"By the Seven/Nine [or however many ridiculous Human Gods there are], where in Oblivion am I!?" These were the first thoughts to run through the head of SCHMETTERLING the Orc as he blearily regained consciousness on a wagon somewhere in the frozen outback.
Schmetterling (or, 'Schmetty' to his friends) had just been minding his own business, hanging out in the shallow hole-in-the-ground he liked to call a home, and then all of a sudden *BAM* a man on horse hit him over the head with a club. And now he found himself stuck on a cart surrounded by these bozos - bozos who wouldn't stop yammering on about things beyond Schmetty's level of understanding or interest. Something about a rebellion...? Whatever it was, it was making his concussion feel ten-times worse.
Nord, Redguard, or Imperial, Schmetty had absolutely no idea who these people were - in his eyes, they all looked the same: Wrong. All he knew was that he and these brutally ugly humans were now captives of the people who'd knocked him out; and wherever they were heading, it was not going to end well.
When the cart pulled into a meagre human settlement and parked itself next to an executioner's block, Schmetty used his superior Orcish powers of deductive reasoning to conclude that this was clearly going to be a one-way ride. Sure enough, one by one, the Orc's companions were called to the block to undergo a head-ectomy, until it was Schmetty's turn. Now, it wasn't necessarily the fact that Schmetty may have been going to meet his maker that irked him so. No. Schmetty had got himself out o far tighter spots than this a thousand times over. Blind luck always seemed to get him to safety. It was that these God(s)-damn flat-mouth humans had the gall to speak to him in such a rude manner, saying things that, quite frankly, bordered on racism.
Contrary to the executioner's assumptions, Schmetterling did not want to be buried in the Orcish capital of Orsinium! He had never even set foot in that shithole of a town. He was Skyrim-ese born and bred. Okay, so he lived in an actual shithole in Skyrim, but it was the principle of the thing.
"I mean, how dare they mistake me for a foreigner."
Playing for time when asked to state his name, he may have embellished its pronunciation, giving Schmetty ten glorious minutes of listening to the executioner struggle to wrap his tongue round these 'Orcish' diphthongs. Hilarious as this was, though, this plan soon went awry. It would appear that in his attempts to spit out Schmetterling's heavily-accented name, the executioner inadvertently cast an arcane spell that SUMMONED A FREAKING DRAGON! And not just any dragon, but the up-est, fuck-est dragon, anyone had ever laid eyes upon.
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"
Not wanting to stick around to ask questions, our brave protagonist did what he was best at: running the tits away! Indiscriminately barging through this pandemonium, Schmetty managed to make his way into the catacombs of this settlement. Having successfully fled from the unspeakable horror that was the dragon, Schmetterling stopped to catch his breath, vowing undying enmity towards magic, the occult, and all those who practice it.
"Let's keep moving!"
"Huh?"
Startled, Schmetty turned around to discover that a dim-witted human named Hadvar had been following him the whole time. But before he could discuss the hows or whys of this irritating intrusion, a pair of sword-wielding homo-not-so-sapiens suddenly burst into the room. They didn't seem to be in the 'let's talk it over' mood - in fact, they were being obnoxiously stabby. Luckily, they were no match for Schmetty's better-than-human combat finesse.
But dispatching with these soldiers only seemed to create more problems for Schmetty. He was, after all, a wanted Orc, and having the blood of two men on his hands would only piss off the humans even more then he had already. What was Schmetty to do with the bodies? Then a brainwave hit him like Orc Thor's hammer on an orc-anvil. What if he relinquished culpability by making their deaths look like a crime of passion...? It was so crazy it just might work.
"Let's keep moving!"
"Huh?"
Startled, Schmetty turned around to discover that a dim-witted human named Hadvar had been following him the whole time. But before he could discuss the hows or whys of this irritating intrusion, a pair of sword-wielding homo-not-so-sapiens suddenly burst into the room. They didn't seem to be in the 'let's talk it over' mood - in fact, they were being obnoxiously stabby. Luckily, they were no match for Schmetty's better-than-human combat finesse.
But dispatching with these soldiers only seemed to create more problems for Schmetty. He was, after all, a wanted Orc, and having the blood of two men on his hands would only piss off the humans even more then he had already. What was Schmetty to do with the bodies? Then a brainwave hit him like Orc Thor's hammer on an orc-anvil. What if he relinquished culpability by making their deaths look like a crime of passion...? It was so crazy it just might work.
"Nobody will ever know..."
Concerned that Hadvar would sell him out to the humans, Schmetty's thoughts briefly turned to murderising him too. Thankfully (for Hadvar, at least), it would appear that his imbecility had whittled his vocabulary down to just three words: "Let's keep moving."
"Yes, Hadvar, let us INDEED keep moving."
As it turned out, however, while a moron, Hadvar was actually more useful than he initially appeared. Although a laconic sort of chap, he was able to lead Schmetty out into the bosom-like embrace of Skyrim's hinterlands, away from the mean humans. He even mustered enough brain cells to suggest that they split up and meet in the nearby town of Riverwood. Our hero, although suspicious of this kindness from a human, threw him a bone and agreed (if only to check that check that he wasn't blabbing about Schmetty's new-found talent for human-splatting).
Meantime, our brave protagonist needed to find somewhere safe to rest. The sun was going down, and he knew full well that the wildlife of Skyrim had a tendency to get a bit bitey after dark. Fortunately Schmetty, being a resourceful sort of Orc, was able to live off the fruits of the land - that is, he stumbled upon a nearby bandit encampment, slaughtered its occupants, stole all their stuff, and got ready to sleep in their beds (it had, after all, been a very long day).
Yet, having traveled so far from his humble hole-in-the-ground, Schmetty was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger and homesickness. In a flash of inspiration, he decided to kill two birds with one stone and cooked his favourite meal: a bread, butterfly wings, luncheon meat & human stew, slow-cooked in a pot (because Schmetty is no savage!).
Bon appetite
But one vital ingredient was missing...
Schmetty opinion of this meal: the dog's bollocks.
Feeling the invigorating effects of this ancient Orcish delicacy, Schmetty took time to reflect upon the trials and tribulations of the past day. Was he ever going to make it back to his shallow ditch of a house? Maybe Hadvar would be able to point him in right direction? As his heavy eyelids closed his last thoughts were, "I'm sure everything will be better in the morning."
Little did he know, his adventure was only just beginning...
"To Riverwood!"
this_is_jazz
Now read about theris108's first day here. No doubt he's been lame and killed no-one.
hahaha nice Google translate link
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