkim protect girl.”

Again, Uglarog took pity on him. The poor thing would never find his way back to the stronghold on his own. Even if he did, without Gurgrem, he’d have no one. He wouldn’t survive. Besides, the journey ahead of her would be difficult and she could use all the help she could get.

“Alright, Glufkim,” she said. “Come. You can help me.”

Glufkim nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Glufkim help!”

As the first crack of dawn broke over the mountains, Uglarog and Glufkim made their way south across the valley. . . South in search of a new life.

2E 567 - circa 2E 583

Uglarog and Glufkim spent the next six or so years wandering from stronghold to stronghold, while living off the land for periods of time in between. During this time, Uglarog came to the realization that while each of these tribes was led by a man of great physical strength and prowess in battle, true strength was something greater. While she never crossed paths with a Chieftain quite so terrible as Golgash, each was weak in his own way.

More importantly, Uglarog also came to the realization that she would never marry a man simply because he bore the title ‘Chieftain’. To Oblivion with tradition; she would choose a man according to her own definition of strength. Most tribes did not take kindly to this way of thinking, however, and as such, she and Glufkim could never stay in one place for long.

Glufkim proved to be as loyal a friend and as fierce a warrior in battle as he was stupid. He was strong in a way, despite often requiring care befitting of a child rather than a man. While it was true that he would not have survived without Uglarog to care for him, it was also true that she neither would have survived without him. She owed him her life more times than she could count and over the years he had become more than just a friend and trusted companion. He was her brother; her only family.

Uglarog continued to develop her skills as both warrior and smith. She trained with the tribes she lived amongst and fought alongside them as the need arose. She even studied the written word for a brief time and also gained a basic knowledge of herbs.

Yet it was during the in-between periods when she and Glufkim lived off the land that her skills were truly honed. Orsinium was a dangerous place for a tribe of two and in addition to the constant struggle to fulfill basic needs, they often had to fight to keep what was theirs.

At times they even subsisted by sneaking into Breton villages along the border at night and stealing what they needed. Other times they would set ambushes and rob travelers on the roads. These were the hardest of times, when food was scarcest. Uglarog hated it. A small part of her would have rather starved than sink to thievery, but they did what they had to in order to survive.

For a time, Uglarog even pondered leaving Orsinium altogether to live in one of the cities amongst the weaker races. The thought did not sit well with her, however. She was no city orc and neither was Glufkim. She would build her own stronghold if that’s what it took. She would forge her own destiny.
This post was last modified: August 29th 2013, 12:16 PM by Alether
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Digging this character, hope we get to RP together some time.
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