Based on a true story - sorry for crappy writing
The Scene: Southshore, exterior. It's just after midnight, dark - but not terribly so. The moon illuminates enough to get by, and the torches carried by the numerous guards gives a clear pictures of the village.
Enter: The female draenei hunter, stepping off a gryphon and awkwardly releasing a frightened boar from it's side harness; which speeds off, running in circles around it's owner - so happy about being back on the ground.
The hunter giggles, gives the boar's head a firm pet, then motions and whistles down towards the town's inn. The boar charges off towards it again, making the most of the few moments of freedom that it recieves after each flight, before suddenly stopping and sniffing at the air. It looks towards the docks that rest a mere stones throw from the tavern. No guards patrol it, no fishermen are seen on it - nothing but the moon's reflection in the gently billowing ocean graces its presence.
The hunter feels the boar's restlessness, but dismisses it. There are murlocks around here. She wouldn't be surprised if one were lurking under the docks. This is not her problem.
The Scene: Southsore's inn, interior. Although the night dominates the outside, the inside is warm and bright, illuminated by numerous hooded lanterns, along with the broad fireplace set into the northern wall. Nobody is around this late, besides a pair of nighty duty guards enjoying their break, flirting with a tired looking waitress. The innkeeper sits infront of the bar, resting his back against it comfortably as he reads a book.
An avid reader, she notes - the thick glasses, pale skin and thick build. Not unlike how the librarian she knew was before the crash. She smiles to herself.
She greets him. The two speak, but their conversation is short - he himself is to the point. She introduces herself as a traveller, an adventurer, a sort of people not uncommon around these parts. He offers her the deal he offers the others. She gets a warm meal, a hot bath, a room and a bed for the night. He recieves a small favour in the form of a lessened bear presence - which deter visitors from travelling - and the ever popular bear meats and furs themselves.
She accepts the offer. She's used to these offers, and indeed this is how she's used to paying for her stay. Everybody has problems these days, most of which that can be solved with carefully applied violence; her skills as a hunter, when paired with her experience, will make this an easy task.
The innkeeper is a generous man. Befores she leaves, he offers her access to the kitchen - she may have a quick meal, prepared by the chef, before she heads out. The boar may have a bite of -- whatever it is that boars eat, should it be hungry as well. With a smile, she dissapears into the kitchen.
Yet, before she's made more than two steps inside, she hears an earth shaking roar that freezes her in her steps. The guards outside are screaming for help, calling out for backup - reinforcements. They seem desperate. Yet it lasts only a second or two. There are no sounds of battle, just one or two loud clangs, followed by wood being torn; a door kicked off it's hinges. She turns, but she's slow - she's scared. She catches a glimpse of the green monstrousity.
The innkeeper falls first, a green glowing axe splitting his skull cleanly in half, before being thrown into the floor like a ragdoll. The monster roars - and she runs into the only direction she can, into the kitchen -- and the monster follows. Its second weapon, a massive, flaming longsword, cuts the chef in two; its movements are effortless, the flesh and bone do nothing to slow it down.
She doesn't realize it, but she's screaming. She ducks down the stairs, barely keeping herself from falling. The monster follows only a hands reach behind her. It moves in a blur, green mixed with the red of its victims. Its tusks and teeth displayed in a feral grin. To it, this is entertainment.
The basement is dark - nearly pitch black - but she's used to this darkness. The beast is not. In the split second she has to get a look of the basement, she spots the massive winebarrels. Three of them, each held in the middle of the room. With a cry, she leaps out in between two of them - just in time to have the swinging blade miss her. It cuts into the barrel, causing the alcohol to spray out over the beast. The burning blade lights it, and in that split second the beast is now reeling. It has dropped it's sword, leaving it in the flaming barrel, in favour of trying to put out the fires with its hand.
It roars in pain, but the hunter wastes no time. She forces herself back onto her feet and runs, darting past the orc -- but the beast is not yet one to surrender it's prize. It gives chase; the two running up the flight of stairs and back out into the inn's main room. There, the two are greeted by the entire night's guard, blades and shields in hand.
Although she's only been running for her life for the last few seconds, they feel like an eternity. Being delivered to a sight such as this after what she just went through -- the feeling cannot be described. She lets out a shout, both as a warning and as an expression of pure joy.
The axe catches her in the back of the skull and rips back, spilling blood and pieces of brain onto the floor behind her.
P.s.
(Also, Al loves my icon! It is her favourite! This is because it is the best icon ever in the history of icons. Please, worship the icon.)
Enter: The female draenei hunter, stepping off a gryphon and awkwardly releasing a frightened boar from it's side harness; which speeds off, running in circles around it's owner - so happy about being back on the ground.
The hunter giggles, gives the boar's head a firm pet, then motions and whistles down towards the town's inn. The boar charges off towards it again, making the most of the few moments of freedom that it recieves after each flight, before suddenly stopping and sniffing at the air. It looks towards the docks that rest a mere stones throw from the tavern. No guards patrol it, no fishermen are seen on it - nothing but the moon's reflection in the gently billowing ocean graces its presence.
The hunter feels the boar's restlessness, but dismisses it. There are murlocks around here. She wouldn't be surprised if one were lurking under the docks. This is not her problem.
The Scene: Southsore's inn, interior. Although the night dominates the outside, the inside is warm and bright, illuminated by numerous hooded lanterns, along with the broad fireplace set into the northern wall. Nobody is around this late, besides a pair of nighty duty guards enjoying their break, flirting with a tired looking waitress. The innkeeper sits infront of the bar, resting his back against it comfortably as he reads a book.
An avid reader, she notes - the thick glasses, pale skin and thick build. Not unlike how the librarian she knew was before the crash. She smiles to herself.
She greets him. The two speak, but their conversation is short - he himself is to the point. She introduces herself as a traveller, an adventurer, a sort of people not uncommon around these parts. He offers her the deal he offers the others. She gets a warm meal, a hot bath, a room and a bed for the night. He recieves a small favour in the form of a lessened bear presence - which deter visitors from travelling - and the ever popular bear meats and furs themselves.
She accepts the offer. She's used to these offers, and indeed this is how she's used to paying for her stay. Everybody has problems these days, most of which that can be solved with carefully applied violence; her skills as a hunter, when paired with her experience, will make this an easy task.
The innkeeper is a generous man. Befores she leaves, he offers her access to the kitchen - she may have a quick meal, prepared by the chef, before she heads out. The boar may have a bite of -- whatever it is that boars eat, should it be hungry as well. With a smile, she dissapears into the kitchen.
Yet, before she's made more than two steps inside, she hears an earth shaking roar that freezes her in her steps. The guards outside are screaming for help, calling out for backup - reinforcements. They seem desperate. Yet it lasts only a second or two. There are no sounds of battle, just one or two loud clangs, followed by wood being torn; a door kicked off it's hinges. She turns, but she's slow - she's scared. She catches a glimpse of the green monstrousity.
The innkeeper falls first, a green glowing axe splitting his skull cleanly in half, before being thrown into the floor like a ragdoll. The monster roars - and she runs into the only direction she can, into the kitchen -- and the monster follows. Its second weapon, a massive, flaming longsword, cuts the chef in two; its movements are effortless, the flesh and bone do nothing to slow it down.
She doesn't realize it, but she's screaming. She ducks down the stairs, barely keeping herself from falling. The monster follows only a hands reach behind her. It moves in a blur, green mixed with the red of its victims. Its tusks and teeth displayed in a feral grin. To it, this is entertainment.
The basement is dark - nearly pitch black - but she's used to this darkness. The beast is not. In the split second she has to get a look of the basement, she spots the massive winebarrels. Three of them, each held in the middle of the room. With a cry, she leaps out in between two of them - just in time to have the swinging blade miss her. It cuts into the barrel, causing the alcohol to spray out over the beast. The burning blade lights it, and in that split second the beast is now reeling. It has dropped it's sword, leaving it in the flaming barrel, in favour of trying to put out the fires with its hand.
It roars in pain, but the hunter wastes no time. She forces herself back onto her feet and runs, darting past the orc -- but the beast is not yet one to surrender it's prize. It gives chase; the two running up the flight of stairs and back out into the inn's main room. There, the two are greeted by the entire night's guard, blades and shields in hand.
Although she's only been running for her life for the last few seconds, they feel like an eternity. Being delivered to a sight such as this after what she just went through -- the feeling cannot be described. She lets out a shout, both as a warning and as an expression of pure joy.
The axe catches her in the back of the skull and rips back, spilling blood and pieces of brain onto the floor behind her.
P.s.
(Also, Al loves my icon! It is her favourite! This is because it is the best icon ever in the history of icons. Please, worship the icon.)