Gorahk introduced me to Skyrim for the first time. Your typical Orc, learned in the ways of heavy armor, war hammers, and smithing, he came to the north looking for a family, a home, a connection to his people.
He joined the Companions to apprentice as a smith, but instead fell under the charms of a Huntress, and took the dark gift of Lycanthropy. He slowly lost himself between feral carnivorous carnage and howling at the moon. It was only after a debaucherous interaction with Sanguine that he was able to leave the Companions Circle behind him and start anew in the Reach.
As Blood-Kin, the Orc strongholds took him in and taught him of the Orcish traditions and culture. He fought off sabre cats, worked orichalcum into armor, wielded the might of Volendrung, and found a mate in the arms of a great warrior. He and Borgakh had a daughter they named Bagrak, after her grandmother. He had finally found the peace he came to Skyrim looking for.
And then she returned. He knew her scent even before he stepped out of the longhouse. Perched atop a cliff, silhouetted by the full moon, the Huntress beckoned her mate. That morning, Bagrak found her father’s footprints leading out of the stronghold; the impression of a mer’s foot slowly transforming into the jagged gait of a wolf.