What is this?
This section is dedicated to my imagination. From where I will create a
world of fantasy where I will forever live.
The Story
Reego sat on the ale-soaked floor of the tavern, slumped against the bar and panting for breath. One eye was already starting to swell shut, and a cut on his bottom lip was slowly pumping blood onto his bruised chin. He was cradling one arm, the wrist slightly swollen and the knuckles bleeding. With one arm he tried to push himself back up, but was too exhausted, and fell back against hard wood.Every muscle ached, he was sure he was bleeding from several wounds, and if some of his ribs weren't broken they were at least badly bruised. And he loved every minute of it.
Laughing loudly, he shoved the dwarf laying next to him, who just groaned in responce. There were well over a dozen men scattered about the tavern's floor in various degrees of consciousness. Tables were shattered into kindling, chairs were worse off, half the oil paper windows had been busted, and the door had somehow been knocked off its hinges. The barkeep, the typical overweight, underintelligent type, wandered from man to man, handing out lumps with his axe handle to anyone who showed signs of life. But when he neared Reego, he hesitated.
"Well now, that there was a mighty good rumble, aye?" The half-orc grinned, then managed to pull himself up onto unsteady legs. "Just what a man be needin' to keep his blood flowing." He emptied a mug of ale, one that probably wasn't his to start with, and dropped a few gold coins on the bar. The barkeep noted the donation and relaxed his guard. Reego "the Brawler" Vryst gave the man a weak salute and grabbed his packs, including his armor and shield, and stumbled out the door.
Outside the tavern dusk was just beginning to settle. Most intelligent people were heading for home, but after a good brawl like that, Reego felt pleasantly invigorated. So he strapped himself into his spiked plate armor, slung his pack and shield over his back, and started off down the road and out of the little village, resuming his aimless wandering, and wondering what fun the next bar fight might be.
It had been several days, but it felt like weeks as each minute dragged by him. It would have been enjoyable but he had no wink of sleep because ever since the prey started playing a so-called lute that looked more like a large tree trunk, he had lost the comfort of sleep and since then, he had no wink of it. His eyes were now bloodshot, breathing heavy and hiding above a tree with his sights at his prey. He had been following it for the reason that it was an abomination and it needed to be sent to where it belongs but he hadn't the heart to fire his arrows. That or did he fear ogres? But he was tired of it.. It needed to die, now.
Holding his bow in his left hand he put it infront of him, stretching his arm in the direction of his prey while his right arm reached onto his back and drew out an arrow. With that, he put the arrow onto his bow and with its stretched its string from its wooden base. His sights, all his senses as well as all his worries went blank. And after that, all he could see was the ogre in his sights. Just as he trained, to be able to fire a single shot at the most crucial point, he must leave all things in the world behind and go into a world where there is nothing but him and his target.
"True Strike..." , he uttered in monotone in recognition to himself and his spell.
It was about near the spell's end that he was about to fire when he heard another voice. His sights shifted as he jumped to another nearby tree branch. There he saw another soul, another so-called abomination. But this one has its features in a well-hidden built human, but he knew it was no human. He realized that it was a half-orc. His father often told stories about him able to single-handedly put down a tribe of orcs in a single night. But this one was only "half" of those his father hated, nevertheless, it needed to be killed. But he decided to hide some more and learn a bit of his new prey. He often heard that some half-orcs were heroes but he didn't care, ever since he had entered the forest, he had been cut off from society. With that thought, he disappeared into the forest, devoured by the endless sea of trees.
Murlak was lounging, stretching his shanks out on the husk of an enormous elderwood tree, recently felled by lightning. His fingers fumbled at the strings of his lute, producing a surprisingly pleasing 'thrum, thrum' sound. he paused for a minute, placed the instrument down gently and thumbed through an extremely foxed copy of Django Rhinestone's "Learne ye Oldene lute in sixe easie lessons ande fiftye-twoe Harde".
His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he struggled to read the human-ish scrawl. Occassionally he picked up the quill pen by his side and scribbled a few notes. As he was engaged in doing this, Murlak's sensitive ears caught the sound of boisterous singing in the distance. Placing his items in a large knapsack, he drew his 'rapier', which in reality was a modified lance, meticulously sharpened, and stuck it in the ground, out of sight. perhaps this was a friend; more likely a foe, or, Murlak salivated, "Dinner". As the singing got closer, with what murlak could discern as very rude lyrics (his type of song!) the ogre saw a figure of a medium- sized humanoid striding down the path, dressed in a plated armor that had spikes. On closer inspection it was an orc, or sort of an orc.
"Bah, no dinner... orcs far too stringy, very bitter". Remaining mostly out of sight, Murlak bellowed out an Ogre-groan.
The path was narrow, but not overgrown. Obviously very little trade existed in this area, yet there was enough travel to warrant a well beaten trail. But in the two days since he had enetered the forest, he hadn't seen another person. Reego assumed that the majority of the travellers were hunters and trappers, the sort who tended to be solitary, and had the woods skills not to be seen when they didn't want to. Especially by an unussually muscular half-orc in rather intimidating spiked armor.
A slight frown touched Reego's face. He knew that he would always be treated with suspicion at best, hatred at worst, and he wished that that could change. There were far worse humans, and elves, dwarves, and even halflings, in the world. But people didn't care about that. He might as well be half demon, or half black dragon. Actually, he'd probably get more respect that way.
"Oh well," he muttered to himself, and tried to think of the few good things his mixed blood had done for him. The brutish orcish appearance was definately intimidating, and he was generally stronger than any human his size. So far, those two things were all that he could recall.
An odd sound had been builing as Reego walked. It was a steady thrumming that almost sounded like a some massive beast breathing. He slowed his steps, trying to discern the source, and when it finally came into sight, Reego scratched his head and kept walking.
The ogre reminded him of a bear he had watched perform at a carnaval once. The animal had been dressed like a man, but because of its size and rough nature, the clothing had been worn, mismatched, and restitched many times over. But this ogre was even worse off, for it looked like he was wearing a minstrel's costume, and was even carrying a massive lute. And playing the lute... fairly well. "An ogre minstrel? Well, I'll be the son of a skinny pig!"
Being the warrior that he was, Reego saw even more signs that indicated that the ogre truly was a musician. His musclulature was suffering, and was being replaced by soft fat. There was actually very little that was intimidating about the ogre, other than the fact that he was an ogre, and a large one at that. But the half-orc felt little fear in approaching the bard.
"Ged'day to ye, sirrah. Would this be your land that I'm crossing, or are ye simply travellin' like meself? Heading to the south right now, 'though I don't know much of what be laying down there. Name's Reego, outta Hravalest way to the north and east."
♥ ::
This layout is licensed under a Creative Commons License. .