[hider= Durzum gro-Moghul]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/F8pZOuk.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][b]Durzum gro-Moghul[/b][/center]
[center][i][quote]"Choice is a luxury granted to us through peace. Conflict is man and mer's true nature."[/quote][/i][/center]

[b]Age:[/b] 35
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Race:[/b] Orsimer
[b]Appearance:[/b] Slightly below average in height, for an Orsimer. He has broad, almost pointed shoulders and is covered in thick, functional muscle one commonly may see on miners or woodcutters. He moves and stands with the discipline of a career soldier, and has a habit of picking at lacerations in his armor, blunting his nails. His skin falls into the brownish, almost olive-colored shade of the Orc spectrum.

His face bears the stress marks and wrinkles of someone decades older than he. Though his round jawline, almond-shaped eyes, and beak of a nose, coupled with his skin tone, at times make him look man-like, the two small, hook-shaped tusks protruding past his lower lip and ears that come to a point would instantly betray the notion. Both his body and face have remained remarkably unmarred given his profession, and both remain free of any tattoos, as he is an instrument of Trinimac, and his blade, Penitent, bore no runes. His hair is the color of soot, and he keeps it pulled back into a ponytail, preferring to keep the sides cut short. He's never been able to grow facial hair. 

His clothing is very simple and functional for the environment and season he finds himself in, consisting of plain trousers and whatever shirt he grabs, be it full of holes or no. Furs will supplement this in the colder months. Still, Durzum is most comfortable in some sort of armor, even if it's just his greaves or armlets, but preferably his shield. His mace is only ever off of his person when he sleeps, and even then he keeps it within arms reach. 
[hr]

[b]History:[/b] 

Durzum was born the child of Moghul gro-Ghornok and Dagatha gra-Mazg within the walls of Orsinium in 3E 413. Healthy and strong, his formative years saw him run the gamut of rearing techniques synonymous with Orsimer- before his seventh year, he was taught how to hold and handle a weapon, and afterwards learned to read and write as he was instructed in the ways of Malacath. He was destined to be a guardsman of Orsinium, and was one of many younglings to enter into extended training given to adolescents to turn them into warriors. It was a tough lifestyle, and Durzum was frequently mocked when he brought up Malacath; he would sometimes invoke the right of combat but this only garnered further disfavor. Around this time, Durzum's father would leave, taking the name Moghul gro-Orsinium as he travelled to Cyrodiil to try and make a name for himself in the Fighter's Guild, or perhaps the Legions, tempted by visions of glory. 

Durzum would then meet Bruk gro-Bharmog, a young Orc four years his senior on a similar lifepath. Though he was one of the many Orsinium-born orcs who worshipped Trinimac, the two became good friends, though Durzum to this day believes Bruk took pity on him, as Bruk was always the better fighter. In time, he would teach Durzum the way of Trinimac, and his goals of martial, divine perfection. At the time, Bruk believed fighting in war was the preferred way to worship the deity, conflict being merely a lathe to shape oneself upon. Durzum took to his opinions over Malacath's, a fact that caused his mother to basically disown him; she, too, would leave Orsinium shortly afterwards. Now a man in his own right, Durzum entered the service of the Orsinium Guardsmen, though mirrored Bruk's desire of mercenary life, travelling Tamriel, honing what he saw as a divine craft.

Two years into his service, the Gates of Oblivion opened in Cyrodiil. Emperor Uriel Septim VII lay dead, and the countryside found itself in the throes of war. Bruk and Durzum saw this as an opportunity, and less-than-amicably left Orsinium, eventually finding their way to Bruma where they located a small force from the Fighter's Guild, to whom they offered their blades. By the time they had arrived, the Oblivion Crisis was reaching its end, and witnessing firsthand the sorrow and wroth brought on by such a conflict changed them. "There is no divinity to be found in something that causes such torment," Bruk would tell Durzum, who agreed. 

The revelation shook them to their core. After the Crisis ended, the two travelled back to Orsinium, spending much of the journey in contemplation. In their conversing, the two arrived at the belief that it wasn't [i]conflict[/i] that Trinimac desired, but the [i]resolution[/i] thereof. The faster, the better- prolonged war only furthered its misery, which Trinimac certainly wouldn't want. Bruk referred to this as "Tearing out the heart", referring to Trinimac's legend wherein he tore out Lorkhan's heart in front of his army. Bruk would pen these beliefs in a journal that would later become the foundation of his [i]"A Conjecture on the Code of Malacath."[/i]

Durzum and Bruk were mercifully returned to their posts within the Guard, where each would serve for the next decade. Durzum's service was quiet, whereas Bruk eventually published his beliefs in a pamphlet. It was received as little more than an interesting talking point, as most of Orsinium at that point now bowed to Trinimac. It was also fairly self-serving; Bruk became something of a captain as his martial skills only continued to impress as he bested his superiors.  

Soon after the onset of the Interregnum, as the borders of Tamriel were beginning to blur, Orsinium watch posts reported a troop of Redguards and Bretons approaching. Their intent was clear, that being the sacking of Orsinium. King Gortwog gathered advisors and guard captains to discuss the coming conflict, Bruk among them. As the invading force had numbers and surprise on their side, it was apparently decided to battle conventionally, submitting to a loss, escorting as many refugees out of Orsimer as they could before it crumbled. 

Bruk, however, had been developing his own military philosophy, influenced heavily by his belief that Trinimac values the [i]resolution[/i] of war, rather than the [i]process[/i] of it. He theorized that adhering to the moral and ethical deliberations during "measured war" works against the [i]objective[/i] of war, and conforming to things such as "honorable" codes of conduct only served to [i]prolong[/i] suffering from conflicts rather than belittle it. He proposed his own strategy- one that maximized cruelty, brutality, and fear in hopes of bringing as fast of an end to the war as possible, minimizing the true suffering he believed would be caused by sustaining it. Though he was rebuked for this, Bruk defied orders and rallied a faithful contingent (of which Durzum was a part of) to practice the tactic during the Sacking of the Third Orsinium. A sudden, rapid conquest was met with horrific massacres and the routing of a lot of the civilian support staff that had accompanied the offending force. They emphasized attacking things like civilian supply trains and food stores, making it a point to butcher all they came across, sparing none, not even those that surrendered. 

This brutality established to the Breton and Redguard invaders that Bruk's tactic of waging war was far unlike their own, or even other Orsimer's, as they had clearly expected conventional, Code of Malacath conduct. Within a short period of time, a portion of the offensive had slowed dramatically. Though the rest of the year saw the invading force ultimately successful, Bruk claimed some credit in biding enough time for the refugees of Orsinium to escape safely into Skyrim. 

Despite this, Bruk, Durzum, and the others decided not to rejoin their Orsimer brethren. They had come to another conclusion that an entire nation's military cannot be run this way, mostly because of what this style of warfare inflicts on those that carried it out. Most had begun to rely on various coping mechanisms to deal with the trauma, and were confident they would never be able to reintegrate into a normal society or life again. Instead, they retooled their beliefs and envisioned an independent group that would embrace these ideals as a way of life, its members traveling from conflict to conflict until battle took them. 

Calling themselves Voshu Ornim (Worthy Orcs), this was their final development into a distinct independent order. "Philosophers" of Bruk's teachings sought to spread them to every corner of the world. Durzum himself was drawn to Cyrodiil once more, seeing it as a quickly fattening center of war and struggle. Following up on rumors of a resistance within Skingrad, Durzum was quick to offer his arm to them, seeing the Count did naught but perpetuate hardship and would surely only prolong campaigns to keep himself in power.
[hr]

[b]Personality:[/b] 

[i][quote]"Even when the banners of war lay dirtied and unused, man and mer inspire strife- companions may argue with fists, beloveds whet jealousies, coinpushers wrestle with lies - no matter where man and mer may go, conflict will always follow.[/quote][/i]

The immediately notable thing one will certainly notice in any interaction with Durzum is his obsession with the concepts of conflict and strife. This can largely be attributed to both the zeal he harbors for his deity, and his time serving under Bruk, who also proselytized his own views on the matter. This wasn't always the case, and vestiges may occasionally be seen of a dispassionate and worried person, but his time spent amongst Voshu Ornim has largely shaped his worldview to match. Durzum believes that struggle and strife are the fundamental nature of all living things, and believes that those who can resolve their conflicts quickly are not only virtuous and right, but will also be viewed favorably in the eyes of Trinimac. 

[i][quote]"We who worship Trinimac are not bewildered barbarians nor reclusive mystics. We stand as knights, guardsmen, bodyguards- craftsmen of conflict and discord, protectors of our families and homes; Trinimac is a God of war and perfection, not murder and conquest."[/quote][/i] 

It wouldn't be a stretch to label Durzum a zealot. In a similar measure of his worship of conflict, so too does he bow to Trinimac, the warrior-god whose clergy could mostly be found within the Third Orsinium before its fall. Durzum, as many of the Voshu Ornim, worshipped the Paragon in their own way. He levies Trinimac's potential view of him as the measure of his own worth, and wholly believes his interpretation of war (that being, the resolution of control through violence) earns him favor in his eyes. He loathes things he believes will tarnish Trinimac's view of him; listlessness, weakness, unfaithfulness, the inability to help himself - these are a few of the things Durzum has encountered throughout his life that he thoroughly shuns.

Given the nature of Trinimac worship, Durzum resents any mention of Malacath, and will frequently refer to him as "the whore of Boethiah". 

[i][quote]"I do not pray for strife- I view war as unwelcome as anyone else, but when it inevitably must be fought, I pray for the wisdom to resolve it quickly.[/quote][/i]

All of this is not to paint Durzum as a warmonger. Far from it, in fact. Durzum accepts and stands firm that war causes immense suffering, and in his brutality and cruelty, he looks to end it as quickly as possible, believing that doing so is genuinely better in the long term. These views can largely be expanded to all of his other facets of life; this results in a very blunt, humorless, and above all relentless Orsimer. He is not without reason or pragmatism, though. Much of his life has been spent serving under the command of others, but he will always be quick to state his opinion and goals, and at least appreciates strong decisions, even if they're ones he himself wouldn't have made. Ultimately, he is a warrior who believes he's deciphered the key to ending war, and thus creating a better world because of it. 

In private, Durzum remains deeply troubled by the things he has done, and wrestles with doubt. He's more sensitive that he lets on, and is mortified at the thought that his views are entirely misguided, and he is nothing but a cruel and worthless blackguard. Nevertheless, he remains faithful to Bruk and Trinimac's ideals for the time being, doing his best to eschew the intrusive ideas by trying to avoid situations where he could be seen as merciful. 
[hr]

[b]Attributes:[/b]

[list]
[*][i]Major:[/i] Endurance - Durzum is nothing if not relentless in all of his pursuits. The mental and physical exploits of the Voshu Ornim, to mention nothing of his upbringing, have honed his body, and though his mind remains traumatized, it is nonetheless steeled against what he views as lesser horrors. 
[*][i]Minor:[/i] Personality - If one were to measure the strength of personality as an individual's ability to effect dispositions, Durzum is somewhat apt at the art. Whereas others may mingle with words or loosen tongues with coins, Durzum likens himself, and his "charm", to an executioner's axe.
[/list]

[b]Skills:[/b] 

	[i]Expert:[/i]
[list]
	[*]Heavy Armor: The Voshu Ornim infamously fought in Orsinium almost exclusively in heavy armor. It only added to their menacing visage- a wall of heavily armored orcs, standing shoulder to shoulder, tirelessly marching toward their charge.
[/list]
	[i]Adept:[/i]
[list]
	[*]Blunt: Durzum has always favored axes and hammers. They aid his strength and all-offense style, allowing him to somewhat eschew form and technique in favor of raw power. 

	[*]Block: Durzum's shield exists only to keep him in the fight longer. This, combined with his heavy armor, allow him to persistently harry foes on the battlefield.  

	[*]Athletics: A lifetime of training and a history of travel have honed Durzum's stamina to a fine point. Durzum's unrelenting willpower also supplements this, shrugging past the boundaries of his own limitations, careless to any consequences.
[/list]
	[i]Journeyman:[/i]
[list]
	[*]Illusion: Magic is something he's picked up only recently, and his selection of spells remains pitifully small. He prefers to use it as a last resort, for the simple fact that magical fear and courage wither away.
 
	[*]Hand-to-hand: A byproduct of his upbringing. Durzum is supremely uncomfortable in situations where he feels powerless or weak, and as such trains a little without weapons, not wanting to rely on weaponry alone. 

	[*]Armorer: Durzum is self-taught and couldn't ever hold a candle to a real smith, but he's adequate in maintaining his own weapons and armor to an acceptable (read: functional) level. 
[/list]

[b]Spells:[/b] 
[list]
[*]Fear
[*]Courage
[/list]
Equipment: 
[list]
[*]Rugged Steel Plate - the same set of steel plate he wore during the Sacking of Orsinium. Its perpetually in a state of adequate repair, but there's nothing else notable about it. Durzum does his best to keep it functional, not only because it is a personal token, but his lack of funds have barred him from replacing it. 
[*]Orcish Mace & Shield - Durzum's preferred tools of war. Like his plate, they are relics from the previous Orsinium
[/list]

[b]Belongings:[/b] 
[list]
[*]A copy of [i]"A Conjecture on the Code of Malacath[/i] by Bruk gro-Orsinium.
[*]Traveling Supplies - Little more than a bedroll, a pan, a handful of rations, a waterskin, and a tinderbox. 
[*]Basic Armorer's Tools - A frequently used bag of various sizes types of tools one could repair light damage to arms and armor with. 
[*]Token of Voshu Ornim - A single septim with various organic materials carefully burnt into it until both sides are soot black. A reminder to not be beholden to a nation, but to his ideals.
[*]Money - Carried in a fur coin pouch at his hip. Its usually only filled with around twenty-five septims as well as his Token; Durzum does not fight for money, but lodging and food require it.   
[/list]

Birthsign: The Lord
[/hider]

[hider=What Gods hath wrought]
[b]Early morning of the 6th of Sun's Dawn, 4E11, the Outskirts of Orsinium[/b]

[i]"One... Two... Three..."

"What are you doing?"

"Well, Durzum, I'm counting my footsteps. You caught me pretty good, young mer. Counting makes me focus on something else, makes it hurt a little less." Durzum looked up at the Orsimer nearly twice his size as he paced a few more small circles, fingers gingerly prodding a growing lump of discolored flesh on his cheek. Durzum's toothy grin fought back any of his instructor's attempts to make eye contact. 

"Maybe next time we'll practice with the real things? That oughta get you to focus and not slip up again, right?" Durzum's grip on the wooden mallet was still white-knuckled. His hand still stung from the impact - he never liked sparring hard in the colder months - but he felt he was hiding it well. 

Durzum only received a bloody tooth spat at him.[/i]

The sudden metallic rustle of armor awoke Durzum with a start. Reflex dictated his hand reach for his mace, but in grasping for it he only found a handful of his bedroll. 

"Forget this?" A gravelly voice inquired. The only lighting in the small tent was coming from the intruder, who carefully held an oil lamp. Durzum noticed stars in a black sky through the opening in the tent, betraying any semblance of sleep gained. As if the soreness creeping in from his shoulders didn't make it obvious enough. 

The lamplight reveal of a familiar face followed a solid thud as Durzum's mace landed in the dirt next to him. 

Durzum cleared his throat, "Can't allow me more than an hour of rest, Bruk?"

The steel-clad, burly orc grunted. "I know you barely sleep. An hour would be merciful." With more metallic rattles, Bruk turned and slipped out of the tent, leaving Durzum only the darkness and the faint smell of smoke and burnt flesh that slowly filled his senses. Bruk was right, Durzum always had a hard time sleeping after a battle. Wiping his eyes, he followed Bruk.

Now out on the rocky overlook, Durzum found the source of the smoke. A small campfire had been hastily erected not fifty feet to the right of his tent, near the edge of the plateau. Looking to his left, Durzum saw a few others like it down the line of tents, though only the nearest had an occupant. Below their position, a wide, snow-covered road twisted away and down

Bruk awkwardly sat on a small rock, the crackling flame illuminating only the left side of his face. Were his steel armor in better care, it might've looked golden. Bruk's gaze was locked on the road- specifically, a shrinking red and orange glow farther down it, just over where the path would dip out of sight, were it not night. Durzum knew what was there. He was surprised they were still burning. 

"Those Bretons never burn right," Bruk wryly remarked as Durzum approached, footsteps plodding against the cool, uneven rockface beneath his feet. "Must be that Dragonskin or what have you."

Durzum couldn't find the words for a reply as he took a position on the other side of the fire. Though most of his face was shrouded in the shadow of pre-dawn, Durzum knew Bruk well enough that he could tell he was deep in thought. No doubt recalling the events of the night prior in his head. They had attacked the supply train while they were celebrating something, making quick work of the guards and several of the bystanders. Most were defenseless. The rest had quickly fled, hopefully back west. Bruk had uncharacteristically called off pursuit. 

"Is what we do right, Durzum?"

The sudden question hit him in the gut like a steel hammer. The unexpectedness of it almost made him laugh. 

"Of course," Durzum replied, almost mechanically, clearing his throat. Glancing over, he was surprised to see Bruk staring straight at him, his face set and unmoving. 

"Don't tell me you're losing sight of our bigger picture now, Bruk. Remember what you've said- 'think not of him you've slain, but those you've dissuaded from picking up the sword?'"

Bruk scowled, turning his gaze back to the dimming horizon. Durzum could feel his eyes narrow. "I've seen what it does to you- the others. Your hands shake. Many have taken to the bottle, among other things." He shook his head, his squat, angled face looking particularly hellish when illuminated by the campfire. 

"I had dreamt of something bigger. To influence all of Orsinium to fight this way. Craft ourselves a reputation so insidious that our presence on the battlefield alone would be cause for prompt surrender. There would be no faster a way to end any war. As Trinimac ripped out the heart."

"That's not unachievable," Durzum replied, rubbing his eyes, lowering himself into a squat next to the fire, "you saw how many fled when they realized it was us."

"No, Durzum, I think now [i]you[/i] are the one missing the bigger picture. A whole nation's armies could not possibly wage war this way. Remember Urzoa, or Bruga. How they died with little protest. I think they longed for their demise."

A few moments passed as Durzum thought, silence only broken by the crackling of the fire. Finally, Bruk spoke: "Look at me-"

Durzum tilted his head and locked Bruk's gaze.

"-do you honestly plan to return to Orsinium when this is over? To try and return home?"

Durzum couldn't hold the stare. Visions of the commoners he slew flashed through his head- the worst were the younger ones. His words caught in his throat. Both of them already knew the answer, anyway. With a twist and a grunt, Durzum stood, turning away from Bruk, and slowly began walking back to his tent. 

"One... Two... Three..."

"What are you doing?"

"Counting my footsteps."
[/hider]