Bruma - 4E 188

Bruma. Such a fine Cyrodiliic city. Home to many Nords, who's culture remains largely unaltered from that of Skyrim's. The Jerall Mountains were unforgiving, just as hypothermic as any northem town in Skyrim. But on this night, Bruma's citizens had far more to worry about than the remorseless snow storm they were suffering. A large group of bandits were held up on the peak of snowy hill; trying there best to stay warm. But these were not your average raiders. These were men and women from largely different backgrounds, who had come together for the cause of coin, all with their own particular talents. Durzub gro-Yargol was amongst them. An indifferent Orc, muscular as a young Ogre, and hairier than a Cave Bear. His story? Much like every Orc born into a stronghold, he was raised to please Malacath with honour and strength that the other races seemed to lack. Only the chief was allowed to have wives, and Durzub would often mistake his mother for his aunt as a young child. He was raised with no love, and no affection. Like every Orc he was raised to fight. Thus, what could be more fitting for a sadistic sociopath than the life of a bandit?

Screams of adrenaline poisoned the cold air, as the bandits charged on Bruma.. Weapons drawn, and without uttering a single coherent word. There were over twenty of them in total; as far as they were concerned, the town guard didn't stand a chance. First were the gate guards. They seemed to recoil in fear, but put up an astonishingly brave fight nonetheless. The bandits intimidating screams overwhelmed Durzub's eardrums as he decapitated one of the gate guards with his Steel Battleaxe. The other gate guard.. Was hopelessly overwhelmed. And onward they charged through the main gate. The city seemed to be largely abandoned, save for the town guards. Not only was it past midnight, but any unlikely nocturnals would be staying indoors tonight out of fear, for the weather was the harshest Durzub had seen in his entire life.

The town guard were taken totally by surprise, and were quickly slaughtered in great numbers. The clashing and banging of steel continued for a good twenty minutes, Durzub achieving more than his fair share of kills, then the debris... Enough to turn a man mad, but the bandits were largely unfazed by the bloody corpses and their missing limbs. More loud screams penetrated the night sky, as they charged towards the northern district. What was going through Durzub's mind at this point? Nothing.. He probably didn't even know the meaning of the word remorse. Innocent men and his fellow plunderers lay dead on the snowy ground, but all Durzub's mind longed for was more blood.

More guards wearing sturdy chain mail armour stood in an impenetrable line, refusing to allow these evil monsters to harm the Count. The bandits came to a pause, with Durzub leading. This time they were largely outnumbered, and would have a hard time breaking their defences. Durzub was forced to negotiate.

"Lay down your weapons, and you won't be harmed. We're here only for the plunder."

The grunting of the bandits told Durzub that combat would probably be initiated regardless of what the guards reply was. He couldn't calm their bloodlust, for they would then be open to an attack. He simply had to pray to Malacath that someone didn't screw this up by acting out of line.

Wincing, the captain of the Bruma guard emerged from the legions of soldiers.

"Tell me Orc. What is it you're here for? If it were blood alone, we wouldn't be having this discussion now would we?"

Durzub gro-Yargol was a clumsy socialist, so he looked to his elven accomplice, and signalled for him to take over. He did just that.

"If we were to tell you that, you would simply evacuate the loot."

By this time they had already lost, they took far too long in their 'negotiations,' allowing themselves to be routed from behind. A cruel Ebony arrow pierced Dulzub's back as he felt his body weaken from its terrible poison of paralysis. The Imperial soldiers with whom they were negotiating charged forth and slew half of the plunderers in mere seconds. The rest scattered helplessly, knowing that their efforts to fight would be in vain. And so only Dulzub gro-Yargol remained.

"No. Don't kill him, we'll keep him for questioning. Floyd, Berentius.. Take this scum to the dungeons.'

The captains demands were honoured, and it took four men to lift this heavy Orc to the dungeons.. They'd be sitting down for the next week. Durzub was completely helpless, he couldn't move a single limb even if he had wanted to. He felt his entire body introduce itself to the hard stone of the dungeon with a loud bang. The cell gate was slammed, and Durzub laid impotent on the mossy stone of his empty cell.