On the road to Orsinium, we run across a Dunmer man who is looking for a foul-smelling cave, where he hopes to find a magic whistle that can tame durzogs. He’d been intending on selling fine wine, but Orcs proved to be disinterested.


    “Seriously?” I ask. “You’d have had better luck with rotgut sujamma.”


    The Dunmer sighs. “Alas, I believe you are correct. Do you think your fellow Orcs would like tame durzogs? They’re dumb, brutish reptiles, and difficult to get to cooperate, so I’m sure I could make a lot of money if I had a good way to tame them.”


    “Personally, I think you’d have better luck with guar,” I say. “But I’ll see if I can find this whistle for you and see if it works as well as you hope.”


    The cave in question is near the waterfall and underneath the harpy nests, so we head inside. My friends don’t even complain of the stupid diversion. They know me too well. There’s a hole in the ground, and I will poke my head inside.


    There’s a pool inside with a couple of people fishing. They ignore me, so I don’t bother them. If a note I find lying on the ground is any indication, the people here aren’t even really bandits, for all that they’re living in a cave trying to tame angry lizard-hounds.


    While I see no need to kill the people here, there’s spiders. Lots of spiders. And a Skyshard! And some trolls. Not to mention the durzogs themselves, who definitely don’t understand “Down! Heel! Stay!”


    I do eventually find the whistle in question, in a pack in the kennel area, along with a book describing how the whistle isn’t magical at all but merely used as a tool by a Nord woman with beast taming abilities. I grab the book and leave the whistle, and exit the cave without further bothering its residents (regardless of leg count). I find the Dunmer again and let him know the “probably just as well” news that the whistle is a dead end that would probably end in him dead.


    If I thought what of Wrothgar Orc architecture we’d seen so far was made of sturdy stone, my first glimpse of Orsinium makes me wonder how the Bretons and Redguards ever sacked any version of it. Admittedly, this is the rebuilt version, presumably rebuilt to make the sturdy stone even more sturdy. I’m not quite clear on what exactly they’re doing here.


    Honestly, the “how” is probably because the Orcs never thought to set up magical defenses. Bretons are good with magic, and one mage on the caliber of Tom Gautier would match a thousand run-of-the-mill Orcs, if his magic were used intelligently.


    “So this is Orsinium,” I say unnecessarily. “Alright everyone, let’s split up. Ilara-daro, you track down those Khajiit traders. Nagra, take your guys and go figure out where they’ve set aside for the Wood Orc embassy.”


    Flanked by Eran and Merry, I explore the city, seeing its sights and smelling its smells. Scaffolding clings to buildings where people are desperately trying to finish roofs before it starts snowing in earnest, not that there isn’t enough snow here already. A cat chases a dog. An Argonian begs for money by the side of the road. I’m impressed that the mighty King Kurog has obtained beggars already. Does he know? Does he even care?


    “So cold… so cold…” says the shivering Argonian as Orcs pass him by. He’ll probably be dead by morning if no one intervenes.


    Merry doesn’t even need me to ask, and casts a warmth spell over the hapless Argonian. I offer a little food from my bag, and learn that his name is Xozuka and that he came here to work but the cold got to him and he was fired for being unable to keep up.


    As I’m chatting with the thawing Argonian, Nagra finds me and lets me know that King Kurog apparently wants to put the Wood Orc embassy outside the walls, in the back out of sight. I’d be insulted if I didn’t find it so funny.


    “Alright, Xozuka, consider yourself hired,” I say, gesturing to him to come along as Nagra leads us to the spot.


    “I erect the spine of gratitude,” Xozuka says. “What would you have me do?”


    I shrug. “Help out with the embassy. If the cold is still too much, I can send you to Valenwood if you want, but the embassy will have proper heating in it because, as my hunt-wife put it, sensible Orcs don’t need to prove how badass they are by watching their fingers change from green to blue.”


    It turns out that, of course, we’re going to have to build our own embassy. Not that I terribly mind. The way these people are building shit is terribly inefficient. The location is also conveniently right next to one of the entrances into the local outlaws refuge, so it works out well for me.


    I pull out my communication orb. “This is Neri. I’m in Orsinium. I need construction of a small outpost on my location.”


    Once the setup gets underway, I leave them to that and slip into the outlaws refuge to take a look around. In the center of it, there’s a gazebo with a statue on top of it. Among other inhabitants is a woman eager to be a real outlaw, a guard in plainclothes failing at convincing anyone he’s not a guard, and an Argonian fence by the name of Juggles-Scorpions. I think she’s my new favorite fence.


    The outlaws refuge opens up next to a house with a secret Malacath shrine. (I’m not just barging into random people’s homes, honest. There’s a red candle outside that totally suggests that it’s a secret meeting place for people who like red candles.) The weird thing about this version of Orsinium is exactly that this Malacath worship is being done in secret. King Kurog is a staunch devotee of Trinimac and is apparently ignorant of that being the same deity as Malacath or performing some historical revisionism.


    In any case, an old Orc woman with a sparkly lightning staff sends me to find some relic called the Vengeful Eye that the Winterborn clan wants. It’s apparently held by Malacath’s champions as a sign of his favor. Naturally, I agree to grab it whenever I’m passing through that part of Wrothgar.


    Upstairs I find the booksellers I’d rescued on the road on the way here. This would be an extremely convenient place for a smuggling front. It seems an odd place for a bookshop. Unless… hmm. Oh! They could sell hollowed out books containing hidden bottles! Or maybe just alchemically laced paper. They greet me warmly and don’t ask why I just came from the secret Malacath shrine in their basement.


    An advertisement on a wall mentions a museum that is being set up called the House of Orsimer Glories. I poke my head in to check it out.


    “A museum!” I say. “What a fantastic idea! I should build a museum as well. But then, my museum would be housing legendary relics that I collected myself. King Kurog can have a museum housing legendary relics I collected, too. Of course, anyone who visits ought to know who retrieved each relic.”


    I grin widely at the curator. I’m normally not so vain as to insist, but it would rankle me for Kurog to take any credit for shit I did. Also, insisting on referring to Orcs as “Orsimer” strikes me as a little pretentious and I’m not quite sure why since it’s rather like referring to a Bosmer as a Wood Elf, isn’t it? So what would be a Wood Orc? Orsibosmer? Bosorsimer? Borsimer? I feel that it would greatly annoy many Wood Elves and Orcs should I use those words.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    When I step out of the museum, Ilara-daro appears beside me. “This one found our mark. An Orc named Gulug. She asked the Khajiit traders but wound up just following her nose. Khajiit thinks someone pulled a prank on him by insisting the scent of rotting horker is romantic or something. He’s in the bathhouse and paid for the full day, and this one thinks it may take all day for him to wash off the stench.”


    “Lead the way,” I say.


    Ilara shows me to the bathhouse, and I leave my friends outside to make sure no one tries to slip away just in case. In the hot, steamy water downstairs, a male Orc along with a few female Orcs are bathing. Gulug immediately gets defensive of his tonics. Fortunately, he’s easy to intimidate, which probably has more to do with the fact that he’s naked and I’m openly carrying a battle axe than anything else.


    Gulug is loyal to the city and to King Kurog and thinks the clans are stuck in their ways, and is happy to see them starve. The gold he got from the Winterborn for his information went toward producing his questionable tonics that he insists are great but simply take time and multiple doses. Fortunately, he does know where the Reachfolk took the supplies, so this wasn’t a complete waste of time. Someplace called Frostbreak Fortress. I need to look at a map while I’m in town.


    I sigh. “Look. What you did was stupid. I’ll let bygones be bygones, though, but you owe me. And I want to see the recipes for these tonics of yours.”


    Gulug grumbles, “But they’re trade secrets!”


    “Yep,” I say cheerfully. “And if you don’t, I will cheerfully turn you over to whoever might care about you being a traitor, making deals with the enemy, and peddling shoddy goods.”


    “Ugh. Fine,” Gulug says. “You can find them in my house. The key’s in my pants over there.” He gives me directions. “I’d ask you to be sure to bring it back and not rob me too badly, but there’s not much I can do about it if you do.”


    “Not to worry,” I say. “I just want to make sure the quality of your goods is up to my standards. I’m something of an alchemist myself. I may be able to suggest some improvements to efficiency and potency.”


    “Right…” Gulug says dubiously.


    I fish the key out of his pants and go to locate his house. His recipe book is cleverly hidden under the bed, but I find it quickly enough. Usually, I’m happy to get my hands on the work of alchemists to steal their knowledge, but in this case, there’s nothing here that I don’t already know, and know better than him.


    “Anything good?” Ilara asks.


    I sigh. “No.”


    “They don’t work?”


    “They’ll work,” I say. “Poorly, but they’ll work. And there’s just a few simple things he could have done better.” I pull out a sheet of Gulug’s own paper from his desk and start writing out a few notes on how to improve his recipes.


    “Why are you helping him?” Ilara wonders. “Did he not betray the clans?”


    I shrug and keep writing. “Sure, it was a dick move, but the situation can still be salvaged. And now he doubly owes me and he’ll be putting more effective remedies into the hands of people who need them.”


    I shove my notes into Gulug’s book and return it to its hiding spot, and head back to the bathhouse. Gulug hasn’t moved, although for some reason he seems to be having trouble relaxing.


    “Here you go,” I say, tossing the key back onto his pile of clothes. “I left you some notes, too. Your recipes would be much more effective with a few small changes and there are some ingredients that would work a lot better in some cases.” I start listing a few.


    “Ugh,” Gulug grumbles. “Where am I going to find those in Wrothgar?”


    “The Wood Orc embassy,” I say. “Just outside the north gate and to the right. You can buy them there for reasonable prices.”


    “I see how it is,” Gulug says. “Fine. So you’re a Wood Orc, then? If this works, I suppose I should be grateful. What’s your name?”


    “Neri gro-Drublog,” I say.


    “Wait, you’re the other Orc king?” Gulug says. “Why do you care about the Wrothgar clans, then?” He frowns. “You’re trying to get them to recognize you as king since they’ve refused to bow to King Kurog, aren’t you.”


    “Honestly, I didn’t know that they refused to recognize Kurog until I got here,” I say. “But you know, if I’m helping them and he’s not, I don’t figure his chances of winning them over to be very good. I’m hardly going to demand that they bow down to me, regardless. Orcs shouldn’t bow.”


    Leaving behind Gulug’s puzzled face and moist abs, I head back out to find a marketplace where I might be able to buy a freaking map. Or at least look at one and memorize it. A map of the city might be handy, too. Hey, wouldn’t the bookshop be a good place for maps? On my way there, I almost bump into the craggy face of a certain Breton necromancer.


    “Tom Gautier?” I say. “Fancy seeing you here!”


    “Yes, King Kurog extended an invitation to people who might help rebuild Orsinium,” Tom says. “I do believe he called me in for killing monsters and solving problems rather than because he needed a skeletal labor force, however.”


    “Does he even know you’re a necromancer?”


    “I do not know,” Tom says. “I try to keep it to outside towns where people won’t freak out about it and try to get me arrested.” He gives me a look. “I hear congratulations are in order.”


    “It’s always something, isn’t it?” I say. “No hard feelings about me booting your alliance out of Cyrodiil?”


    Tom snorts softly. “I certainly don’t want that hornet’s nest. You can have it for all I care.”


    Tom is heading toward the palace to report in with the forge-mother, and I decide to head along with him to get an eye at the woman my pocket prophet was so insistent that I kill. And dear fucking Aedra, Daedra, Sithis and Hist does King Kurog have an overcompensation of a pile of stones. This “palace” is possibly larger than every other palace I’ve seen combined. This is utterly ridiculous.


    “Is it bigger than your palace?” Tom asks.


    “I live in a longhouse!” I say. “With a nice view of the sea. And cozy wood and leather walls, not cold stone.”


    An Orc woman meets us on the steps, but it’s not the forge-mother, but Solgra, the High Priestess of Trinimac.


    “The Hero of the Covenant,” Solgra says. “And the King of the Wood Orcs. I didn’t realize you’d be coming together.”


    “We just ran into one another in town,” I say. “But we go way back. Fought together in the Coldharbour campaign. We’re about to head out to beat the shit out of some Reachfolk and get back the supplies they stole, but Tom wanted to say hi first.”


    “You know where they took the stolen supplies?” Solgra says. “Trinimac has surely sent you to us in our time of need!”


    I give her a level look, then raise my hand to show her my ring. “Of course he did. Though I don’t know why you people insist on referring to Malacath by that name.”


    Tom clears his throat. “I am certain that you will spend plenty of time discussing religious differences.”


    Forge-Mother Alga, King Kurog’s mom and apparently a staunch follower of Trinimac in her own right, chooses that moment to walk up and by Malacath’s balls I hate this woman the minute she opens her mouth in a visceral way that makes my skin crawl. I let Tom and my friends do the talking while keeping my eyes fully pinned upon her. I have no reason to hate this Orc I just met, even if Louna did tell me to murder her, so I’m going to assume… that was Malacath there. The feeling has faded now, though I’m still wary.


    We’re back at the Wood Orc embassy before Eran asks, “Are you alright, Neri?”


    I take a seat on a bench of Pyandonea timber, a curved palm tree that they sawed down the middle to make two benches. I appreciate the irony of having palm wood benches this far north.


    They’re working quickly to get this all set up, but it shouldn’t take long. They’re Wood Orcs. While their northern cousins might build heavy stone buildings to last, Wood Orcs build tents of wood and leather and can tear down or erect an outpost in a day. Maybe the “overly traditional” clans people keep denigrating do that too, but I can’t imagine what a mess it would have made of Dra’bul to try to build it up like this. I like it the way it is.


    “I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to murder King Kurog’s mother,” I say.


    “You’re going to kill her after all?” Eran asks. “She seemed kind of nice.”


    “I think Malacath warned me something’s wrong here, too,” I say. “Trouble is, if I were to simply behead her on the palace steps…”


    “Right…” Eran says. “High Priestess Solgra was telling me how she visited Summerset and studied the word of Trinimac with Altmer priests. I don’t know how that amounted to all these other Orcs deciding it was a great idea.”


    “We need to investigate and plan,” Merry says. “Fortunately, we will likely be doing enough of the former to mitigate our complete lack of managing the latter.”


    “You don’t plan on killing High Priestess Solgra too, do you?” Eran asks.


    “No, I certainly hope not,” I say. “I’ll probably have to have a lengthy religious debate and maybe get her high so she can see the truth too.”


    Eran sighs. “Of course. Well, I suppose you’d know, seeing as you’ve been in the presence of Malacath. I doubt she actually met Trinimac. I suppose you’d know better than most what the truth of the mythos is.”


    “Eran, the thing you have to learn about mythos is… it’s all true,” I say.


    “There is no way that can be possible,” Eran says flatly.


    “Exactly,” I say. “There was a Dragon Break or three and it made everything a mess.”


    “How many drugs does it take to make sense of Dragon Breaks?”


    “All of them,” I say. “All the drugs.”