Orcs catch it in the tusks, no question. Doesn't matter where I go. I could be hauling rope in Wayrest or laying bricks in Bergama. Wherever I travel, I hear it. "Savage." "Brute." "Beast." It used to really tear me up. I'd look at my reflection in a bowl of water or a shop window and think "you know, maybe they're right." But not anymore. Not since I moved to Vvardenfell. Take the nix-ox. Never seen one? Picture a flea the size of a horse, propped up on six hairy stilts. Got it? That's a nix-ox. "Hide's too thick," he said. "Can't pry it."