Falkreath: The Stone Orc Settlement

The large Orc looked down to the drunkard, snarling as the man appeared with such cockiness and disapproved authority. The guard readied his spear to bash the man backwards, but soon a shout occured.

"Ro'Kaf!!!"  Came from the Chieftan of Falkreath, Thorok. Although he was ordered not to strike, the Chieftan held the same hatred upon his face. "Answer me, pale one: What business have you upon my village?" His mighty voice boomed out upon the quiet settlement, everyone looking to the pathway. He growled, waiting for a response as he moved his spear into a patient, waiting form.

"Thorok!" Shouted out the voice of Fal'Thoma, the Chieftan's War Wife. "Have you not your spirit? We have a visitor among us." She spoke with her chest puffed, a frown upon her own face, disappointed as Thorok turned to face her, exchanging ugly looks. The Orc groaned, turning around to the Nord. "Forgive me, traveler... times have been hard in this village. You are allowed to visit, but be weary to your allowance here." He said, holding up a firm hand pointed to the human. With that, he turned around, marching past his wife, once again staring at her, her fearless response as they crashed shoulders.

With that, Fal'Thoma sheathed her war axe, walking forward with a hasty speed to the newcomer. "Forgive my husband, land-strider. Our village has suffered for many days now, what reason have you to come here?" She questioned, arms folded upon her chest as she waited a response.

Before the she-orc could speak, the mighty staff of Shorbolg placed its hilt upon the sand path.

"I've foretold your coming, warrior." The Shaman King humbly pronounced, making his way forward to the man. He gasped mightily, his eyes widening as much as they could, shoving the symbol upon the warrior's chest. "Do not show that symbol upon the eyes of the people!" He beggingly commanded, grasping the cloth upon his shoulder as he began to march towards the back area of the land.

From there, they entered his hut, the small, strange area with the green bowl of fire. Shorbolg looked back to the warrior who had his praise for the moment. "Please, sit down, tell me what you've seen." He offered, leaning against his staff, holding onto it with both of his hands, looking to Roarin with much fascination.

The Orc's old soul wheezed in a gasp, his hand shifted out with spread fingers to lift up the symbol from the scroll. "It is a grave misfortune that this is what you've had to uncover..." He said gravely, spinning it in the air for a moment. ".... Dark times are coming.. I fear we are going to need more than a lone warrior to stop this.." He warned, looking back to the brave warrior, using his staff as enchantments of green lit up the wall of his hut, where his story began.

"Once, there was an orc upon this village. His name was Thrashnald, the most potential of Orcs. He was Chieftan of this village before Thorok, but his authority had blinded him of his boundaries. Thrashnald was the perfect warrior, combining the sword with the spell, an Arcane Berserk. He led our tribe to many fortunes, and had established our colony upon this realm. But alas, even the greatest fall to greed." He turned back to Roarin, seeing how focused he was upon the story before he continued.

"Then came the days of Bones. Thrashnald had been so powerful, but yet he wished for more. His hunger lead him to break the sacred rules, and to nearly end all of us: Necromancy." He paused for a moment, looking back to that symbol. "That is our symbol for the Forsaken, the art of Conjuration and summoning the dead." He explained on a side-note. Soon turning back to his story wall, he continued: "Thrashnald was soon halted by Thorok, with the help of our strongest warriors. But yet, he denied me the traditional banishing practice, and had created a portal to escape our judgment." He looked back towards Roarin.

"If you've been listening to my words, than you shall realize his hunger is means for the end of our existence. Through his ways he shall conjure and disgrace every being within this tribe, and claim his revenge as well the throne. From what happens thereafter is unknown, but the present issues are more than a handful." He coughed loudly, turning to the side as he marched his way over to the fire, reaching into it as he pulled out a stone chest. "You have done your part of our bargain, for that I thank you. But please, consider this request: Thrashnald is beyond our powers. He is a being with the intent for anarchy. We have to find others to stop him from his doing, or I fear we might not live to see it." 

With that, the shaman gave Roarin a stone box, filled to the brim with gold. Counted out as two hundred pieces, Sholborg soon gently raised his hand, asking without words for him to leave. "I must have time to think upon this... Thank you, brave traveler." He finished, turning back around as he faced towards the fire, sitting down into his praising position once more.

==============================End of Quest: Shorbolg: What Lies Beneath============

Roxanne approaches the entrance, looking about. It looks like the place. She holds up a map, reading it carefully. Two day's walk out of town, that's what the old man said. He also said that maps were useless. Looks like he was right. This map is absolutely abysmal. If it's to be believed, then she's currently in the middle of a lake. Ah well. Tossing the map over her shoulder, she walks up to the entrance. Hmm, there's someone there. Strange, he doesn't look like an orc. As she gets closer, she realizes exactly who the man is and freezes in her tracks. Maybe she should turn back. Leave. Run away. But no, not this time. Her father won't ruin her life a ninth time. This time, she'll face him.

"YOU!"

Picking up a rather sizable rock, she hurls it at Roarin's face.

"What are you doing here? Get out of here! You spoil everything!"

Roxanne picks up another stone, hurling it at Roarin' as he cowers behind his tactical rock.

"I'm here for the job! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be passed out in some alley, or in prison, or something! Not wandering around, free as as a lark! You don't deserve to!"

Screaming incoherently, she rushes over to punch him in the face. Clearly, she is not a fan of her father.

"You left us! You left us to go off on another one of your adventures! After mother fell ill and passed, we could have starved to death, and you WOULDN'T HAVE CARED!"

Roarin peaks over the rock and sees Roxy running towards him, he rolls to his feet and moves swiftly, keeping the rock between him and her. He raises his hands as he moves, and says trying to sound calm.

"Now Roxy, tha's not fair! I woulda cared iffin ye kids starved! Besides I'll have ye know I got here first, this be another one o' my adventures."

He realizes that he probably shouldn't have phrased it that way, this was going to get uglier.

Roarin quickly steps back to avoid Roxy's kick, and when the girl sends her flurry of blows at his face, he blocks some and dodges others. Roxy was good there was no doubt, but Roarin had about 30 years of experience on her, and he had focused solely on mastering unarmed combat. To top it off she was a head hunter, and if you know where an attack is going to land it was easy to block, or dodge. It would also be very easy to counter, and leave the girl flat on her ass, he didn't go on the attack though. Roarin just weathered the flurry of blows in silence, waiting for her to tire herself out.

As her hand closed down towards the male, a figure was seen within a flash, then an explosion of blackness. Sending her a couple feet back, though she was still upon her feet, he rose from the black smoke. As it rose, he closed his eyes, looking upwards as he inhaled the fading black smoke, sighing out of his mouth as he looked towards the female.

"Watch yourself, Newcomer." He hissed out, spitting to his left. Apparently, he appeared to be defending Roarin. Pointing a finger to Roxanne, the stranger hissed out. "This one's aided us in our time of need, calm yourself if you wish to do the same." As he remained in that position, two figures walked out of him, one going to each side of his body. He appeared to have shed two forms of himself, which both had their bows drawn and cautious of her actions.

"There'll be no more violence at this time." He commanded, looking back towards Roarin. "Would you like me to separate her from you, outlander?" He questioned, his eyebrows raised, obviously intending some compliment with his choice of naming him. As he stood there, the other two forms of the figure seemed to calm down, stretching out their shoulders and cracking their necks.