Skyrim Adventures "Chapter 1"

[eddymachina]

 

 

The sparks continue to enthrall me. With each strike I lay upon the abused anvil the sparks ignite and dance through the air. My quest to further my skill in the art of smithing is quite the tedious and steady one. My grandfather, once a renowned blacksmith brought great fortune upon our family name through mastering the fine art. Said to craft the sturdiest of armor for adventurers and lords alike. As a child my father told me he had even crafted armor for an Jarl made of the bones of ancient dragons. Though I question the tall tale, Dragons of course haven’t been seen in many ages. Yet, an inspiring story nonetheless that revives my undying ambition time and time again. Unfortunately my grandfather did not pass the skill to my father. A good man indeed but not an ounce of talent with a hammer at all.

 

I must remember to thank Adrianne once again, I am truly in her debt. I really do use her blacksmithing equipment quite often. I hope I am of no inconvenience to her and her husband’s business. Then again I’m sure she doesn’t mind the extra merchandise she can sell off from my practicing. When I first arrived in this town she was the only one to share my passion and be willing to teach me how a Nord blacksmith is handled. I was also in luck that Adrianne is from Cyrodiil just as I which I’m certain helped to gain acceptance with her.

 

Iron being the cheapest and easiest ore to mine and mold for good practice, I must admit I tire of it. I’ve reached the extent of the common material. I’m no blacksmith for hire so I do not smith for money but personal enhancement. I revel in the beauty of this harsh art, manipulating the ore I’ve scoured for and mined throughout these dangerous lands. I seek to create the most powerful of weapons and durable of armor.

 

I’ve recently acquired some orichilium ore from an orcish mine while venturing through south eastern Skyrim. Though finding the mine which harbored the ore wasn’t the difficult part. This particular mine was within a heavily guarded Orcish stronghold. Known for their mastery in smithing, I’ve always held high regard for Orc craftsmanship. Unfortunately they are a noble but untrusting race. Only once proven through a test of skill and honor was I even presented with proper greeting.

 

I was bestowed with the task of an unarmed duel against one the largest Orcs I had ever seen. He was said to have crushed a Sabercat’s skull with his bare hands. I was to defeat him or share the same fate as the cat. In my favor the Orc’s are far too arrogant for their own good. Being taught to fight properly back in Cyrodiil I was well aware how to fight a bigger and stronger opponent than myself. I let the oaf tire himself out while I easily outmaneuvered and deflected his blindly thrown punches. If even one had caught me I’m certain I would have shattered like glass. Every opportunity that presented itself I kicked up dirt into his eyes and threw dozens of well placed punches into his ribs. Igniting his rage of course and making his fury thrown punches seem as if he were now trying to hit a buzzing fly. The Orc onlookers of course were thrown into dissaray, not understanding or comprehending my tactics they growled as their Orc brethren clumsily represented them. Finally after what felt like hours the massive Orc was entirely out of breath and unable to lift an arm. I then climbed up his back and wrapped my arm across his neck and reinforced it with my other arm, locking it into a perfect choke. I did the same with my legs and tied them across his chest. The Orc could do nothing but weakly struggle and gasp for air. Quickly he fell to his knees and seconds later completely unconscious. I swiftly released him and stood up prepared for an unhappy mob of assaulting Orcs. To my surprise they did something I never saw coming. They got me piss drunk.

 

In time I have become quite close to this particular Orc clan. They demand respect through strength and I can strangely appreciate that. After proving myself they now consider me a brother and allow me entry into the stronghold as well as their mines as I please. As a sworn brother they only ask that I contribute a small amount of the ore I mine to the stronghold.

 

 

If I were to give advice to one, it would be, never in your life believe you may out drink an Orc. Their tolerance for mead rivals only their fiery blood lust.