A/N: This story is part of the Tales from Cyrodiil miniverse, in which the Hero of Kvatch performed basically just the main quest (and one or two others, as you'll see) rather than going through every questline in the game.

Bhed gro-Gamghaz is not meant to be the same as the Orc that hangs out in the Grey Mare usually – that guy's just too rude. ;) Mod items/races/etc. are fair game; this is where Manx Khajiit and the black and red armor come from. Those who use SickleYield mods may also find other things familiar, but you don't have to to enjoy the story.

I'm writing this story as sort of a bet with myself: can I get people to read a story wherein the Hero of Kvatch is not male, human, elven, or popular?

Chapter 1

So an Orc walked into a bar…

Sorry, that's getting ahead of the story. Let's go back a little way.

It was a quiet evening inside the Grey Mare. It nearly always was. Most people preferred to give their custom to the Oak and Crosier, which had more room and a better atmosphere. That is to say, there was an atmosphere inside the Grey Mare, but a fug of wood smoke and old beer does little to recommend an establishment to the finer sort of clientele. Illicit meetings sometimes took place here, but such were a little less common in Chorrol than in some of the other cities of Tamriel.

Tonight there were only three patrons: An Orc in old leather clothes, a drunken Breton back in the corner, and a stocky little Khajiit without a tail. The Orc and the Breton knew each other, at least by sight, but it was the sort of acquaintanceship that depends heavily on both parties ignoring each other. The Orc gave the Khajiit the odd once-over, but he correctly assessed her black armor as both unusual and expensive and decided that asking what had happened to the tail was probably a bad idea.

He probably weighed twice what she did, but Bhed generally tried not to hit people smaller than he was. (This generally resulted in his not hitting people at all, but that was just fine with Bhed.) He also didn't much relish the idea of having to punch someone who was wearing pauldrons with spikes on them. The armor wasn't metal, exactly. It wasn't exactly stone, either. And that surely wasn't blood tipping all the spikes, because the Orc knew dried blood wasn't red (he'd seen enough of it in his time). The whole ensemble was weird enough for him to leave whoever-she-was the Oblivion alone and sit quietly with his usual pint of unusually bad ale. Bhed gro-Gamghaz wasn't a bad Orc. Things just never seemed to go his way.

The Khajiit was eating a cut of rare meat and a potato. This showed unusually bad judgment inside the Grey Mare, but then, only somebody new in town would walk in dressed like that anyway. Even more unusual, she wasn't drinking.

She didn't take her gauntlets off to eat, either. Bhed classed this with the armor itself in the category of very ominous signs. He drank faster. There was a reason why he always paid for his drinks in advance. Makes it easier to leave suddenly.

The Breton back in the corner – Reginald or something, Bhed had never really learned his name – laughed to himself, then muttered. The Khajiit flicked her ears, but didn't look at him. Her black hair stuck back and out in a stiff mass. She had a wide, flat nose even for a Khajiit. And this is an Orc saying so, thought Bhed.

And then an Orc walked into the bar.

Bhed looked him over cautiously. He wasn't bigger than Bhed. Not a lot of Orcs were. But he was wearing chainmail in an unusual pattern of black links, and Bhed could smell the drink on him from where he sat. Great. So this isn't his first stop.

The newcomer stomped up to the bar and brought down a mailed fist on the surface, making a couple of tin mugs jump.

"Ale," he growled.

"Two gold," the proprietress said.

"Up front?"

"When you come in here good and stinking already, yeah," the proprietress said. "Got thrown out of the Oak and Crosier, did you?"

"None of your business, woman. Just gimme the ale."

The Orc tossed a couple of septims onto the bar. He gave it enough force that they rolled off, and the woman behind the bar had to lean over and fish for them. The Orc leered at her homespun-clad posterior. Bhed rolled his eyes. He thought about going home, but he didn't get up. It had been a long day and a long hike, and not much to show for it. Maybe life in the Fighters' Guild was glamorous for some people. Those people weren't Bhed gro-Ghamgaz. Chasing goblins through a dark hole for a hundred gold a day? Ha.

One of these days he'd try and learn to read. Probably wouldn't do him much good. People took one look at Bhed and made certain fundamental assumptions. Other Orcs were not the exception to this rule.

"Here," the proprietress said, and plumped down a tin mug and a bottle of ale on the bar in front of the stranger. "You wanna room?"

"How much?"

"Ten septims a night, and you kill your own bugs."

"Fine." He tossed some more septims, then leered some more as the proprietress collected them. "So where do you sleep, lady?"

"Not with any drunken Orcs," the woman said.

"Now that ain't no way to talk." The Orc uncapped the ale with some difficulty, between his inebriation and his gauntlets, and drank half of it in a gulp. "Let's you'n me be friends, huh?" he reached out and fingered the woman's cheek with a gauntleted hand. She twitched backward, reaching for something under the bar. The Orc caught her wrist halfway there. "Oh, so that's it, huh? I like a woman with some spirit. Makes it more fun to -"

"This one does not believe the lady is interested," said a voice. Bhed was probably as surprised as the stranger to hear from the Khajiit in the corner. Her voice had seen some hard use. She wouldn't be singing any operas any time soon, anyway.

"Who're you?" the Orc said. He turned, swaying slightly, to squint into the shadows. The Khajiit slid her chair back, displaying the curved dagger strapped to her left thigh.

"This one suggests you convey your custom elsewhere, yes," the Khajiit said.

"Hey, I know you," the Orc said. "Seen pictures of that armor. You're the one they call the Hero of Kvatch, right?"

The Khajiit's ears flickered again. "Two years it has been, and much blood under that bridge. No one speaks that name now."

"Not too many Khajiit around without tails," the Orc said. "How'd you lose it?"

The ears slid slowly down to half-mast. (One of them was sharply notched.) Bhed noted that he had gauged correctly the effect of this particular question.

"I was born without it," the Khajiit said. "Now finish your ale and depart, if you please. This one is offended by your smell."

"The Hero of Kvatch," the Orc mused, appearing to ignore her. Behind him, the proprietress had vanished from view, hiding behind the bar. Bhed wondered if he could get out the door without one or the other of them plugging him with a thrown knife. He wasn't that quick on his feet. Probably not.

"Now what was that name, again?"

"Thrissi," the Khajiit said.

"That's right," the Orc said. "Thrissi." Then he dragged the axe off his back with lightning speed and charged for the Khajiit.

Bhed stood up, knocking his chair backwards, but he'd left his weapons down at the Guild for the porter to repair. It didn't matter, anyway. The Khajiit dove sideways out of her chair, rolled, and came up holding the knife. The stranger's axe came down on the empty chair, cutting it cleanly in half. He whirled, holding the weapon at the ready. It was a better axe than any Bhed had ever owned, the silver blade crawling with green magicka.

"Pretty quick, for a stubby thing like you," he said. Bhed agreed privately, but judged verbal assent to be a bad idea. He edged toward the bar, being careful not to make any sudden movements. Both of them seemed to be ignoring him.

"It was a nice try," Thrissi said. "One Orc looks much like another to a Khajiit, and even this one's nose cannot tell drink on your shirt from drink down your ugly gullet. But you should have worn different mail."

"Recognized that, did you? No matter," the Orc said. He swung the axe again. The Khajiit ducked under his upraised arms and jabbed for the hem of his mail, but the dagger slid off with a couple of thin sparks. She whirled aside as the axe came down again.

Bhed winced as another chair splintered. The stranger now stood with his back to Bhed, facing the little Khajiit. Her ears were flat to her head now, yellow eyes narrow. Both of them seemed to be ignoring the Orc in the worn-out leathers.

"That's not much of a weapon for somebody like you," the Orc said. "Ain't half as good as the one you killed Lord Arghaz's son with."

"This one wondered how long it would take him to follow that trail," the Khajiit said. "Apparently this one was wrong to suppose he would come himself." She shifted carefully in her boots.

"Yep," the Orc said. "You do something that dumb, sooner or later it's gonna catch - "

It was at this point that Bhed rabbit-punched him in the back of the head. The stranger dropped like a stone. The floor shook as he hit it. Bhed rubbed his knuckles. "Rgh. That's why I usually hit the soft parts." The Khajiit edged forward, knife still in hand, and prodded the stranger with one foot.

"Bloody flaming Akatosh," said the proprietress, straightening up from behind the bar. "You killed him."

"She is right," the Khajiit said. "The back of his skull is pulp." She removed a gauntleted hand from the Orc's head and straightened, gracefully for such a thick-bodied creature. She surveyed Bhed narrowly. "Why did you do that, Orc? This one does not know you."

"Enfrim here can't afford to lose too many chairs," Bhed said mildly. "If she goes out of business, I got to go back to sleeping at the Guild."

"Thanks," The proprietress said. "But she's still going to owe me for the furniture."

"Here," The Khajiit sighed. She unhooked a pathetically small purse from her belt and tossed it onto the bar. "This one has no more."

Enfrim counted the money. "Yeah, this'll cover it."

"At least this one has a new weapon," the Khajiit said. She picked up the dead stranger's axe, hefting the heavy thing with ease. She fingered the polished handle lovingly.

"What happened to your other gear?" Bhed said. "I heard where you had a mace with, you know, runes and so on."

"The Mace of the Light Freed, yes. This one was forced to sell it," the Khajiit said.

"Ever think about joining a Guild?" Bhed said.

"Oh, yes. This one was in the Fighter's Guild. There was a, hm, slight disagreement with the management." The Khajiit pulled a purse from the Orc's belt that was much larger than the one she had just given away, peered inside, and grunted in satisfaction. "Ah hah."

"About what?" Bhed said.

"A guildmate chose to comment unfavorably on this one's appearance. This one was forced to remonstrate with him. What shall we do with the body?" The Khajiit said.

"Hm." Bhed turned his attention to this more pressing problem, trying to remember if he knew what the word "remonstrate" meant. "What do you say, Enfrim?"

"Toss him out the back," Enfrim said negligently, still counting her new coins. "'S what we always do. I know somebody who can come get him later. Reynald won't care, he doesn't even know where he is." The Breton back in the corner was still in the same place, now singing an old and colorful ballad to himself.

"This one continues to contemplate the wisdom of her decision to patronize this establishment," the Khajiit. "But it will do." She hung the axe from a thong on the back of her cuirass and bent to seize the dead Orc's ankle. Bhed watched her drag the body toward the back door. She was evidently stronger than she looked, but a three-hundred-pound dead weight is no laughing matter. Gonna take her an hour, at that rate.

"Here, lemme do that," Bhed said, and reached down to grab the dead Orc's collar. He dragged the corpse out the back door and behind some hawthorne bushes. They were scraggly and unkempt, like everything about the Grey Mare, but they hid the body well enough. Bhed went back inside and closed the door quietly.

The Khajiit called Thrissi was still there, slightly to his surprise. She seemed to be arguing with the proprietress, standing in front of the bar.

"This one gave you more than enough to cover a night's lodgings as well as the furniture, yes!"

"Night's still young," Enfrim countered. "How do I know somebody else isn't after you?"

"This one does not know that herself," the Khajiit said. "But the rest of this one's enemies are smart and rich enough to hire real assassins, not send their second cousins in mail knit with the family pattern."

Enfrim folded her arms. "Oh, and that's supposed to reassure me, is it? Another twenty gold, or you sleep somewhere else."

"Come off it, Enfrim," Bhed said. "You know she gave you three times what those chairs cost."

"But," Enfrim started to say, and caught sight of Bhed's expression. She vacillated for an instant anyway before she said, "Fine, but only for one night."

"Fair enough," said the tailless Khajiit. "No establishment needs more than one night's custom from Thrissi the Luckless. Particularly one with food as bad as yours."

"Folks don't come here for the food," Bhed said. "Gimme another ale, Enfrim?" He handed her another two gold.

"Here you go, Bhed," Enfrim said, all appearance of good humor apparently restored. "You want one, Khajiit?"

"This one does not drink ale, thank you."

Bhed took the bottle and went to retrieve his seat and mug. He settled himself carefully, listening to the chair creak. When he looked up, the Khajiit was seated across from him. She had big hips for a small Khajiit, but she still fit much better on the chair than Bhed.

"This one recognizes no debt," she informed him. "This one could have killed Garn gro-Arghaz without your help."

"Sure," Bhed said, keeping to himself any reservations regarding the chances of a small Khajiit with an unenchanted knife against a large Orc with a highly enchanted axe.

"This one is not particularly fond of Orcs."

"Can't say as I blame you."

"However, this one is very fond of her new axe," Thrissi said.

"Not a lot of Khajiit use axes," Bhed observed. He sipped his ale. It was as bad as the last one had been.

"This one was born Manx. We are stronger than most Khajiit."

"I see that." Thrissi watched him narrowly, apparently trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. Her ears twitched once. Bhed drank more of his ale. It was possible this really was the Hero of Kvatch, but if so, her ability to glare still fell somewhat short of Modryn Oreyn's, and Bhed saw him every day.

"This one would be willing to render you a service," she said at last. "If this one can do so."

"Hm." Bhed thought about that. "I don't have any empires I need saved right now."

"This one has had her fill of empire-saving, thank you," Thrissi said. Her ears flattened momentarily, then rose reluctantly back to a normal position.

"Well…" Bhed thought for a moment. Modryn had been complaining about that thing out in the hills Westward. "There's a guild job I could use some help with. Pays good, but nobody wants to do it. You help me out and I'll give you half whatever I get from Modryn."

"If no one in the Fighter's Guild wants to do it, it must be tantamount to suicide," Thrissi said. "Yes?"

"Ah, so you remember that part, huh? Yep. There's a whole cave full of bandits out there, and one or two caravans have disappeared. The Count wants it cleaned out, but Modryn won't order anybody to do it and the fee's too small to split ten ways, you know what I mean?"

"Is it large enough to split two ways?" Thrissi said. Bhed told her the fee. "Hmm. No wonder no one volunteers. But this one has nothing better to do."

"Oh, good," Bhed said dryly. "In that case I'll meet you back here tomorrow. Got to get my armor from the porter."

"In that case, this one will retire now." She rose from her seat, shifting her shoulders under the new weight of the axe. "You did not tell me your name, Orc."

"Bhed gro-Gamghaz."

"This one is not entirely pleased to make your acquaintance, given the circumstances, but it will have to do." She turned and started for the stairs.

"Ever think about the Mages' Guild?" Bhed said. "They have Khajiits. You don't have to do much magic to join."

"This one was in that Guild also," Thrissi said over her shoulder. "This one was forced to leave after a small disagreement with one of those Khajiits whom you mention."

"Did he survive this small disagreement?" Bhed said. He had a funny feeling it had probably been a he.

"He did not," Thrissi said.

"I figured. Good night, Thrissi."

"Good night, Bhed gro-Gamghaz."

Enfrim wiped down the bar as she watched the Khajiit vanish from view. "Bet you're gonna regret that, Bhed."

"More'n likely," Bhed said. "But it's not gonna be boring."