Random Gibbon
06-01-2004, 11:59 PM
Right, I'm new here, referred by a certain Andra0rz (Andra) and he told me to post this story :\
NOTE : It is by no means supposed to be a good story. It started off weird. then got weirder when I started thinking about elf women :p, yeah, so, here it is:
The sun sparkled overhead in the land of Kalimdor, the desert air shimmering before the eyes of the odd party. Brief, cooling winds immersed the land and the Orcs basked in it. They had come to this land fleeing the feeble pink skins and their Alliance, and the undead menace, but the chance of a climate like their Draenor was ever presently lurking in their minds. This land came closer than that of Lordaeron however, while still retaining the richness of the new world. And the breezes helped.
The Orc procession moved forward slowly, and The Observer with them. He was always amused by the antics of the Orcs; it was why he bothered fighting for them. The grunts moved at the front of the procession, ready to take the brunt of any assault with their powerful axes and muscled arms. Several more walked at the rear, guarding weak catapults. Various witchdoctors, shamans, elementalists and other troll and Orc fighters walked in between with him. The trolls made him uneasy, their tall lanky bodies were covered in parts of dead pink skins. Death was natural, but not to be flaunted. He shuddered, the action rolling over his body like a wave and continued, but more pleasant to look at the Orcs. The Orcs were amusing. One Orc in particular. The Observer smiled and watched Moogul The Sly at the front center of the march. The blademaster was a cunning and quick Orc, his agility nigh unmatched in all those Orcs who had traveled to Kalimdor. Once, he had watched Moogul practicing his blade with other Orcs and was amazed that Orcish limbs could fly so quickly. Now, the master swordsman walked carefully, picking out his way deep into the heart of this rich land. The land the pink skins had called their own.
The Observer willed forward the pink skins from their hiding place, towards the Orcs. His skin itched for a fight and pink skins could easily provide that, without being much of a danger. A brief glimpse caught his eye at the fringe of the massive forest they traveled along the of, and he swung his head to stare. It glimpsed again and he recognized it as a purple skin. Cowardly creatures, though not as frail as the pinkies. Pondering slowly to front of the procession, The Observer notified Moogul of his observation and the Orcs swung about into the trees. A brief pause ensued and a slight figure dropped from a tree and darted into the forest. Slight, and purple. The Observer bellowed a challenge and the troll spears slipped into the trees like wind, the heads striking foliage and empty air as they twisted their mad courses. Another pause. A sharp shriek from in the forest and more silence. The Observer waited patiently as trolls entered the forest warily to investigate. He was good at being patient. He had waited all these weeks for a good fight and one might finally be upon him.
Gloating trolls carried the bleeding corpse of the purple skin back out of the jungle, and one grinned widely as he plucked a spear from her side and raised it high. He bellowed in triumph and at that moment an arrow struck him dead in the back.
As a whole, the Orcs screamed as a wave of enemies rushed from the trees. Surprisingly though, they were pink skins, not purple. He didn’t care; he only rushed forwards into the mayhem.
The Observer, Ob was his name, rushed recklessly into battle with the Orcs and lost them to his sight immediately. He felt the shamanic magic working about him and his blood heated, lusting to be sated by blood. His body tingled with the magics and he smiled upon charging the first pink soldier. The pinkie raised a sword, but Ob raised his foot, and one massive blow crumpled the pinkie’s head like paper, blood and bone shattering on the ground. Ob smiled.
Battle. Pinkies. Ahead. Fight for the Orcs. Ob swung his huge body forward and was met with another pinkie. This one wielded no weapons, but Ob cringed at the sight of magic flared upon his fingertips. A shout, and the pinkie raised his hands, the magic flaring to life. Ob gave him no further chance. He roared again, drowning out the other’s feeble chants and with a mighty twist of his jaws swallowed half of the pinkie’s body. The magic flared once more in Ob’s jaws, and died, as did its owner. He looked over at the dancing Moogul and caught sight of a red ‘105’ floating skywards above the blademaster’s head. Another pinkie was ahead of him now and he cursed the slow cooldown on his eating skills.
Instead, he reared up and roared. In surprise, Ob accidentally dislodged the rider from his back, and the Orc tumbled clumsily to the ground, drums clattering noisily. He bowled into the armoured pinkie and felt the feeble body being smashed beneath his feet. Mmmmm, blood. Ob stood there for a moment, enjoying the feel of the dead pinkie under him. Such a feeling. A weak shout from behind him caught his attention,
“Drat, recharge you damn mana!” the offending pinkie was a slimmer one, possibly of a different gender. Did pinkies let their females into battle? Ob had left his own mate at home. She would be safe there.
Ob turned slowly (it’s difficult to move a body as bulky as his) and faced the pinkie. He waited a moment longer – damn cooldowns – and charged. He was a scarce few metres away when the pinkie shouted again. “Yes! Mana recharged!”
Ob briefly had time to consider the possible danger of such glee coming from a pinkie and then a bright light engulfed him. It faded, his world turned dark and he slipped from consciousness.
Ob woke seconds later in a considerably larger world. Shrubbery grew thick and high about him and he wondered dimly what had occurred. The pinkie. She had done this to him. He looked about in vain for her and saw nothing. Then he looked up. Hmmmm. She has grown somewhat larger. He seemed to right beneath her. Damn pinkie, she cast some sort of self-enlargement spell. Ob took one long, last look upwards – it was an enjoyable view, even if she was a pinkie – and prepared his muscular legs to run. He would bite her oversized legs off. He kicked his leg, and felt something odd. He swiveled his head to look at his limbs and gasped. Or made whatever sound passed for a gasp for him. His legs were covered in white wool! His feet were cloven! He cursed the pinkie witches and felt himself being hoisted into the air by soft hands.
Ob squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end. He waited. It didn’t come. No, thought Ob, it’s coming, it’ll be here any second now. He waited. Any second now, it’ll come. He waited. Ob opened his eyes.
He found himself staring into the enormous blue eyes of the pinkie. She smiled a gargantuan smile and prodded him with a deeply manicured finger. He snapped at her and the finger retracted quickly. That’s right, though Ob, fear me! I am king, and I will devour your flesh. The fingers came out again and softly secured his mouth shut. Curses.
The hands held him tight against her chest and he glanced out at the ground moving seemingly quickly as the pinkie ran. His fear was quickly eclipsed by the ecstasy of the feel of the pinkies warmth and softness.
Ob believed he had sorted out what had happened by now. Evidently, the pinkie could cast spells, use magic. Therefore, she must have simultaneously cast a growth spell on herself and some sort of wooly spell on himself. He made some sound that might have passed for a whistle from anyone else, but came out more of a squeek from him; casting spells at the same time was dangerous work. She was a powerful pinkie. He snuggled against her and waited for the spell to wear off.
She’ll regret holding me when I lose this wool and she becomes small again. I will feast on her like I would feast on…um…dinner. The ground stopped blurring by and he noticed other pinkies about. Other, giant pinkies. Oh…my…most impressive reptilian deity. Ob stared about wondrously. A race of magic casting pinkies. They have all increased their size! I must warn Moogul! At this point Ob was distracted from his mission by the sheer numbers of scantily clad giant pinkies and his train of thought was lost.
He gained it again as his bearer brought him to a wizened old man, with strange blue lines erupting from beneath his feet, and strange blue-waterish creatures at his side. A strange fellow, in the least, thought Ob. The old man spoke harshly and quickly.
“We’ve driven off the Orcs for the time being Kaera, but they’ll likely be back soon enough so we had better not be here. The blademaster was far from the only one who escaped.
Ob smirked a wooly smirk. So Moogul at least had gotten out.
“What have you got there, Kaera? We don’t have time for these problems.”
“A Kodo, Sir Dalar. I ‘morphed it myself.”
“I can’t believe you wasted 220 mana on that. All you sorceresses are the same, as soon as you reach Master level, you rush out to polymorph something. Just ditch it soon, we’re pulling out.”
Fingers squeezed protectively about Ob and he grunted for air. Slowly, he felt himself be pulled from Kaera’s body and he felt panic. He was to be ‘ditched.’ Whatever that meant.
Abruptly the hands released him and he fell through the air, shrieking as loudly as he could muster a voice. A web of magic opened up beneath him and he dropped like a rock – a loud, shrieking rock – towards it. The magical colours enveloped him and Ob thought no more.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kaera sighed as the hole closed and sheep/Kodo disappeared into the depths of the magic pit. She always felt bad about killing harmless animals. Kodos were hardly harmless, but sheep were. It was also her first successful polymorph and she had hoped to keep it as a pet. A trumpet soundly roughly a ways off the camp and the other human soldiers moved swiftly about. Time to be off. Kaera grabbed her cloak and disappeared into the trees with her comrades.
NOTE : It is by no means supposed to be a good story. It started off weird. then got weirder when I started thinking about elf women :p, yeah, so, here it is:
The sun sparkled overhead in the land of Kalimdor, the desert air shimmering before the eyes of the odd party. Brief, cooling winds immersed the land and the Orcs basked in it. They had come to this land fleeing the feeble pink skins and their Alliance, and the undead menace, but the chance of a climate like their Draenor was ever presently lurking in their minds. This land came closer than that of Lordaeron however, while still retaining the richness of the new world. And the breezes helped.
The Orc procession moved forward slowly, and The Observer with them. He was always amused by the antics of the Orcs; it was why he bothered fighting for them. The grunts moved at the front of the procession, ready to take the brunt of any assault with their powerful axes and muscled arms. Several more walked at the rear, guarding weak catapults. Various witchdoctors, shamans, elementalists and other troll and Orc fighters walked in between with him. The trolls made him uneasy, their tall lanky bodies were covered in parts of dead pink skins. Death was natural, but not to be flaunted. He shuddered, the action rolling over his body like a wave and continued, but more pleasant to look at the Orcs. The Orcs were amusing. One Orc in particular. The Observer smiled and watched Moogul The Sly at the front center of the march. The blademaster was a cunning and quick Orc, his agility nigh unmatched in all those Orcs who had traveled to Kalimdor. Once, he had watched Moogul practicing his blade with other Orcs and was amazed that Orcish limbs could fly so quickly. Now, the master swordsman walked carefully, picking out his way deep into the heart of this rich land. The land the pink skins had called their own.
The Observer willed forward the pink skins from their hiding place, towards the Orcs. His skin itched for a fight and pink skins could easily provide that, without being much of a danger. A brief glimpse caught his eye at the fringe of the massive forest they traveled along the of, and he swung his head to stare. It glimpsed again and he recognized it as a purple skin. Cowardly creatures, though not as frail as the pinkies. Pondering slowly to front of the procession, The Observer notified Moogul of his observation and the Orcs swung about into the trees. A brief pause ensued and a slight figure dropped from a tree and darted into the forest. Slight, and purple. The Observer bellowed a challenge and the troll spears slipped into the trees like wind, the heads striking foliage and empty air as they twisted their mad courses. Another pause. A sharp shriek from in the forest and more silence. The Observer waited patiently as trolls entered the forest warily to investigate. He was good at being patient. He had waited all these weeks for a good fight and one might finally be upon him.
Gloating trolls carried the bleeding corpse of the purple skin back out of the jungle, and one grinned widely as he plucked a spear from her side and raised it high. He bellowed in triumph and at that moment an arrow struck him dead in the back.
As a whole, the Orcs screamed as a wave of enemies rushed from the trees. Surprisingly though, they were pink skins, not purple. He didn’t care; he only rushed forwards into the mayhem.
The Observer, Ob was his name, rushed recklessly into battle with the Orcs and lost them to his sight immediately. He felt the shamanic magic working about him and his blood heated, lusting to be sated by blood. His body tingled with the magics and he smiled upon charging the first pink soldier. The pinkie raised a sword, but Ob raised his foot, and one massive blow crumpled the pinkie’s head like paper, blood and bone shattering on the ground. Ob smiled.
Battle. Pinkies. Ahead. Fight for the Orcs. Ob swung his huge body forward and was met with another pinkie. This one wielded no weapons, but Ob cringed at the sight of magic flared upon his fingertips. A shout, and the pinkie raised his hands, the magic flaring to life. Ob gave him no further chance. He roared again, drowning out the other’s feeble chants and with a mighty twist of his jaws swallowed half of the pinkie’s body. The magic flared once more in Ob’s jaws, and died, as did its owner. He looked over at the dancing Moogul and caught sight of a red ‘105’ floating skywards above the blademaster’s head. Another pinkie was ahead of him now and he cursed the slow cooldown on his eating skills.
Instead, he reared up and roared. In surprise, Ob accidentally dislodged the rider from his back, and the Orc tumbled clumsily to the ground, drums clattering noisily. He bowled into the armoured pinkie and felt the feeble body being smashed beneath his feet. Mmmmm, blood. Ob stood there for a moment, enjoying the feel of the dead pinkie under him. Such a feeling. A weak shout from behind him caught his attention,
“Drat, recharge you damn mana!” the offending pinkie was a slimmer one, possibly of a different gender. Did pinkies let their females into battle? Ob had left his own mate at home. She would be safe there.
Ob turned slowly (it’s difficult to move a body as bulky as his) and faced the pinkie. He waited a moment longer – damn cooldowns – and charged. He was a scarce few metres away when the pinkie shouted again. “Yes! Mana recharged!”
Ob briefly had time to consider the possible danger of such glee coming from a pinkie and then a bright light engulfed him. It faded, his world turned dark and he slipped from consciousness.
Ob woke seconds later in a considerably larger world. Shrubbery grew thick and high about him and he wondered dimly what had occurred. The pinkie. She had done this to him. He looked about in vain for her and saw nothing. Then he looked up. Hmmmm. She has grown somewhat larger. He seemed to right beneath her. Damn pinkie, she cast some sort of self-enlargement spell. Ob took one long, last look upwards – it was an enjoyable view, even if she was a pinkie – and prepared his muscular legs to run. He would bite her oversized legs off. He kicked his leg, and felt something odd. He swiveled his head to look at his limbs and gasped. Or made whatever sound passed for a gasp for him. His legs were covered in white wool! His feet were cloven! He cursed the pinkie witches and felt himself being hoisted into the air by soft hands.
Ob squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end. He waited. It didn’t come. No, thought Ob, it’s coming, it’ll be here any second now. He waited. Any second now, it’ll come. He waited. Ob opened his eyes.
He found himself staring into the enormous blue eyes of the pinkie. She smiled a gargantuan smile and prodded him with a deeply manicured finger. He snapped at her and the finger retracted quickly. That’s right, though Ob, fear me! I am king, and I will devour your flesh. The fingers came out again and softly secured his mouth shut. Curses.
The hands held him tight against her chest and he glanced out at the ground moving seemingly quickly as the pinkie ran. His fear was quickly eclipsed by the ecstasy of the feel of the pinkies warmth and softness.
Ob believed he had sorted out what had happened by now. Evidently, the pinkie could cast spells, use magic. Therefore, she must have simultaneously cast a growth spell on herself and some sort of wooly spell on himself. He made some sound that might have passed for a whistle from anyone else, but came out more of a squeek from him; casting spells at the same time was dangerous work. She was a powerful pinkie. He snuggled against her and waited for the spell to wear off.
She’ll regret holding me when I lose this wool and she becomes small again. I will feast on her like I would feast on…um…dinner. The ground stopped blurring by and he noticed other pinkies about. Other, giant pinkies. Oh…my…most impressive reptilian deity. Ob stared about wondrously. A race of magic casting pinkies. They have all increased their size! I must warn Moogul! At this point Ob was distracted from his mission by the sheer numbers of scantily clad giant pinkies and his train of thought was lost.
He gained it again as his bearer brought him to a wizened old man, with strange blue lines erupting from beneath his feet, and strange blue-waterish creatures at his side. A strange fellow, in the least, thought Ob. The old man spoke harshly and quickly.
“We’ve driven off the Orcs for the time being Kaera, but they’ll likely be back soon enough so we had better not be here. The blademaster was far from the only one who escaped.
Ob smirked a wooly smirk. So Moogul at least had gotten out.
“What have you got there, Kaera? We don’t have time for these problems.”
“A Kodo, Sir Dalar. I ‘morphed it myself.”
“I can’t believe you wasted 220 mana on that. All you sorceresses are the same, as soon as you reach Master level, you rush out to polymorph something. Just ditch it soon, we’re pulling out.”
Fingers squeezed protectively about Ob and he grunted for air. Slowly, he felt himself be pulled from Kaera’s body and he felt panic. He was to be ‘ditched.’ Whatever that meant.
Abruptly the hands released him and he fell through the air, shrieking as loudly as he could muster a voice. A web of magic opened up beneath him and he dropped like a rock – a loud, shrieking rock – towards it. The magical colours enveloped him and Ob thought no more.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kaera sighed as the hole closed and sheep/Kodo disappeared into the depths of the magic pit. She always felt bad about killing harmless animals. Kodos were hardly harmless, but sheep were. It was also her first successful polymorph and she had hoped to keep it as a pet. A trumpet soundly roughly a ways off the camp and the other human soldiers moved swiftly about. Time to be off. Kaera grabbed her cloak and disappeared into the trees with her comrades.