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Muga Bugbreath...the conception (suitably long)
Posted: 28 Feb 2004 04:28 AM |
Twas a dark night in M’Gok Tukar, with rain lashing down upon those few that braved the raging storm, indiscriminately soaking any and all that had not the wisdom or the opportunity to have found shelter. One such being lay, oblivious to the cold and the wet, contentedly snoring, as the storm raged on unabated. Indeed the snoring seemed to contest the storm’s superiority, with each clash of thunder being met with a responding snort of such power and depth twas sometimes hard to tell where the storm ended and the snoring began.
The sleeping orc, for such she undoubtedly was, was not as hideously ugly as many of her kin. Indeed, look beyond the occasional festering sore upon her face, the inevitable piggish snout and the aroma that could put an ogre off its dinner, and she could even be considered attractive. Maybe. Not that many had ever looked that far, apart from the men of her tribe surely nobody would ever give Ghargrael a second look.
But her tribesmen… oh, they looked. And they liked what they saw. And Ghargrael knew this, and knew how to use it. The most successful whore in generations, she had wealth beyond the dreams of any of the envious bitches that competed with her for trade. Indeed only the chieftain’s wife had more power than her, and then not by much. Only a few weeks ago the tribes shaman had gifted her with a powerful magical amulet in return for a single hour of her time.
For not only was Ghargrael attractive for an orc, she had smarts. Not for this one the drunken rutting anywhere, anytime. No. She said when, she said where, she said who and most importantly she said how much. And when her demands were met, she had all the skills and knowledge that would make her men come back. Time and again. She had once travelled the human cities, Port Royale & Midor both…watched in the night as the street whores plied their trade. Spied into the bordellos. Much had she learned…and she knew what none of her competition knew, she knew the art of seduction, of teasing, of domination. Oh, she knew all the tricks of the ferocious coupling her kin desired more than anything also, but always it was she that kept control, kept them desperate for more.
And may the gods have mercy on any who sought to take her gainst her will, or try to get out of paying. She still kept a memento of the last orc to try that…his shrivelled sacks part of a gruesome montage commemorating those who had been foolish enough to cross her. Her own strength was prodigious, but more powerful still was what she could accomplish with a single sentence spoken into the right ear. More than one orc had met with a gruesome fate because of a few well chosen words spoken at the right time, to the right warrior of her tribe.
So how had this orc come to sleep, oblivious to all around, in a festering pile of sewage? Happily nuzzling deeper and deeper into the rotten carcasses and disgusting debris of one of the many refuse piles in the town, steam slowly rising all around her as the deluge of rain came near her sleeping form.
It had begun that morning. An overcast and chill morn, but of the storm that was to follow there was little sign. It had been a good night, profitable, and now she had decided to venture out into the wilds to do a little hunting and build up an appetite for another night’s work. For like all of her kin, the shedding of blood was a powerful aphrodisiac, and the use of blade and bow was all too familiar to her. Indeed she was accounted something of an expert in the requisite skills of both. Mayhaps she would find some of those foolish adventurers that oft wandered alone into areas they had no business, good pickings on those. So, smiling grimly, she set forth.
A couple of hours later and she had found what she sought. A young human male, dressed in fine robes, with a firm lithe body and strikingly handsome features, was resting at a campfire in the wilderness, his pack carelessly discarded to one side. And wasn’t that the beautiful glint of gold coins she saw from within its depths? Ghargrael positively salivated at the fun she could have with this one before she ended its suffering. The robes gave her pause initially, for she knew and feared the power of magi. But he was asleep, surely no challenge for her. She had not risen to the position she held through taking foolish chances though, so carefully quaffed from several potions held in flasks at her belt, then called upon the inherent powers of her amulet for yet further protection. Thus fortified she began her approach. The man slept on obliviously, soft rhythmic breathing reassuring in its regularity. As she neared him she could see he was not simply handsome, but stunning. Hate rose in her heart, and her blood began to surge with thoughts of the fate she had in mind for him. The wicked bladed bastard sword she favoured was already clasped firmly in hand, for she would take no chance of the sound of her blade being drawn waking her prey.
Within ten paces now…five…three…close enough to touch. And touch she did, the point of her blade gently piercing the skin of the man’s throat…a bright, crimson pearl of blood welling to the surface. Suddenly the world about her seemed different, more vibrant, more real somehow. What was that perfume? A scent more powerful, more intoxicating than any she had ever known. With a start she realized the man’s eyes were open, staring directly into her own. A gaze that was utterly fearless, and perhaps more mystifying yet, without any of the repulsion or contempt so eternally present in every ‘civilized’ being she had ever encountered.
With a shake of her head and a low guttural growl she attempted to re-assert her control of the situation, dexterously kneeling down aside the man while her sword remained poised to thrust at the first sign of danger. His eyes followed her as she moved closer to him, her spare hand firmly turning him over and yanking his arms behind him. Those eyes…there was something about those eyes, something intangible that she could not place. And the strength she felt in his arms, he was not muscled like her kin but she could feel power vibrating through every sinew of his being. She realized she had stopped breathing, and inhaled with a gasp as she moved astride him, and swiftly bound his arms. Tighter than she would normally ever have felt necessary, but the relief she felt when the task was done was very tangible.
With a grunt of effort she turned the man back over, only to be again transfixed by those mysterious eyes, placid, unafraid yet mysteriously captivating. Then the man spoke, and her world was never, ever going to be the same….
“So now you have me, bound and helpless, whatever are you going to do with me?” the voice was dry, amused and mesmerizing...
“Hmm, an orc lass. And quite a fine specimen too, I must say. Well my dear, I am...called Flaarghain by some, and tis my undoubted pleasure to make your acquaintance. Despite the rather rough manner with which you have introduced yourself, I foresee a most entertaining afternoon ahead. Tell me my dear, what is your name?”
Ghargrael felt spellbound, as the man spoke his eyes seemed to become spinning discs of fire, and she knew she was lost…bound to his will as surely as if he had spoken the words, and made the requisite gestures to the most powerful of enchantments. Yet he had done none of these things.
“I…I am Ghargrael, p…p…please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything” Ghargrael offered this heartfelt plea oblivious to the seeming ridiculousness of her words…addressed as they were to a man who was tightly bound and seemingly utterly incapacitated.
“Hurt you!? Now why would I want to do that” The man replied, seemingly genuinely amused. “Oh no, no my dear. I have a much better idea”.
And with a seemingly infinitesimal flexing of his shoulder muscles, he snapped the ropes apart as though they were but twine, tied about his form by some mischievous child who meant no real harm. Ghargrael fell back in awe, though in truth she felt no true surprise. But before she could even contemplate retreat, he was upon her, one powerful arm encircling her, hoisting her up and over his shoulder. With an unearthly chuckle he set off at a gentle jog that seemed to cover the miles at a rate beyond belief.
She must have passed out for when next she became aware…she found herself in a cave. A cavern truth to tell, immense, its walls too widely spread for even her orc sight to reveal its full dimensions, and no light penetrated its depths. Not that she was even vaguely interested in such things, for the man who had brought her here captivated her full attention. He was bathing, in a natural pool of water that must surely be heated by some underground lava flow or somesuch, for steam rose from the pool in billowing clouds. Somehow aware that she was once again conscious, he turned, his magnificent physique glowing to her heat sensitive vision like a flaming angel fallen from the heavens. He gestured to her and she came, her clothes discarded with well-practiced ease. She gasped as she entered the water, for its heat was nigh unbearable. But then all thoughts of such were lost, for he took her there, into his arms, possessing her body and soul, more utterly than she could ever have imagined. She used all her knowledge to please him; all the passion she had so long held in check within her burst free in a torrent. Without a thought, without a single doubt she gave up everything of herself to this man, knowing instinctively that to do less would be her doom. And he was pleased…
Ghargrael, spent and exhausted from passion beyond any she had known, slumped unconscious to the floor of the cavern several hours later. How she later came to sleep in one of the many refuse piles of her home she had no recollection of. She simply slept, oblivious to all about her, dreaming of a young man with fire in his eyes…and steam continued to rise steadily about her as the rain evaporated before even reaching her slumbering body. She happily nestled deeper into the rank garbage, curled up on herself, one hand absently stroking her stomach where something already began to grow. A child of her unholy union was conceived that day, born of orc and demon-spawn mayhaps, only time would tell…
(to be continued…hope you enjoy. Decent length this time! :) |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...the conception (suitably long)
Posted: 28 Feb 2004 06:24 AM |
((*applauds* Very well written. OOC+Off Topic- Half-Orc courtesans scare me. *adds to list of nasty things, under Margaret Thatcher on a cold day*
-Barnas)) |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...the conception (suitably long)
Posted: 28 Feb 2004 06:30 AM |
Ahh, but better yet, Ghargrael is a full blooded orc, not even a half orc! Just imagine her on a street corner! :0)
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...the conception (suitably long)
Posted: 28 Feb 2004 07:11 AM |
((Now I -was- in denial about that.
-Barnas)) |
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Muga Bugbreath...the birthing.
Posted: 29 Feb 2004 09:54 AM |
Ghargrael awoke several hours later as the storm finally came to an end. Her smile of contentment gradually faded as she realised where she lay; immersed in and surrounded by the stench of refuse with tendrils of rotten intestine intertwined in her hair and maggots crawling all about her. Not that any of this particularly concerned her; but where was her man, her glorious man? How had she come to be back in her own town, why did she have the faintest hazy recollection of rushing wind and a sense of exultation that surpassed even the passion she had felt in his arms? All questions that would have to wait, for with the abating of the storm her tribe would surely begin to stir. Twould not do for her to be seen where she lay, and so thinking she hurriedly gained her feet, shaking free the disgusting remnants that still clung to her as she hurried for her lair.
Her lair…a small cave with a door carved from stone, and a solid lock which she swiftly opened, remembering to turn the key twice so as to also deactivate the rather nasty trap set upon it. The cave itself was covered in garish opulence, put together with little concept of style or grace. Tapestries and rugs, silken drapes and piles of exotic furs, all thrown about the place by someone who obviously cared for the possession of such things with no concept of their true worth. Nonetheless few things signified more her position within the tribe, where most slept in communal caverns with no space guaranteed beyond what their own strength of arm could take. But she needed her own space, and had rarely been so grateful for it. She slumped into the nearest pile of furs strewn haphazardly across the cave floor, and sighed heavily as she tried to collect herself and make sense of all that had occurred.
Her mind was truly awhirl with thoughts of her man, her blood surging with fire as she recollected her time with him. Her hands, as if of their own volition, gently caressed her stomach as she relived over and over the events of the past day. And twas only then that she realised she was neither cold nor the slightest bit wet from her exposure to what presumably had been a quite ferocious storm. Another mystery to ponder. She lay there trying to make some sense of the madness that her life had become, until she reached the resolution that was most common for those of her race when confronted by such mental dilemmas…she gave up and decided to continue on as before. Hopeful that he would return for her, but resigned to the fact it seemed unlikely.
Thus it was that by evening she had resumed her role within the tribe. Indeed, twas the chieftain’s son she was ‘entertaining’, a most profitable encounter to be sure and one she would usually relish. If she was somewhat distant and distracted, Boris Hammerfist certainly was not one to notice. A young bull of an orc, built for war and carnage and with a mind suited for little else. And so twas with thoughtless ease she made him a quivering wreck yearning for her slightest touch, ever more desperate for the eventual, assured consummation that was to follow. And eventually, with thoughts of her man ever present in her mind, she ceased toying with the young orc and gave in to his ardour. The eagerness with which he thrust into her was expected, the spread of warmth in pulsating waves between her legs welcome; the terrible anguish of his scream as he swiftly withdrew was however most certainly neither expected nor welcome. Such a reaction was so unexpected Ghargrael lay frozen for a timeless interval, looking on in disbelief as Boris screamed in agony, writhing upon the floor. She could clearly see the cause of his pain, his entire groin a blackened charred mess from which he would surely never recover. And his screams would soon be recognised as anything but the normal cries of passion that emanated from her cave. It was with this thought in mind she reached beneath her furs and drew forth the ever-present blade she kept hidden, a dagger coated in some noxious black ointment. A single slash across the writhing orc’s legs and moments later he was utterly still and quiet, eyes wide in horror as the pain continued unabated, yet he could not so much as twitch in response to the agony he underwent. Ghargrael winced as she regarded the damage somehow caused to the poor male’s most prized asset…nothing remained but a charred and cauterized stump surrounded by badly blistered flesh. It was as though an entire brazier of burning hot coals had been poured over his genitalia and left there for an hour.
She briefly contemplated leaving him to his suffering, the venom would hold him for at least an hour, plenty of time for her to be gone. For go she must, there was no question of that. But then with a shake of her head she reached down and sliced his throat, cleanly and expertly, and stood watching the blood drain from his body as the life faded from his pleading yet resigned eyes. Twas not mercy that guided her hand, but the knowledge that she had, albeit unknowingly, created powerful enemies this day, and twould be foolish to leave one alive behind her. It took but moments for her to gather those belongings she would need for the journey ahead; a pouch full of finely cut gemstones, her sword, enchanted bracers comprised the only armour she needed, and a pack stuffed full of odds and ends she could not bear to part with. Then, without a backwards look, she walked out of the cave and out of the only life she had ever known, locking the door behind her.
Barely acknowledging the outer guards lustful and lecherous greeting, she strode away from her home, unsure as yet of her destination, knowing only that she must be long away before Boris’ mutilated corpse was discovered. And gone she was, though her tribe hunted for several days in all directions, Ghargrael was never again seen by any of them.
After several hours travelling she slowed to consider her options. She had heard tell of a tribe of orcs, hardier than most, that lived in the icy wastes. Not too far, yet hopefully far enough from her own lands. Resilient as she now seemed to be to the cold, it seemed like a good place to aim for. And so, destination in mind she began the journey. But not to go there immediately, for it would surely be one of the first places they would search for her. Instead she travelled the lands, fighting and plundering her way, never staying too long in one locale. Always a proficient warrior, she found that in strength and resilience she was now somehow blessed, foes fell to her blade that she wouldst never have dared face afore. Magics of ice and fire held no fear fer her, and her blows could slay the most fell of foes.
As she travelled, the gentle bump of her belly became more and more swollen with each passing day. She could feel a connection with her child from the earliest of days, it fuelled her rage in battle and seemed most satisfied and at ease when she was spilling blood. A pursuit she enjoyed enough that it took little encouragement for her to indulge in further. And as time passed she developed a craving for the blood of her enemies, tales began to spread across the land of a fearsome orc warrior in blood drenched clothing, who gorged upon the flesh and blood of those she slew. And as her reputation spread so did the fear she instilled, granting her yet another advantage gainst her foes. Never returning to the same lands twice, she made her way slowly to where she hoped she could find a new home.
The pains started three months after she had left M’Gok Tukar. Her waist was now twice its normal girth, and she was coming to the end of her fighting days, and indeed the end of her journey. The climes she travelled through grew ever more chill, and she had had the feeling of being watched for several days. But she saw no sign of the orc tribe she sought. Then she entered the icy wastes proper, still wearing naught but blood drenched leathers, oblivious to the cold. And on entering one particular canyon was addressed in orcish, the speaker hidden amongst the many craggy bluffs atop the canyons ridge.
“Who you? Wot you want? You not Ice tribe. You not welcome ere.” She could not yet see the speaker, but could feel several pairs of eyes on her, and felt sure that several archers had her in their sights already.
“I am Ghargrael, I bear gifts fer yer chieftain. Let me and my child join yer tribe and I will bring you power and wealth” She spoke in a voice that echoed across the canyons walls, resonating power and conviction.
To demonstrate the truth of her words, she opened the pouch at her side and drew forth a large fire-red ruby, recently obtained from a giantess she had slain and feasted upon. Taking her best guess for where the speaker lurked, she drew back her powerful arm and threw the ruby. Judging by the answering grunts of excitement her guess had been close enough.
She sensed rather than heard excited conversation above her and waited patiently, her face contorting briefly as another burning spasm shot like lightning through her midrift. She was not kept waiting long. A rather wary and scrawny looking orc soon emerged at the top of a previously unseen path leading up to the heights of the canyon. Gesturing for her to follow he disappeared above the ridge again, obviously unwilling to come any nearer than absolutely necessary. Slipping and sliding she made her way up the slope, every time she put a hand out for balance and bare flesh came in contact with the deeply packed snow there was a faint sizzle and burst of steam, but she was used to this by now.
Upon reaching the top she saw a half score of orcs, none looking in much better health than the first, scurrying away to a distant cave. She followed smiling. Had she once been like these wretched creatures? Surely not. Then a searing burst of pain from her abdomen had her nearly doubling over, all other thoughts forgotten. When it passed she made haste after the disappearing orcs.
It took little time for the chieftain to see her, and even less to be persuaded that she would be a worthy addition to the tribe. In fact, it took about half the contents of her gem filled purse to persuade him of her worth, and of her rather more pressing need for a place in which to have her child. For the pains, burning embers deep within her, were becoming more and more consistent and overpowering. But she knew to show weakness here would spell her end; so she stood, teeth clenched against the pain, and faced down any who would show doubt about her worth, and won admittance to the tribe for her and her child. And then she walked with slow, deliberate determination to the birthing hut, where the shaman of the tribe awaited her.
The labour was long, bitterly so. And her screams rent the air, unceasing and unwavering, for hour on hour. The shaman called upon every power she held, and every aspect of herblore at her disposal to preserve the life of Ghargrael, for she saw in her a true disciple of Gruin, an orc unlike any other in the tribe. And it was only through her unceasing efforts that the child was born at all, for this birth was unlike any the shaman had presided over in her many decades. The shack was filled with the stench of sulfur; unearthly shrieks rent the air in accompaniment to Ghargrael’s cries; the shaman had the constant feel of another presence in the hut, an unholy presence that delighted in the torment Ghargrael endured and waited with great expectation for the cause of her suffering to finally appear. And appear it finally did, the bulbous head of her child eventually exploded forth from with the orc warrior in a splatter of blood and gore. With a swift movement the shaman seized the head and drew forth the rest of the babe’s body, cursing mightily as she did so for the babe’s skin was afire and she badly burnt her hands as she touched it. She near threw the babe aside, where it landed in furs put aside for swaddling. The shaman called on Gruin for the mightiest of healing powers, powers he would only grant for use on orc warriors of truest heart. And she felt her call answered, the power of healing surging up inside her, powers surely enough to heal even the grave injuries the childbirth had inflicted upon the mother. But then….then the child spat out the mucus of its birth and began to wail. The sounds of its cries seared through the shaman’s head, but more worrying still was the surge of power she could feel growing in the hut. Every instinct within her cried for her to end that wail before it reached its peak, and she turned to do just that. But she was too late, the birthing wail ended in a triumphant shriek, and the hut exploded in a ball of scorching flame that reached into the very heavens.
The orcs that eventually crept forward hours later to survey the carnage saw the babe, its pink flesh utterly unscathed, amidst the charred debris of the building happily playing with the ashes of its dead mother and the midwife that had assisted in its birth. Its beaming smile and undoubtedly orcish appearance offered no explanation for what had occurred. The loss of the tribe’s shaman was compensated for by the magical hoard they found amidst the possessions of Ghargrael, artifacts they traded for great wealth that, over the next decade, turned them from a tribe of outcasts into one of the most prominent orc tribes in the region. And the child, the girl child that had somehow survived? They treated her with the customary mercy and loyalty orcs always show, they carried her to a nearby icy plateau and left her there for the wolves. Slaying her themselves would have been easier and thus normally preferable, but even the most unintelligent of them could sense that such might bring more woe unto them than they could ever survive.
And so Muga was born into the world, and her tale began…
((ooc hope this is ok, not too long and enjoyable to read. Only one more ‘chapter’ to go! Must admit Im definitely enjoying writing it anyway, and found it really hard to kill off Ghargrael, seriously nearly changed my mind. :0) Its nice to have an excuse to do some writing again, too much time spent IRL being a damned accountant!!!)) |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 01 Mar 2004 12:14 PM |
It was a bitterly cold night, that first night on the plateau. But unsurprisingly, considering her mysterious heritage, the cold was of little concern to the abandoned babe. The predators that laired nearby were however a much graver danger. Be it fortune or fate, the first such to come upon Muga was little more than a pup itself, newly weaned and in search of its first prey.
The wolf sniffed cautiously all around, fearing a trap, for such a tasty morsel was too easy a gift, surely. Eventually satisfied of no lurking danger it approached, belly low to the ground, a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl emanating from its throat. For while it could smell no other orc, something still smelt wrong, badly wrong. But the tender flesh of the babe was too good to resist, and the predator’s hunger too strong to be ignored. The babe had sensed the approach for some while, and lay still and quiet, staring with fearless eyes as the creature drew ever nearer. Indeed the babe seemed to be salivating, drool gently dripping down its chin as it sought the gaze of the wolf pup.
Eventually their eyes met, and the wolf’s hackles rose as it was engaged in a contest of wills that it had no chance of winning. It tried to back away, but was captivated by the burning gaze of the babe, and drawn forward, step by trembling step, towards its intended prey. A prey it now wanted nothing to do with. When it came almost close enough to touch, the babe exhibited a smile, a smile far colder than the surrounding wastes. Then, as is perfectly natural for an orc babe, she released a prodigious belch; trapped wind exploding forth in a small gust of malodorous putrescence. Less natural was what accompanied the belch, for a minor burst of magic was also somehow released, hitting the pup with a small burst of lights…its eyes crossed, and it slumped to the ground, dazed and unable to react to its surroundings.
Acting on the instinctive knowledge that its time was limited, the babe slid forward across the ice, mouth wide open, revealing a set of small yet perfectly formed teeth. It bit down on the pup’s stomach, and clawed with its tiny hands, tearing the stomach lining open with a prodigious strength near unbelievable in such a tiny, helpless looking creature. The wolf twitched and uttered a helpless whine, but by the time the enchantment that stunned it had worn off Muga had buried her way inside of it and bitten down on its heart. It released one last pitiful whine and died, while the orc babe continued to feast, drinking of its blood and rending its soft innards with her sharp little teeth.
Muga’s first meal was of blood and heart, on such was she weaned and on such she continued to feast. She grew at a rate unmatched in any of the humanoid races, and spent the first few years of her life as little more than a wild beast. With each kill she grew larger and stronger, and she learnt a little of how to harness her inherent magic…a magic she seemed to call forth from within her, most easily through the expulsion of internal gases. She distracted her prey with minor magical evocations, but she killed with her hands and her teeth, clawing and raking until whatever she fought could no longer resist her ferocious rage. She had no weapons, knew nothing of such. Had not even the wits to use rocks, or tear branches from the sparse vegetation in order to make a makeshift club. She knew nothing of language, or of communication, beyond the low guttural grunts she oft made to herself, and the victorious howls she would release when she had completed another successful hunt. Many wounds she suffered, but healed remarkably quickly and had little fear of pain…she had always known such and believed it simply was something to be endured, not avoided.
She saw from a distance the orcs that had left her to die, and avoided them, if not out of fear then from caution. Sometimes she watched them hunt, remaining hidden from their eyes amongst the land she lived in and knew better than any other. And so she came to know of the wonders of archery and of swordplay, and hungered to harness such tools herself. But she knew she was still too small to seek to overcome those armed with such wicked weapons, and bided her time.
Then came a day which was to forever change the path she walked. She fought a beast more powerful than any she had yet faced, an ice bear. It was old and grizzled, too wily for her magics to do much more than distract. An adversary she would never normally have chosen to face, but its thick white fur had camouflaged it from her keen vision long enough for her to be nearly upon it afore it had risen up, roaring in front of her. Never one to back away from a fight, she had rushed in, so surprising the creature with the ferocity of her attack that she had landed some telling blows in the first moments of the fight. Now however, for the first time in her life she was contemplating retreat, for she was seriously hurt by a couple of swipes from its vicious claws. Indeed she would probably already have fallen if not for the fact that it was partially blind, and slow to react to her vicious attacks. Slow, but incredibly powerful she realised, as another vicious swipe of its claws sent her flying through the air to land in a crumpled heap amidst the shattered boulders of a long forgotten avalanche. Looking around her she saw she was trapped, in a box-end canyon with the bear between her and the exit. Her side was a bloody mess and she felt more than a little dazed. The realisation that escape was not an option, and that she was nearly done for, served only to fuel her rage…if she could not best the creature she would do it some lasting damage before she fell…maybe she could claws its eyes out before it finished her. So she regained her feet unsteadily and prepared to leap back into the fray, growling low down in her throat. The voice that spoke from behind her so startled her she lost her balance and fell to the ground as she spun to see who had so suddenly appeared.
Squinting up at the newcomer, who was silhouetted by the sun directly behind him, she could make out few details. He wore peculiar soft garments unlike the leathers or metal garb she sometimes saw the orcs wearing. Long and flowing, covering nearly his entire body, the material the colour of freshly spilled blood. His hair was flame red, and his eyes…she could not make them out clearly but there was something about his eyes that made her blood surge within her. A timeless moment passed, and then she looked away from his gaze and down to the blade he held out towards her. His words meant nothing to her, a meaningless garble of sounds. But it was clear he was offering her the huge sword, hilt first fortunately. Although she knew not the name for it, it was a mighty great-sword, nearly as long as she was tall. Reminded of the urgency of her predicament by an enraged growling that was rapidly approaching she reached out and grabbed the sword, awkwardly whirling around…her body turning, ever turning, just inches ahead of the deadly swipe of the bear’s claws. She continued to move away from the blow as with every fiber of strength in her body she swung the sword in a whistling arc, cleaving into the bears midrift.
The bears eyes went wide in shock, and without a sound it crumpled to the ground. She staggered, trying to remain upright, but the adrenaline of battle had passed and she slumped in shock aside the bear, blood flowing freely from her dire wounds. The sword fell free from her grip with a tremendous clatter and she fought off the darkness of oblivion, retaining consciousness through sheer force of will. She would not be denied her victory feast, and proceeded to tear into the bears carcass with her hands, feasting on its heart which was still gorged with blood. As always this revived her somewhat, and when she was done, her blood spattered head re-emerged, looking up to see where her mysterious benefactor had gone. There was no sign of him, no sign he had ever been there, apart from the coldly gleaming sword lying upon the ground.
Several hours later her wounds had healed enough for the blood-streaked orc to make her slow and painful way back to the cave she was currently using as her lair, dragging the heavy iron sword along behind her. And there, sitting leisurely in the middle of her cave was the man who had helped her. Grunting, she decided not to kill him for intruding on her domain, and entered warily, suspicious of the peculiar look on his face that others would term a smile. As she entered he breathed in swiftly, eyes widening, seemingly pleased by something he smelt. He spoke again, more meaningless noises, that elicited no more than another grunt in response. He breathed heavily, a sigh of resignation, and came to his feet in swift movement. Startled Muga backed away as swiftly as her wounds would allow, growling softly. But she was in no state to contest his will, and he moved towards her slowly, making soft soothing noises and then gently took her head in his hands. She could feel the strength in his arms nonetheless, and knew she could not resist him even if in full health. He spoke again, this time she could sense a surge of power akin to her own magics…and she stiffened until she felt the power wash over her, healing her wounds. Grateful and amazed, she backed away again once released, eyes wide in incredulous wonder. Never had she known such power sweeping through her…who was this strange creature, and what did he want with her.
Over the next couple of years she learnt the answers to those questions. The man, for such she came to understand him to be, taught her lore that she would need to thrive in the world. He did not stay with her all this time, but returned frequently and stayed weeks, sometimes months afore departing again. First he appealed to her warrior instincts, without speech he taught her the intricacies of using the blade he had gifted her. He taught her of clothes, and more importantly of armour. He cleaned the accumulation of years of dirt that caked her naked skin, revealing underneath it all an orc of startling looks, perhaps even moreso than her mother had once possessed. And he slowly and painstakingly taught her the rudiments of language and thought; she would always be at heart the wild thing he first found engaged in mortal combat with a bear three times her size. But at least she now had a basic…oh so very basic grasp of the knowledge she would need in the years to come. He revealed unto her the name her mother had chosen for her, Muga. And then he undertook the greatest challenge of all…he tried to teach her of the magic she held within herself. He tried to teach her the words, the arcane gestures and intricacies of the world of magic, a world he was something of a master of. And for the first time he failed with her. No matter how hard he tried she could not grasp what he sought to teach…and indeed had little interest in doing so. Days passed, and then weeks, and she could not master the simplest of arcane phrases. And as for the skill to read, or decipher the scripts of the many scrolls he brought to her…it was akin to trying to teach a fish to fly.
He was nearly ready to give up, when one night he shared a meal with her. She had felled an elk that had strayed far from its home, and carried it back to her lair, hardly breaking a sweat under the burden of the mighty creature. There the man had stripped and cooked it…she had come to an appreciation of cooked meat even if she still preferred the heart fresh and pumping. And the fire, the fire fascinated her, the ease with which he called it forth into the gathered wood…the dancing flickering flames would absorb her, she would stare into a fire for hours if allowed, entranced, grunting happily to herself as it died down to the last few embers. But this night she entered into no such contemplation, but instead gorged herself on the fatty meat, cramming food inside of her at a quite prodigious rate. It was when she eventually finished her meal, and lying back released an almighty belch that the man, if such he was, finally understood his mistake. For along with this belch came an uncontrolled burst of magic, taking the form of a scintillating aurora of colours. In all his years, all his vast knowledge, he had seen nothing of this ilk. But he seized on the opportunity, and within a further week, had taught her some limited control of this magic…she could now call forth the power from within with a series of grunts and other such bodily emanations to further enhance her undoubted skill and ferocity as a warrior.
Only one last lesson remained to be learnt, the most difficult of all. She showed an instinctive understanding of most magical artifacts, but scrolls…he could see no way to teach her of those. The simplest of written words eluded her understanding. And then, following on from what he had learned of her strange powers, inspiration struck. He took one of his simpler scrolls and tore it into small strips, feeling the power swiftly fading even as he did so. With urgency in his voice he persuaded Muga to devour the scroll, which she doubtfully did, swiftly chewing the pieces into mulch and swallowing. A strange expression crossed her face as the scroll was consumed, and another reverberating belch of power emanated forth, the cave suddenly lit by the magical light the scroll was meant to release. The man was finally done, he had taught her what was needed, though mayhaps would never again know such an unusual student. But one with promise nonetheless, if nothing like the majority of those that would one day answer his call.
He told Muga that twas time for her to leave her homelands, carve her way across the length and breadth of the land, time for her to grow into her full powers and eventually learn more of her heritage. Muga, who had become strangely attached to this man, the first being to ever show her any understanding or compassion, was desolate to hear she must leave him and all she had ever known behind. She beseeched him to explain why, but all he would say was…
“My name, or at least the name by which you shall know me, is Flaarghain. Remember that name Muga. One day I will call and I shall expect you to come. Until that time, serve me and serve me well. Grow in strength and cunning, shed blood in my name and let all the land come to fear your blade. Do this and when I call you shall be well rewarded, and your questions answered.”
And so Muga began her journey. It was a travelling bard who first named her Muga Bugbreath, so appalled was he at the stench from her breath, a stench he claimed akin to that which is known to emanate from a particularly nasty breed of beetle. She killed him despite the compliment, killed him slowly, but with a smile took the name for her own and was pleased.
((K, that’s Muga, all told and ready to go IG. Really hope some of you have enjoyed the tale. Constructive criticism, or any feedback, very welcome. )) |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 02 Mar 2004 03:19 AM |
Beautifully written, even I am biased ;)
And trust you to come up with the unusual concept of an orc who casts spells by belching *grins*
Jane |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 02 Mar 2004 01:00 PM |
| Well written, if a little disturbing (orcish prostitutes are not something we think about in civilized society) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 04:12 AM |
Hmm, the whole orcish prostitute thing seems to have struck a discordant chord with people! :0) At least its not Ghargrael that Im actually playing IG then.
And I do like the darker side of fantasy...after all the grace and beauty of beings such as the elves counts for nothing if they dont have something crass and dark to be contrasted with. Ill take Moria over Rivendell any day for fav bit of LOTR... *grins evilly*
And a member of civilised society? Nah, not me...my wife has only just begun to get me house trained! :0)
Seriously though, sorry if too dark/disturbed for people's taste. But it was fun to write anyway...
Cya,
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 05:47 AM |
((Not too dark or disturbed. I think what I wrote up for Thelia was more disturbing, personally.
-Barnas)) |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 06:08 AM |
Thelia? Think I missed that one? Had a brief scan of char b/grds and couldnt see it?
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 08:17 AM |
I don't tend to post in "Character backgrounds". The thread's called "The Confessions of a sinful mind." And is found here: (Apologies for the shameless plug in this exceptional thread of yours)
http://vives.dyndns.org/Vives/Forums/ShowPost.aspx?PostID=9597
Ha! Look! Still no fancy I-Can-Do-HTML-Look-At-Me-Link-Thing... because... I can't do HTML! =P
-Barnas |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 09:07 AM |
| ((Excellent work, and not too dark IMO. Perhaps a tad explicit in a place or two, for children, but I did not find it offensive. I kind of dread having Loli encounter this offspring, though.)) |
Dieties preserve us from the evil chaotics named Lag, Crash, and Server Reset.
PCs: Loli Dankirk (Ftr 18/Brd 8.5 @ 1777 hrs) left Vives for Origins; Gnora Gnombody (Sor 5 @ 54 hrs) and Amanda Stark (Wiz 3 @ ~10 hrs) left Vives for Feline Providence. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 01:07 PM |
(( I am seriously, seriously impressed To write something of that level of 'darkness' AND pull it off with great panache takes darn good talent. *claps* )) |
- Who needs Epic Levels when you have Epic Eyebrows? |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 01:48 PM |
| A wonderfully well-written tale. You are an awesome writer, Sirac. :) |
Beware the vortex of bureaucracy |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 02:09 PM |
Thanks for all the nice feedback, always good to hear. Maybe one day Ill stop being a bloody accountant and get back to writing...its what ive always wanted to do. I have written a few chapters of a novel called 'descent into darkness' so yea, dark fantasy is kinda my thing. Maybe one day will get it finished... *tries to look hopeful*
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 02:17 PM |
Maybe one day I'll stop being a bloody accountant and go back to writing
You and me both, man. Except for the accountant part. Still, I bet you live in a cube farm too.
Mykal |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 04 Mar 2004 03:51 AM |
No, no cube farm. Work from home actually, one of the few good parts of the job. And not an actual accountant per se, just what my friends like to accuse me of being to wind me up! :0( But close enough, too dang close. But hey, I like the money and Ive still got a lot to learn about writing so, pays the bills for now.
I like the Mykal write ups btw. Impossible to say enough how great everyones work is... suffice to say am amazed how many talented and creative people there are on these boards...and great rp'ers IG.
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 29 Mar 2004 05:18 AM |
I seriously can't believe I haven't replied here yet... Time to remediate that!!
You're writing skills are on par with your roleplaying skills and I think you're one hell of a roleplayer (same goes for Jane btw ;). I never minded dark, gritty fantasy. It's refreshing to read something different from the mellow, always ending in perfection line of fantasy.
I've loved the series A tale of Ice and Fire (forgot the author here), because the erstwhile heroes seemed all too human and were not invulnerable. I would love to see more of your writings, so do not hesitate to post more please!
I had read the first two posts, but failed to see the last one... shame on me. Having met Muga IG quite a few times now, together with Ilyana, it was about time to read it again (and continue the last parts).
Thanks for giving me some excellent material to read during noon break at work. :D |
Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time.
[Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 02:46 AM |
Thx man, glad you enjoyed, belatedly or otherwise.
And the author you're thinking of is George R R Martin, and yep Id also recommend the series to anyone who hasnt read it...fantastic writer, probably in my top 3 if I could ever choose just 3. First novel is 'A Game of Thrones'.
As for more of my writing...I dont get the time really...work and RL stuff plus Vives every spare minute limits my time. I love to write but have to devote the right amount of time and energy to it or just get frustrated.
But if youd like to read the chapter of my novel that I wrote at uni PM me with your e-mail addy. That's the most finished and polished writing I have done...now just another 20 or so chapters like that to finish! :0) One day....
Cheers again,
Sean |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: Muga Bugbreath...Childhood through early adolescence
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 07:49 PM |
Just want to say that I really like your writings and enjoy your RPing even more!
I had a blast adventuring with Muga last night! |
I'm The Cult of Personality. |
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The romancing of Muga Bugbreath...
Posted: 25 Apr 2004 06:18 AM |
The powerful frame of the orcish warrior settled ever deeper into the pungent pile of refuse that was to be her bed for this night. It had been a good day for Muga...she had taken a significant step closer to finding her lord; she had fought and vanquished a new prey, huge giants whose hearts filled her with vigor when consumed; she had washed down those hearts with a prodigious amount of ale; finally she had found a warm and comfortable resting place to sleep and enjoy her dreams of fire and war until the next day dawned.
But something bothered the orcess. Despite all these successes, something caused her broad forehead to crease into a scowl, as she muttered to herself...
"Stoopid oomies and elfyz. Dis iz goin to be a problahm if mez not carefulz. Not mez fault mez so bootiful, me lord makez me dat way. But mez toired ov avving to tellz dem all to goez awayz. Me tinkz mez showz da next one wot appenz if dey getz togevver wiv Muga. Den mebbez dey all leavez me 'lone."
And with this thought, Muga drifted off into sleep, and began to dream. And in her dreams she recalled the events that had led to the scowl upon her face...
First there had been the human, Sinjin...or as Muga knows him 'da oomie in da blak dress'. He had followed Muga all about, on one particular day it seemed everywhere she went there he was, leering at her. Finding any excuse to gift her with large amounts of shinies. Not taking the hint when told...
"Yuz too liddle fur mez. Mez break yuz if we tryz anyfink. Yuz go awayz now and leavez Muga 'lone. Muga not loik yuz".
No, even then he was not disheartened, turning up yet again to greet Muga with that rather wet smile of his. She groaned in her sleep as she remembered the lengths to which she had had to go to try and be rid of his unwelcome attentions, muttering to herself in her sleep...
"Mez foind da uvver oomies dat wearz da dressez. Mez askz dem to make im leavez me alone. Mez try everyfink...but still he comez back agin and agin".
And indeed, the pursuit had continued unabated. Even intensified. Obviously realising Muga would never be attracted to such a weakling he decided to show his strength. He did something funny with his eyes...obviously something akin to what those foolish elvish and human females did...what did they call it...make-up. That's right. Anyway, he used some strange substance that made his eye's glow.
And as for his strength...well yes, that had quite impressed Muga. Like many of these human males that favoured wearing dresses, in combat he was quite impressive. But in a peculiarly human way...more speed and blindingly quick strikes than true power and strength. Lacking even the intelligence to know how to use a sword they relied on their bare hands.
Muga chuckled to herself in her sleep. Silly humans. But undeniably effective...Muga was sure she could not rip that one's heart out if she was to try, but she was still young. And her lord was after all human, though few others smelled of power and fire as he did, it would seem some human's obviously did have the potential for strength.
But then all the man in the dress had done was growl at Muga, speaking words that meant little to her but in a tone which almost made her blood start to respond. A good start, he had learnt the proper way to romance an orcess it would seem. But even then he fell short, not following through on this more promising beginning. And he was so small and skinny...with a disgusted snort Muga rolled over and her dreams moved on to her second, more recent pursuer.
Yet another dress wearer. Even worse, this one a skinny elf. Some silly name...Doujan something. Like it mattered. The very thought of getting together with an elf, uurgh, disgusting. And the nature of his pursuit was enough to make her stomach clench. Their first meeting had been as Muga had come to expect with any elf. Her size and power obviously overwhelmed them, and they usually made some weak little attempt at an insult and then fled. But this one decided to stay, at first Muga wasn't sure why but soon discovered to her horror that this one had overcome his initial shyness and was determined to make Muga his own. The reason for this...simply because Muga had stripped off one set of armour to don another. This glimpse of her admittedly beautiful body seemed to have overcome all sense for this particular male.
And the things he said, Muga shuddered as she recalled them with perfect clarity in her dreams. As they fought through challenges even Muga found overwhelming, again and again he attempted to seduce her with the nauseating language of his kin...
"I don't believe we've met fair maiden" was how the elf began his barrage. Even Muga had not thought he addressed her.
And when Pyrrha, by human standards a very atttractive and fiery priestess thought Doujan was addressing her Muga began to walk away, happy to leave them to their insipid courting. But no...
"Sorry lady I meant the new comer" and saying this the elf pointed straight at Muga.
Somewhat shocked, Muga almost didn't notice the hydra that had somehow entered the room unseen. But her years of endless fighting served her well and she whirled, screamed her battle cry and charged into the fray alongside Luther, who it seemed was having more success than would be expected in ripping the creatures many heads off with his bare hands.
The fight was swiftly over, and Muga turned to see the elf was a quivering wreck, overcome by the hydra's presence. In truth this was a feeling she had known, and had some sympathy for. But when she followed Pyyrha's disgusted expression and saw the yellowish puddle beneath the elf's boots she turned away with a disgusted grimace. And this one thought he was worthy of her!?
But as soon as his mind had overcome the terror it was gripped by he recommenced his attempted seduction. But the effects of the fear seemed to have loosened more than just the elf's bladder, his grip on reality seemed similarly effected, as he dared to call Muga an elf! Of all the things he could say to insult her, he had found perhaps the worst.
Muga shrugged off the insult, striking her masssive chest proudly she declared "Mez Muga Bugbreath. Mez no elfy stoopid."
And she stalked away in search of more beasts to slay, and hearts to eat. With the aid of the two fire priestesses, the fierce little dragoness Soapie, Luther's awesome meleeing and even the elf's arrows and blades the huge hydra in the final cave lasted little time.
This being the first time Muga had killed such a creature, she feasted on its heart, drawing its life power into herself as she always had.
Only to be told by the elf..."You drink so elegantly my lady".
With a scowl Muga turned to see he was looking longingly at her, a puppy like look of adoration upon his face. Biting back the urge to kick him that she always felt when confronted by such a look she stalked off, hoping he would get the message.
Even her companion's now began to think the elf was getting a little too persistent, whispering amongst themselves and staring at Doujan with confused looks. Could he not see Muga was too good for him? Tiring of this Muga spelled it out for him.
"Mez not intahrested in yuz, yuz too liddle fur Muga. Muga breakz yuz, if we getz togevvah. Dont yuz startz followin me round tuz. Da oomie in da dress woz bad enuff. Yuz getz lost now."
Almost the same words as spoken to Sinjin, and the same lack of effect, as the only reply she received was...
"A gracious rebuttal will not deter me lady".
"Ya wot? Wotz all dat mean den? Yuz goin a getz lost now?"
"Lost in your eyes perhaps...I can only hope"
Giving up, Muga turned and ran headlong into fight after fight, praying the elf would give up or be slain, hoping for the latter in truth. But the fights continued, and the elf's nauseating words flew as often as his arrows.
Muga groaned in her dreams as she recalled the sheer volume and insistence of his endearments. They fought all the way to the bottom of the cave system...Muga slew the hag that dwelled there, secure in the protections placed upon her by the fire priestess Ilyana. She remembered what they sought there...and despite the smell of her lord strong upon the scrolls she refrained from eating them and handed them to Ilyana.
And then joined in killing the supposed king of the giants, feasting once more on perhaps the biggest heart of all. Thoroughly gorged they returned to the inn for ale, and for the humans to talk. And all the while the elf continued his unwelcome advances.
Finally, back in the inn, after offering Muga water rather than beer the elf finally realised he had gone too far. Water! Water!? He obviously realised Muga would separate his head from his body if he continued much longer, and so muttering something about powerful enchantments he fled from her presence.
And as he fled her dreams, Muga's face finally relaxed and she drifted into more welcome dreams, dreams of her lord...who was now finally one step closer.
((LOL! Had so much fun with this last night. Huge thx to Barnas for proving once again he is the most evil man in Vives! And to Doujan for playing it out so well. Obviously the above should all be taken as the demented, highly distorted ramblings of a very deranged orc! And apologies to sinjin and doujan for bringing this into the public sector!! But Barnas threatened me with dire consequences if I didnt write something, and quite frankly after last night he scares me even more! :0) )) |
'The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.' - Richard Bach, Illusions. |
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Re: The romancing of Muga Bugbreath...
Posted: 25 Apr 2004 07:36 AM |
*OOC*
LMAO, I'm crying tears of laughter here. You certainly caught the spirit of yesterday's events Sirac. OMG.... This is simply too hilarious. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH |
Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time.
[Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven. |
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Re: The romancing of Muga Bugbreath...
Posted: 25 Apr 2004 07:45 AM |
Heh heh heh.
*giggles*
*cackles*
Splendidly written.
-Barnas |
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Re: The romancing of Muga Bugbreath...
Posted: 25 Apr 2004 07:59 AM |
*lol*
I almost peed myself when this was going on.
Kudos to Doujan and Muga for making it as funny as it was.
Barnas - yer so twisted, well done.
- Paul |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
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"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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