Durag and Vilkas rode out of Whiterun, the wind at their heels, and vengeance in their hearts. Their trek took them southeast of Dawnstar, past the Frostflow Lighthouse and Fort Fellhamer to the last base of command for the Silver hand, a dilapidated fort, almost lost beneath snowdrifts, Driftshade Refuge. Its withdrawn location in the mountain, and apparent disappearance from local memory, made it ideal for concealing these types of affairs. Durag noticed the broken walls a short distance from the only remaining intact building, and surmised it was once a much larger fort. Durag saw that one paced the front gate, while the other sat idly on the roof. Drawing his bow, Durag fired but two arrows, each one landing squarely between the targets' eyes. "When we're done here," Vilkas smirked, drawing his sword, "I'd like you to teach me how you got so good with a bow."
"You sure you have the patience for years of training?" Durag smirked, standing.
Approaching the fort, both Companions saw the mounted heads of Werewolves, proudly displayed on spikes. "Savages." Vilkas spat.
Holding the door open for his friend, Durag closed it behind them and the two slowly descended into the underground. Before them was a door, and before they entered, Vilkas held out an arm. "Wait," he ordered, beginning to strip down, "They should know from whence their end comes, Shield-Brother."
With a nod, Durag similarly began to strip down. Both fell to their knees as they felt the Beast Blood consume them, and both caught the satisfied smile on each other's faces. Durag's claws grew and scratched along the wall, as Vilkas' black fur sprouted all over his body. They burst from the corridor and onto the terrified Silver Hand, making sure to kill anything that moved. They rushed to their silver swords and swung with all their might. Both Durag and Vilkas were struck but, though they hissed in pain, they never ceased.
Durag watches as Vilkas bit the meat from his victims' necks, while he preferred to tear them apart with his bare hands. Though he found the feeling of this form pleasurable, he found the taste of flesh repulsive. Suddenly, both he and Vilkas felt violent blows on the back of their necks, and felt the Beast Blood slowly vacating their bodies. "Interesting thing about Werewolves," they heard a voice gloat, "If you know just where to strike, you can reverse their transformation."
Looking up as he fell into the darkness of the room, he saw a woman donned head to toe in silver, her sword coated with black blood. Vilkas wearily stepped forward before being kicked back to the floor. "You, I remember," she held the sword to his throat, "But I haven't seen this..."
Her eyes widened as she looked upon Durag's true form. "An Orc?! she scoffed, "My, how the mighty have fallen, Companion. You're allowing these savages into your ranks now?"
Vilkas said nothing, only glared. "I'll kill him first," she walked towards Durag, "I'll make you watch as I kill him, like I killed the old man."
Durag's eye shot open. As the sword swung down, he caught it by the blade. It cut deep into his palm, and the silver stung against his skin, but he didn't care. Standing, he tore the sword from her hand and broke it in half across his knee. "What are you?!" she demanded.
Drawing a silver dagger, she lunged at him, but he caught her arm and aimed the dagger back at herself. "I am Durag Ugrua," he answered, "The Wood Orc!"
Before he could finish the job, Vilkas sprung up, tore the woman from Durag's grasp, and smashed her head into the stone wall. As she crumpled down, he proceeded to stomp her to death until her head was nothing more than a bloody pulp beneath his boot. With a pant, he looked back to his Shield-Brother. "Let's find the fragments and get back to Jorrvaskr," he commanded, "We'll want to pay our respects to Kodlak's spirit."
Behind him, Durag saw a chest. Opening it, he smiled to see the fragments, again dumped inside as if they were worthless. Gently scooping them up, Durag gently placed them upon the floor as he and Vilkas redressed themselves. Early morning was beginning to break by the time they returned to Whiterun. "The others have probably prepared Kodlak's funeral by now," Vilkas said as they entered the gates, "Come with me to the Skyforge to pay your respects."
The two slowly trudged into the Wind District. The sky over Whiterun was grey and cloudy, fitting the melancholic occasion. Torches were lit, Durag could see the faint smoke rise from behind Jorrvaskr. Following Vilkas up the stone steps, Durag saw all of the Companions were gathered, even Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun, was in attendance. Kodlak's body was placed atop the unlit forge, on top of a pyre wrapped with the flag of the Companions. Eorlund stood to the side, holding back tears. "Who will start?" he asked.
"I will." Aela stepped forward, torch in hand.
She saw Durag and Vilkas join the crowd. Her voice caught in her throat for a second before she began. "Before the ancient flame..." she announced.
"We grieve." the Companions all said in unison.
"At this loss..." Eorlund continued.
"We weep." Durag joined in, a tad late.
"For the fallen..." Vilkas continued.
"We shout." was the reply.
"And for ourselves..." Farkas concluded.
"We take our leave." everyone said.
Stepping forward, Aela hesitated for a moment before lowering her torch onto the pyre. It caught fire quickly, engulfing the naked corpse of Kodlak Whitemane. It burned brightly under the bird of the Skyforge.
"His spirit is departed," Aela wiped a tear from her eye before turning back, "Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge, to grieve our last together."
Durag and Aela exchanged a glance as the crowd dissapated. He went to her, but she held out a hand. "Not now," she whispered, "Not here..."
He nodded, but took her hand still. They looked into each others eyes for a while before Aela reluctantly broke away, walking down to the Underforge. "Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad, still?" Durag didn't stop looking at her, even as Eorlund spoke, "I'll need to prepare them for mounting again."
Eventually turning to his friend, he gently placed them into his arms. "Thank you," Eorlund took them, "You should join your Shield-Siblings in the Underforge now."
Entering the Underforge, Durag heard the remaining Circle members in a heated discussion. "The old man had one wish before he died," Vilkas was arguing, "And he didn't get it. It's as simple as that."
"Being Moon-Born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas." Aela crossed her arms and scowled.
"That's fine for you," Vilkas stepped forward, "But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him."
"And you and Durag avenged him." Aela turned to see the Wood Orc slowly approach, standing behind the font, still filled with blood.
"Kodlak did not care for vengeance." Farkas spoke up.
"No, Farkas, he didn't," Vilkas agreed, "And that's not what this is about. We should be honouring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the Blood."
Aela looked conflicted as she looked between her Shielf-Brothers. "Aela," Durag spoke up, "It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it."
For a moment, she turned away, looking out of a crack in the Underforge to the wilderness. Slowly, she turned back and remembered, "Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death."
"You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor." Vilkas quickly caught on.
"There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel," Aela's face quickly fell, however, "We can't even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it's in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years."
"And the Elves once rules Skyrim," all turned to see Eorlund enter the Skyforge, something strapped to his back, "Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken."
He slowly took a giant axe from his back. It looked as if it were constructed from ebony, but it was far too grand and historic to be made of such an ore. "And repaired." Eorlund proudly presented the repaired Wuuthrad.
"Is that...?" Vilkas couldn't believe his eyes, "Did you repair the blade?"
"This is the first time I've had all the pieces," Eorlund walked closer, "Thanks to our Shield-Brother here. 'The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered.' The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad. And now it will take you to meet him once more."
Eorlund turned to the stunned Orc. "As the one who bore the fragments, my friend," he placed the axe in his hands, "I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad into battle. The rest of you, prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor. For Kodlak."
"For Kodlak!" they all cried.
That night, before they left. Durag loaded a Witch's head into his bag. Kodlak believed their magic would free him, and Durag would prove him right. As a knock on his door echoed, before he opened it, he quickly ran back to his dresser and packed a second head.
The Companions believe there is a way to cleanse Kodlak's soul of the taint of the Beast. We're going to the ancient Tomb of Ysgramor to perform the ceremony.
- Durag Ugrua, 22nd of Sun's Height