By Anonymous, 3E 424

Seven years had passed since the so-called 'Warp in the West', and the Orcish city of Nova Orsinium continued to prosper, much to my dismay. A Wayrester would never learn to accept the Pig Children as more than just beasts, no matter what Emperor Uriel VII decreed, and this son of the Iliac prayed to his Gods that rumours of a planned sack of the scourge of Wrothgar would come to fruition; sooner, rather than later.

The Queen of Wayrest, Lady Barenziah, had summoned me to her court, and asked of me to deliver a letter to the King of the Orcs, Gortwog gro-Nagorm, on behalf of her late husband and King of Wayrest, Eadwyre, who had recently passed after a short illness. Unwilling to disappoint my lady, I begrudgingly agreed to traipse into the mountains, and represent myself as a diplomat of the Jewel of the Bay.
***
Arriving in the city on the eve of Sun's Dawn, I was made to swear an Oath to Trinimac that I would not return to Nova Orsinium at a later date with a thousand soldiers at my side. I was escorted through the city to Gortwog's Palace, which sat upon the highest mountain in the Wrothgarian Mountains. Two hundred Orcs must have been stood outside as guards, protecting their King; and it would be an unwise decision to attempt an assassination if one wished to come out alive.

"Who is this to approach my throne?" cried the Orc, as he petted his Echaterre. "Eadwyre would rather send a lackey to deliver me news, than to come himself? If I did not know any better, I would say he wished to insult me."

"Gortwog gro-Nagorm; King of the Orcs of the Wrothgarians, the Dragontails, the Druadachs and the Velothis; King Eadwyre of Wayrest passed away two weeks past. If the Wild Orcs had not been eating the couriers, perhaps news may have arrived faster."

"And yet it appears they left you unscathed, meat?"

"I had the blessing of Trinimac protecting me, my King."

The Orc scowled, and he slammed his fist into the armrest of his stone throne.

"You would dare tarnish Trinimac's name by falsey claiming he blessed a Breton? I will see you hung for this! Guards!"

I began to panic, and cast a ward spell upon myself that would protect me from any attacks.

"My King, rash actions like that will provoke the cities of Wayrest and Sentinel to sack your city. I would trust you have more smarts than that."

Gortwog ordered his kinsmer to stand at ease, and he stood up from his throne and walked towards me.

"I hear your words Breton, and it shames me that I must agree with you. I will let you return to Wayrest a free man if you can correctly recall how the Orcs came to be."

"An easy task, my King. When the Mythic Era was still in it's infancy, the Aldmeri Warrior-God Trinimac walked on the lands of Summerset. After drinking the finest ale known in the Aurbis, he eyed up a beautiful Aldmer girl who was sat alone with an empty flagon, whose long black hair hung from her head like each strand was a snake. He approached the girl, and asked her if she would like to lay down with him in his palace. The young girl was impressed by Trinimac's muscles, and the weaponry he had been gifted to by Auri-El himself. 'Oh, great warrior of the Aldmer, it would be among the highest honours to lay at your side on this night.' Trinimac led her through the capital of Summerset to his private quarters in the King's Palace, and began to make love to her. The girl was an expert at sheathing and unsheathing his sword, and before long she was demonstrating her abilities as a sword-swallower. Trinimac enjoyed watching her talents with his sword, and he was close to showing her how *much* he was enjoying her; but just before he could sow his seed, the girl froze Trinimac with an evil spell. She looked him in the eyes, and showed him her true face as the Prince of Plots. 'Trinimac, warrior of the Aldmer, you have fallen for my tricks and you shall be frozen forever more. You shall never feel the upmost happiness I could have given you then, and your followers will live their lives in sorrow, never being able to fulfill their full potential. From your eternal sadness, I shall create the most ugliest of beasts, who will become the patron of the spurned. Farewell, Warrior-God'. And with that, Boethia disappeared; leaving Trinimac and his followers in a state of flux from which they will never recover."

Gortwog, impressed with my oral abilities, applauded my efforts and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Wayrester, I apologize for my rash action. Trinimac truely has blessed you, and it would be my honour to appoint you as my personal storyteller, if your endeavours in Wayrest are not successful."
***
I left Nova Orsinium and Gortwog with Queen Barenziah's letter, and a slight less disdain of the Pig Children of Wrothgar.