gorehowl | Second

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Second

[On Garrosh's first day he learned quite a bit. Not what the people of this enclosure seemed to want him or expect him to learn, but he learned all the same. The people here were powerful, but listless. Strong, but weak in spirit. Or perhaps, their spirit was not channeled properly. It was not focused. They were warriors, but they must be from soft worlds. Worlds which has not gone through the likes of his own. The Nexus War. The Lich King. The Shattering. Azeroth was a land of conflict, and it forged its people - particularly the Horde - towards one purpose: war. Those who he had talked to here clearly feared war, and that fear prevented them from making the logical conclusions he had beginning to draw. They had told him the situation was complicated or delicate even as they had begun to rot in apathy.

He would change them.]

[Action A]
[But he couldn't do that before he knew what he had to work with. It was the dead of winter, in a climate which he was in no way used to. Still, he had survived off the land as best he could and circled around most of the barrier on the village's side of the mountains. He'd traversed some in the mountains as well, and as a result of that (plus Saleh's knife) he now sported a crudely made pouch and cloak of hides and furs. The other item he took (Silver's journal) had since been discarded near the barracks.

Because he took one of their "teleporters" (a brilliant mage's invention, more sturdy seeming than a portal, but more jarring) to the beach. In his armor and the cloak, he walks the shoreline through the cold and snow, going up onto the (stone? He approves) docks to look at the various ships there. He contemplates taking one to take to the seas, but thinks better of it. He has no crew, and it is winter. Still, he'll probably be at least contemplating boarding them if no one stops him.]

[Action B]
[Probably on a different day from his farm adventures, and pulling his cloak tight about him, Garrosh is making his way towards the farmlands. Obviously, he does not expect anything to be in season in this cold and snow, but he wants to see with his own eyes what the operation looks like.

Perhaps meet a farmer and inquire what is grown, and in what amount. Go into the barns and see the livestock. He needs to know what infrastructure already exists before he knows if his army-to-be can be fed. After all, there's no mining operations as far as he can tell, so they will need some work. He can only hope it's less than he's honestly beginning to expect.]

[Action C]
[And finally, back to the village. He has no intention of staying, but as most of the possible soldiers (he has to keep reminding himself they are indeed that, what with it being so full of humans) live here, he needs to spend some time here to know them. Know their strengths, their customs, as deplorable as they already have proved themselves to be what with the apathy inherent in this village life.

So, on this night, he makes his way into Good Spirits, again following the map, and once inside sheds his fur cloak for a hanger. He does not get out of his armor though, and did not put Gorehowl away. Let the humans see the ax and Mannoroth's tusks on his shoulders. Let them be impressed. He'll just go get a drink. He intends to socialize (that's the point of being here) but the minute he steps inside the stench of the place insults him, putting him in a foul mood. It'll be an uphill battle.]

[Run into him in any places (the docks (A), the farmland (B) or the bar (C)) as it pleases you. the timeline of this post is sort of nebulous: feel free to assume any time between now and the start of fourth wall.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Loki's stopped in for a drink after a grueling session in the Battle Dome; hopefully a bit of wine will couple with physical exhaustion and he'll be able to sleep.

While most of his armor is currently phased out, he still wears his breastplate and long coat. He always does. Paranoia does amazing things for one's fashion sense. Garrosh is a new sight; it's a good assumption that he's one of the new crop. The ax, Loki's just amused by. And makes no secret of it, smiling crookedly.

Loki walks by, glass of red wine balanced idly between his fingers.]

No drink for your friend?

Edited (Just picking at my formatting don't mind me!) 2013-01-23 19:21 (UTC)

[Garrosh is seated at the counter, Gorehowl out of the holster on his back and instead resting next to him where he could more quickly grab it if necessary. He doesn't have his drink yet, but he turns to see- some spindly looking man with wine. His jaw shifts as he curls into a more agitated sort of expression and he speaks, clearly- it's more factual and threatening but then it is growled from an eight foot tall orc with his lower jaw tattooed black.]

If I were to quench Gorehowl's thirst, it would be with your blood.

[Loki's teeth flash in a sudden and intensely predatory smile.]

Oh, I like that.

You could certainly try.

[He turns his wine glass in his fingers.]

Or is that just how your species says hello?

Do you wish to test me?! [He has simply meant it a retort. So many people talk shit here, they have distinct death wishes. It's amazing, really. to reinforce the point, he stands to look down at Loki instead of simply calmly sitting]

[Action] at the bar

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[Action B]

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[Action A] Ahh, Lok'tar ogar!

[Action A] Thom-ka, warrior

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