Post by Groinky on Apr 24, 2021 16:14:15 GMT 1
Groinky sat alone atop the spine.
The evening air was cool, and the mating shrieks of the Mythunga floated by on the light Spring breeze.
He pawed tenderly at his neck; the wounds from battle not yet healed nor the final sight of the Kiith’s lunge forgotten.
Thickened blood clunge to his cape and breastplate; some his own, some not.
He allowed himself to sit back awkwardly, taking a short, sharp burst of breath as the pain in his neck shot down through his core. Rigidly, he adjusted until he could rest.
Groinky was rarely short of an opinion, yet tonight he struggled to make sense of the turmoil in his mind…
Betrayal…
Cowardice…
Greed…
Suffering.
He had seen them all in the moons past, yet never had they come together in such a fog before.
He looked East; watching the flickering dance of torches crisscross the deserts and wastes below… regimented scouts going about their duty.
In the distance, the faint glow of the Forsaken stronghold towns lit the horizon.
“Oppression… the price of safety…”
Contempt spoiled the thought.
It was a price Groinky could not… would not pay.
He let the musing fade, and rolled to his side so he could take in the Western view.
He was tired, and regretted not having found a grassy mound on which to rest.
At the roadsides as far as his view would allow, scouts were littered.
Most drunk, some distracted in idle conversation… others simply sleeping.
“They complain that they are victims, yet never their lesson learned”...
Contempt again, and disgust coloured his thoughts, tinged only by the disappointment of what could have been.
He already knew of the tension within the walls of New Haven.
Rich crafters, fattened by the coin of their craft and emboldened by the safety of their retreat wringing their hands…
Beseeching new recruits to take up arms against the horror beyond the walls; cajoling, shaming and besmirching unblooded younglings into risking what little they had…
All to protect the interests of a few self serving cowards, who would not act themselves.
Groinky felt a wave of anger rise in his throat, and he coughed violently.
Blood spattered on the loose rock beneath him, and he froze stiff… his anger replaced again by the pains of his failure in combat.
“How did The Order fall so far?”...
He wrestled with the thought, and allowed himself the warmth of better memories; of bravery and sacrifice in the name of something greater…
A faction all could call home proudly.
A woeful smile crept over his face as he thought back to unlikely heroes who had borne The Order’s banners proudly…
The Master Hobbit Askytos dancing into battle, fuelled only by love, mushrooms and the cellar of Barkeep…
4’5” of merriness and determination, emboldened by ale and driven by Joy herself; fearless in his quest…
Both Dinosaurs and Men had fallen at his spear, and many times he had woken in defeat… yet never had he cowed from the fight that must be had, nor been reluctant to indulge again.
He remembered fondly the sight of the Stoic Smith Thebiggerone; barrelling through the doors of his forge wearing only his apron, his honour and his morning slippers, Axe held aloft as he charged into combat, hollering Germanic verse.
The memories brought a smile to the Nuruk’s face, and a tear to his eye.
Such bravery was not common among The Order recently, and its bastions were isolated… forced to close ranks in the face of cowardice; pervasive within the Faction’s ranks.
The Orderfolks were more likely to fight or steal amongst themselves, than defend one another.
Groinky had always been free within The Order, yet he felt trapped.
He could not go East… The annals of history prevented it.
He did not trust himself to return West… Blood would be split, and tears shed in his wake.
He reached for his spear, a Raven impaled upon the tip, and used its shaft to fight his way back to stand.
He looked again at the scrap of parchment that had been tied around the bird’s leg.
“The Fighters Guild”...
“Protect our own”...
“Free men”...
A rallying cry to forge a stronghold of free will and self determination.
He recognised the signature…
“Balin”.
The sodomous Dwarr was feared by all the serving boys in New Haven; his coin had yet to outweigh the horrors he had inflicted in the rooms above barkeep… buggery was not soon forgotten, it seemed.
He too had been considered a noble member of The Order, once.
Rumours filled the streets of New Haven now, whispers of a madness in him now…
A malady of the mind that started with pinkeye and descended into darkness from there.
Calling upon every fibre of bracing his spear could offer, Groinky reached down and lifted his shield to his shoulder, brushing stones across the embers of his campfire.
He looked for a moment toward his home in the North; savouring for a moment the comfort of its strong walls and hearty fires.
He dismissed the thought.
Now was not a time for comfort…
There was work to do, for this world would not change itself.
He turned South, shuffling painfully towards the distant sea; its glisten giving life to the horizon as the Sun’s last tendrils brushed the waves.
He would live Free, or not at all.
As he negotiated the mountain’s path, he noticed the dull patch on his breastplate where his name had once proudly sat; letting all who faced him set eyes on the name that delivered their fate…
He would need a new one, now.
“Cube… That’ll do”.
He trudged on South.
TLDR: Groinky is going Free Folk and changing name to Cube.
The evening air was cool, and the mating shrieks of the Mythunga floated by on the light Spring breeze.
He pawed tenderly at his neck; the wounds from battle not yet healed nor the final sight of the Kiith’s lunge forgotten.
Thickened blood clunge to his cape and breastplate; some his own, some not.
He allowed himself to sit back awkwardly, taking a short, sharp burst of breath as the pain in his neck shot down through his core. Rigidly, he adjusted until he could rest.
Groinky was rarely short of an opinion, yet tonight he struggled to make sense of the turmoil in his mind…
Betrayal…
Cowardice…
Greed…
Suffering.
He had seen them all in the moons past, yet never had they come together in such a fog before.
He looked East; watching the flickering dance of torches crisscross the deserts and wastes below… regimented scouts going about their duty.
In the distance, the faint glow of the Forsaken stronghold towns lit the horizon.
“Oppression… the price of safety…”
Contempt spoiled the thought.
It was a price Groinky could not… would not pay.
He let the musing fade, and rolled to his side so he could take in the Western view.
He was tired, and regretted not having found a grassy mound on which to rest.
At the roadsides as far as his view would allow, scouts were littered.
Most drunk, some distracted in idle conversation… others simply sleeping.
“They complain that they are victims, yet never their lesson learned”...
Contempt again, and disgust coloured his thoughts, tinged only by the disappointment of what could have been.
He already knew of the tension within the walls of New Haven.
Rich crafters, fattened by the coin of their craft and emboldened by the safety of their retreat wringing their hands…
Beseeching new recruits to take up arms against the horror beyond the walls; cajoling, shaming and besmirching unblooded younglings into risking what little they had…
All to protect the interests of a few self serving cowards, who would not act themselves.
Groinky felt a wave of anger rise in his throat, and he coughed violently.
Blood spattered on the loose rock beneath him, and he froze stiff… his anger replaced again by the pains of his failure in combat.
“How did The Order fall so far?”...
He wrestled with the thought, and allowed himself the warmth of better memories; of bravery and sacrifice in the name of something greater…
A faction all could call home proudly.
A woeful smile crept over his face as he thought back to unlikely heroes who had borne The Order’s banners proudly…
The Master Hobbit Askytos dancing into battle, fuelled only by love, mushrooms and the cellar of Barkeep…
4’5” of merriness and determination, emboldened by ale and driven by Joy herself; fearless in his quest…
Both Dinosaurs and Men had fallen at his spear, and many times he had woken in defeat… yet never had he cowed from the fight that must be had, nor been reluctant to indulge again.
He remembered fondly the sight of the Stoic Smith Thebiggerone; barrelling through the doors of his forge wearing only his apron, his honour and his morning slippers, Axe held aloft as he charged into combat, hollering Germanic verse.
The memories brought a smile to the Nuruk’s face, and a tear to his eye.
Such bravery was not common among The Order recently, and its bastions were isolated… forced to close ranks in the face of cowardice; pervasive within the Faction’s ranks.
The Orderfolks were more likely to fight or steal amongst themselves, than defend one another.
Groinky had always been free within The Order, yet he felt trapped.
He could not go East… The annals of history prevented it.
He did not trust himself to return West… Blood would be split, and tears shed in his wake.
He reached for his spear, a Raven impaled upon the tip, and used its shaft to fight his way back to stand.
He looked again at the scrap of parchment that had been tied around the bird’s leg.
“The Fighters Guild”...
“Protect our own”...
“Free men”...
A rallying cry to forge a stronghold of free will and self determination.
He recognised the signature…
“Balin”.
The sodomous Dwarr was feared by all the serving boys in New Haven; his coin had yet to outweigh the horrors he had inflicted in the rooms above barkeep… buggery was not soon forgotten, it seemed.
He too had been considered a noble member of The Order, once.
Rumours filled the streets of New Haven now, whispers of a madness in him now…
A malady of the mind that started with pinkeye and descended into darkness from there.
Calling upon every fibre of bracing his spear could offer, Groinky reached down and lifted his shield to his shoulder, brushing stones across the embers of his campfire.
He looked for a moment toward his home in the North; savouring for a moment the comfort of its strong walls and hearty fires.
He dismissed the thought.
Now was not a time for comfort…
There was work to do, for this world would not change itself.
He turned South, shuffling painfully towards the distant sea; its glisten giving life to the horizon as the Sun’s last tendrils brushed the waves.
He would live Free, or not at all.
As he negotiated the mountain’s path, he noticed the dull patch on his breastplate where his name had once proudly sat; letting all who faced him set eyes on the name that delivered their fate…
He would need a new one, now.
“Cube… That’ll do”.
He trudged on South.
TLDR: Groinky is going Free Folk and changing name to Cube.
