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An Unexpected Lesson
#1
Gremlork’s arms began to tire. With each parry brought a new ache in a new muscle. The cramps in his arms began to overcome his will to fight. The urge to rest for just a moment was strong, but lowering his guard for just a moment would mean the separation of his head from his tiny body. Even with the power of the wind giving him strength and speed, it was not enough. The elements could only help him so much. The fel-injected orc seemed to never tire. Its burning green eyes seemed to been having a battle of their own. It was almost as if the psychotic glare of the hulking green orc was meant to weaken him. Gremlork was used to such looks. Whether it was from an irritated girlfriend, or an angry drunk during a bar brawl, he knew the look well.
(10 years earlier)
Gremlork just couldn’t help it. He tended to bring the anger out of even the most solemn of individuals. This wasn’t the best quality for a bar bouncer, but Gremlork was one of the toughest fighters on Kezan. Because of his diminished size and slim stature, he couldn’t depend only on brute force. He made use of his unmatched speed and quick wit. His bar, Money Shots, was in the sleazier part of the island. Everyone, from dirty oil rig workers, to ogre laborers, to the occasional trade prince frequented it. If a scuffle was clearly beginning to brew, one look from Gremlork would calm most tempers. If a patron had too much liquid courage, or they were completely oblivious of Gremlork’s reputation, they would wake up in an oil slicked puddle outside the bar, children rifling through their pockets.
As Gremlork was setting up the bar stools for the afternoon lunch rush, he began to hear whispers of a famous Horde shaman visiting the island. Gremlork never thought much about spell casters. He saw the benefits of such skills, but to him, nothing was more effective than a well-timed, precise punch in the face. “Shamans aren’t even that cool compared to most casters. Why let your totems do all the work for you, while you cast a bunch of sissy healing spells? Those things are just sticks in the ground. Big woop,” said Gremlork.
“Beats me.” mumbled the bartender. Even after the countless times Gremlork saved the bar from utter destruction, he was tired of Gremlork’s obnoxious attitude.
The lunch rush began like any other day. Workers barged into the bar, demanding alcohol to ease the pain of their labor. Gremlork sat upon his stool near the entrance, overlooking the noisy crowd. A gentle breeze began to enter the bar. Gremlork glanced around at each wall to see which window was open, but they were all closed. With no path for a cross breeze, he was confused, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he spotted a real beauty of a goblin at the other side of the bar. She had oil smudges on her face and a scorch marked shirt. Just his type. He shot her a smile, only to be returned with a scoff and a laugh. “Eh whatevuh. Win some lose some,” he said to himself. All of the sudden, the bar doors swung upon from a gust of wind. In walked a hunched, decrepit orc with a cloth over his eyes, obstructing his vision, if he had any. A loose leather and chainmail gown covered his aging body, clinking with each step. No weapons were on his belt. A rare site for a traveler of Azeroth. Every person in the bar turned to look at this unfamiliar visitor. He was indeed an orc, a very old one at that. It was a rare sight to see a race from the main lands of Azeroth. When they did travel to Kezan, it was mainly sailors looking to trade their goods. This orc was no trader.
Even with the cloth over his eyes, he flawlessly maneuvered between bar stools and patrons to reach the bar. He sat upon a stool, right in front of the bartender, as if he knew exactly where he was. “One water please,” croaked the old orc.
“Uhhhh I-I’m sorry s-sir. We d-don’t serve water here,” stammered the bartender.
“Hmmm,” said the orc as he scratched his chin. “Do you have anything that doesn’t have any alcohol?”
“Why are you even in a bar then?” yelled Gremlork from the other side of the room. He hopped off his stool and began to walk towards the orc. “When you come to this bar, you get drunk old man. Money Shots are for those looking for a good time. It’s no place for an old, blind geezer who wants to drink some moonberry juice.” The orc seemed to show a quick smirk from the name of the bar. It quickly vanished as he turned to face the uppity Goblin directly.
“I apologize little one. I believed this place to be one of friendly communal congregation. I will be on my way.” Gremlork could feel his face turn red as steam began to bellow out of his pointed ears.
“Little one? LITTLE ONE!?” Gremlork clenched his fist as he hopped onto a stool and lunged towards the old orc. “This will show the foolish old man,” Gremlork thought to himself as he soared through the air. But alas, his fist was only met by the gentle wind he felt earlier in the day. Gremlork hit the ground hard, severely missing his intended target. The old, blind orc was now two feet from where he was standing a split second ago. The bar was silent. No one could believe what they just saw. This old, blind orc completely outmaneuvered Gremlork. As Gremlork got up and dusted himself off, the anger radiating off him was palpable.
“I am sorry if I offended you goblin. I do not wish to fight you,” said the orc. This only made Gremlork angrier.
“Who do you think you are old man?” shouted Gremlork, grinding his teeth in frustration.
“My name is Drek’thar,” said the orc, as he stood up straight, revealing his impressive build. “Elder Shaman of the Frostwolf Clan.” The words went in one ear and out the other of Gremlork. He didn’t care who he was. He just wanted to tear this guy’s head off at this point. As he began to charge at the shaman, a whirlwind enveloped the caster. As the winds dissipated, The orc was gain, two feet from where he was before. At his charging speed, Gremlork was unable to change his trajectory, and ran straight into the wall with a heavy thud. Blood began to spurt out of his nose as the pain of the collision began to surface.
“Stupid good-for-nothing Horde!” Gremlork screamed out of frustration. As he turned around to face his opponent once again the ground began to rumble. For the first time, the shaman had a look of anger on his face. A chasm began to form as a pillar of fire erupted from it. When the flames calmed, a burning totem loomed over the bar patrons, fire swirling around it.
“I wouldn’t underestimate this stick in the ground,” said the old shaman. Before Gremlork could retort, the fires sprung from the totem, knocking Gremlork clear through the bar’s wall, into the street.
Gremlork awoke in an oil slicked puddle outside Money Shots. His clothes were nearly all burned off and his nose was clearly broken. Behind him ogres were patching the hole left by Gremlork’s projected body. A shadow covered his sore body causing him to look up. It was the old, blind orc. “What, you wanna go round two old man?” said Gremlork, as he sprung into a fighting pose.
“Calm yourself Goblin. I do not wish to harm you any further. You are very lucky I am well versed in the healing powers of the elements. You have impressive speed and the fighting spirit of an orc warrior. Would you like to come with me?”
“Teach me how to do that swirly wind thingy,” said Gremlork. He never wanted to be beaten that badly ever again. Maybe there was something to those sissy spells and sticks in the ground.



My first hand at a RP story, comments and criticism are welcome. I will continue the story if people like the way it is going.
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#2
Love it!
Nganga Nyeusi
He is fast and is the danger.
What's a dazzling urbanite like you doing in a rustic setting like this?
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#3
Part 2

Gremlork began to run out of hearthstone cards from up his sleeve. He needed a way to obtain some type of reprieve from the onslaught of the fel-orc’s fury. Just a second or two to gather his thoughts and rest his arms would be enough. Glancing around the dimly lit room, Gremlork only saw walls and floors of the crude, yet sturdy blackrock metal. He had no control over this material. He would not be able to create any type of earth shield to protect his body. When the Iron Horde exploited the pure power and essence of the Heart of the Mountain in their foundry, the elemental power itself was disfigured. It was a true molestation of nature.
The horror he felt when witnessing the great elemental in chains at the blast furnace of the foundry made Gremlork see red. He didn’t remember much of the battle. Gremlork was furious with these “Elementalists” of the Iron Horde. How could they dare to chain such a majestic being for the sake of building their iron weapons? Where was their shame? Where was their respect for the source of their own power? He paid no heed to his raid leader. His rage was now controlling his body. The raid leader called for the raid to focus their strength on the Ogron, who were pumping air into the furnace, raising the temperature of the room drastically. Gremlork barely noticed the heat radiating from the center of the room. He was only focused on the jailers of the elemental. One by one, Gremlork shredded each Elementalist chaining the great Elemental Lord. This great being was as old as Draenor itself. It was a crime against nature to do anything to it, other than letting it be. At first the Elementalists paid no attention to Gremlork. Only after he dispatched the two closest to him into red piles on the ground, did they notice him. Gremlork now saw fear in their eyes. The words “HOW DARE YOU,” were the last each of them had heard before their obliteration.
The last Elementalist began to visually tremble when he locked eyes with the enraged goblin. He gave up his duties of chaining the elemental. He began to flee, but the entrance to the furnace was gated off when the intruders first began their attacks. To one side was the seething goblin, intent on finishing his final foe. On the other was the entire remainder of the raid group. The Elementalist began to run towards the raid with his hands up. The hunters drew their bows and the casters began to channel their spells. The Elementalist fell to his knees and began to beg for his life. Immediately after, he felt the sharp edge of a dagger on his throat. The light pressure began to draw a thin line of blood. A slender Female Troll Rogue was standing behind him. Her other hand was raised, calling for the others to wait. Zlinka was the leader of the raid group and her guild, The Ironsong Tribe.
“We will keep this one alive for information,” she calmly said. “His information and knowledge of the Foundry may prove to be valuable and judging from the state of his…” she sniffed the air with a soured look on her face, “…undergarments, I doubt he will refuse our request.”
“He will not live!” Screamed Gremlork from the other side of the Furnace room. “I don’t care what he has to say about this retched place.”  
“I feel your pain Tribe member,” said Zlinka in a stern, yet soothing tone. “This sad excuse of an orc has done irreparable damage to Draenor. However, he may deem himself useful to the tribe as we delve deeper into the foundry. His information will be beneficial to the entire tribe. You shall not harm him until he is of no use to us. Until then, you are to compose yourself.”
“Fine, whatevuh,” mumbled Gremlork, to the surprise of the other raiders. “I won’t touch him.” As the goblin turned around, he raised a hand to the air and snapped his fingers. Two spectral wolves appeared out of thin air and began to charge at the Elementalist. With his other hand, Gremlork made a quick flicking motion to the side, aimed at the troll. With a gust of wind, she was blown forcefully back towards the raid. The raiders winced as they witnessed the wolves tear the orc limb from limb. Even the most battle hardened members of the tribe looked away as the Elementalist’s blood curdling screams echoed throughout the Furnace chamber.
“You have disobeyed a direct order Gremlork!” yelled Zlinka. “We gained some semblance of an advantage in this maze of a foundry and you just….tore it out of our grasp.”
“He deserved worse,” sneered Gremlork
“You endangered the lives of your fellow tribe members with your vengeance. I have no choice but to demote you to peon. You will receive no loot until you have proven yourself as a reliable member of this raid team.”
Gremlork had never seen the Blademistress so angry before. She was always graceful and calm in both her leadership and fighting style. He knew that any other retort may cause him to look for a new guild the next day.
“That is enough for tonight tribe,” said the Zlinka, as she turned towards the rest of her raid. We will continue the day aft-
The ground began to shake violently. The seemingly dormant Elemental began to stir. Its massive arms, now unchained, stretched apart, revealing its massive wingspan. The two bright embers on its head, which seemed to be its eyes, began to scan over the raid group before it. The roar it unleashed caused every member of the raid to cover their ears in a fruitless attempt to dampen the noise. The molten being raised its arm, preparing to slam down upon its closest target, the troll rogue. Thinking quickly, Gremlork sent a gust of wind, yet again knocking her towards her raid and behind tougher members. The impact of the heavy blow left a crater the size of a tauren on the ground. Molten lava began to spew forth from the crevice, creating a pool that grew inch by inch towards the raid.
“The element is insane from the decades of abuse it has been put through,” exclaimed Gremlork. “It does not know friend from foe anymore. I will attempt to commune with it.” Gremlork closed his eyes and opened up his mind to the forces that surrounded him, just as his master had taught him to. The anger and hatred emanating from the elemental was palpable. “We are not your enemy, Great One,” pleaded Gremlork. “We came to free you from your captors.”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, PUNY MORTAL,” boomed the Elemental. “ALL OF YOUR MORTAL KIND ARE THE SAME. SELFISH, IGNORANT, AND DELVE WITH POWERS WELL BEYOND YOUR CAPABILITIES. I WILL REDUCE YOU ALL TO ASHES. DROWN IN FIRE!!”
Gremlork barely dodged the Elemental’s second blow, aimed directly at him. Again, Lava spewed forth from the hole the blow created. With the gate still closed behind them, the raid would soon run out of places to stand.
“IronSong Tribe, get into boss positions! Yelled Zlinka in an authoritative tone. “Stay out of the lava, if that wasn’t obvious already. Tanks, grab its attention, but do not be afraid to switch out if the heat becomes too overwhelming. Stay on your toes everyone. This Elemental is as strong as it is old.”
“The floor is lava!!!” screamed Anca with a playful tone. She released a volley of arrows at the being as she hopped up on one of the wooden crates in the room. “Stay out of this one Snuffletusk,” said Anca to her pet boar as she pet it on its head. “Its too hot for aminals against this big baddie. He might melt you like a porksicle!”
The entire raid was backed into the only corner of the room that was still untouched by lava by the time the elemental went down. Unlike most victories for the raid group, this one was met with silence. They had just extinguished one of the main elemental forces of Draenor. Exhausted, everyone began to use their Hearthstones to travel back to their respected homes. As members left one by one, Gremlork could hear bits and pieces of conversations between raid members.
“Don’t touch that!” yelled Skrap, as he slapped Anca’s hand away from one of his latest gadgets.
“But it’s soooo pwitttyyy!!!” whined Anca as she crossed her arms, beginning to pout.
“I’m guna need a drink after this one Grem. Want in? I’m buyin’,” offered Sintu as he sheathed his two massive swords.
“Na, I’m good. I need some time to myself,” responded Gremlork in a sheepish voice. He was both mentally and physically exhausted. Glancing around the room, Gremlork saw the now charred remains of the elementalists around the room. He still felt no anguish or remorse for how he dispatched each one, even including the one that surrendered. The Elemental left a pile of ash twice the size as him. He began to sift through it, searching for any signs of life. At the very bottom of the pile, Gremlork found a single ember, glowing faintly, but kept lit by some powerful force. As Gremlork began to put the ember in his bag, he heard a stern voice.
“I want to thank you saving me Gremlork,” said Zlinka. She motioned to one of the charred corpses, “I would have turned out like one of them if it wasn’t for your quick reaction.” She then motioned towards the remains of the one that surrendered. “If you do anything like that ever again, especially in the presence of the tribe, I will have no choice but to end your membership. I have no patience for anyone that puts the tribe in any more danger than it needs to be. Please think about how your actions effect your friends rather than just yourself next time. I understand these mongrels may have hit a nerve with you, but sometimes, the best action is no action.”
“Understood Blademistress,” said Gremlork as he looked up to meet the eyes of his Guildmaster. He knew that he was in the wrong in this situation. The elementalist may have had information concerning the foundry’s secrets. Just like his old master told him countless times before during his training, he must control and harness his anger.
“Come have drinks with us,” offered Zlinka, her hand reaching down to help Gremlork to his feet. It’s been a long night for us all.”
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#4
Wow, great story, Gremlork!  I could see it all!!

Great imagery, and I was on the edge of my seat by the end.  Well done!

-Zlinka (thanks for not killing me off!)
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