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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.]
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.]
[Action]
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?
[Action]
[Action]
A test? Oh no. I don't particularly care how good you are at poking things with a stick. Or how impressively tall you think you are either, really, though good show with that. You must have eaten all your vegetables whilst you were growing up.
[Another predatory smile, as he spreads the fingers of his unoccupied hand. Look, he's unarmed. Supposedly.] Really, how this will go from here on out is now entirely up to you. You could continue this attempt at intimidation, which I assure you will not go at all well for you, or I suppose we could sit down and have a nice chat like reasonable beings.
[Action]
[He says this lightly, but growling, as he takes Gorehowl in hand. He has come for just a drink, but he's fuming. this person is mocking him, insulting him, and he's not about to stand for it]
[Action]
[He smiles quite cheerfully. Oh goodness, this is going to be fun.]
[Action]
unnaturally? naturally? canon's unclearunnerving screaming sound as the blade brings itself down the the illusion Loki, planning to cleave him in two. It's a wide arced swing, so it'll probably hit something immediately in front or behind that person too.Oh, and make a scene in the bar]
[Action]
Loki puts another illusion of himself a safe distance away and leaning casually against a table. The illusion sips its wine.]
Rude. At this rate you'll never be welcome in this establishment again.
[The real Loki, still invisible and on the other side of the room, finishes his glass and leaves it on someone else's table.]
[Action]
Fight me, you honorless mage!
[Action]
Oh goodness, is that supposed to taunt me into doing something stupid?
[The illusion smirks.]
Honorless god, you mortal twit.
[Action]
[Action]
No, you don't seem nearly smart enough.
[Action]
[Law doesn't mind if Garrosh or Loki take issue with him saying so either. While it's not what he terribly wants, beer with a side of battle isn't particularly a bad thing for him either.]
[Action]
If you aren't a coward, we'll take this outside and you'll die. Otherwise, be silent.
[Action]
[Noting that Garrosh is not looking at the particular illusion, Loki dismisses that one and has another appear as if stepping from invisibility by the door.]
You have me there. I am so utterly concerned with your good opinion of me that I would be happy to join you in a common yard brawl, in which I will also let you dictate the terms of combat in accordance to the rules of your realm.
[His battle armor phases on as he (or, well, his illusion), gives Garrosh an intensely sardonic look and quite confidently walks out the door.]
: [Action]
Stop your arrogance, mage. I can smell your cowardice from here, and it's still in this bar!
[Action]
Does he really need to step in here?
Really?
He's finishing his goddamm beer first. Priorities.]
Re: [Action]
You're boring me, brave slayer of defenseless furniture.
[Action]
Re: [Action]
Loki turns the page.]
Let me know when you're done with your tantrum.
[Action]
[Action]
... sip. That was actually quite neat.
But he'd better finish this drink quickly.]
[Action]
Are we done? I'd like to finish my glass of wine.
[Action]
[Action]
This time the table burst into much smaller particles, providing a useful sort of fog.
He waited for the angry orc to charge past, then invisibly ran out the doorway in a much more angular trajectory. As he ran and gained distance, he threw three of his daggers at the orc's back, snapping the illusion out of existence at the same time to give the effect of having simply teleported.]
[Action]
The pain's not really all that much, but it does make this less a matter of honor (which is already serious) an more a matter of blood vengeance. The orcs snarls, turning to where the daggers would have come from to hit him there, to see if the man is there or still playing with smoke and mirrors]
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