08-06-2015, 09:22 PM
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.
(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.