Grim Views

((Cross-posting the stories about my Grimlings from my TNG thread. Information about the writing challenge is here. Short version is, randomly pull a song from a playlist, write a story that somehow relates/was inspired by that song. Repeat every day for entire month. Skipped days are probably non-Grim character stories, or me being lazy and not writing anything that day.

Day 3. Devil's Backbone - The Civil Wars
))

Mortica likes beer. Mortica likes fishing. Mortica likes Karkarov.

Mortica knew she wasn't the most complicated undead soul in the world, and she was fine with that. She fought when needed, and made enough money to survive in the world off of her small alchemist business. Traveling to Silvermoon for supplies was not her favorite part of her week, but it was a necessary trip to keep her costs low.

She had nothing personal against Sin'dorei in particular. She even considered a few to be her friends. They just always seemed to be more complicated than her limited interests could support. You could find beer in their taverns, but there was always the fight with the bartender insisting that she really didn't want to try the latest vintage wine. Luckily, some areas of Silvermoon tended to be less insistent on pushing the expensive stuff.

Her purchases firmly stored away in her bags, she wandered into the City Inn, and nodded at the bartender before heading to a quiet corner. Music and crowd noises filtered down from the second floor. When the bartender brought her a jug and glass, she smiled "Sounds busy up there" and jerked her head up.

The red haired bartender sighed dramatically. "It's these new...singers". He rolled his eyes. "Why bring an orchestra when you can make do with a single guitar? It's rather barbaric, but for some reason many of Silvermoon's youth adore it."

Mortica tossed him a coin and nodded in what she hoped was suitable commiseration.

Half way through her jug, Mortica found herself nodding to the beat of the music, and against better judgement, wandered up the stairs to get a better look at the singers. The crowd was entirely Sin'dorei with a group of pandaren taking up one of the few sit-down tables available. Mort couldn't understand the Thalassian, but the looks on the singers faces she recognized well enough.

She found a wall to lean against, and sipped the rest of her beer. The crowd around her reacted to the music, dancing energetically to the faster tunes. During the slower tunes lovers slid closer together on the divans, kissing. Mort reacted in her own way, swaying to the beat, sometimes closing her eyes and letting images slide across her vision, sometimes watching the singers, and sometimes just watching those around her.

When she'd finished her beer, she shouldered her pack and headed back downstairs.

"Another?" the bartender asked, already turning towards the beer cooler door.

Mortica shook her head. "Think I'll head home early tonight".

He nodded. "Sorry about the noise tonight, I've been trying to talk the propieter into getting a better group in, but she's happy with the size of the crowd this group has been drawing in."

Mortica shrugged, and grinned. "I kinda liked them."

(( Day 4. Slave Only Dreams to be King - Marilyn Manson ))

"Fah, tu should leave dem crazies, dat what ah say." Tiski'tai shook her head, the shark teeth strung from her ears knocking hollowly together. She brushed past him and angrily pulled a jar off of a shelf. "What choo even do fer dem, or what dey do fer you? Bruddah, tu waste your life away, and den what tu get?" Uncapping the jar, she peered into the murky liquid.

Sang'jai hunched even further over the table and sighed. "Sistah, tu know ah..."

"Non!" She whipped around, some of the liquid spilling out onto the floor, sizzling. She popped him with the forked ladle in her hands. "Non! Dis be goin' on long enough! Tu ah son o' da Sharktooth. Choo be on da path ta bein' a powah'ful force fer da Loa. Den choo just sit in dat garrison and bark orders at little green orcs."

"Dat's not fair..." he straightened up in his chair, throwing up his arms to ward off the next thwap of the ladle.

Tiski'tai's face, generally the same ocean blue hue as her brother's, turned purplish, and her lips curled around the small outer tusks. "Where was dis Grim when
Vol'jin be chased by Garrosh?" Where was dis Grim when our islands be overtaken by Garrosh orcs? Where was dis Grim when we be chased outta Orgrimmar? Tell me dis, Bruddah."

Sang'jai took in a deep breath, in part to give her a chance to interrupt again, and to gather his thoughts. Calmly he motioned for her to put the ladle down. She merely gripped it tighter and glared at him.

"Tu know da Grim help overthrow Garrosh and was dere when Thrall gave da mantle o' da Horde to Vol'jin."

"Aye, bruddah, and den dey conveniently let him escape to dis crack in da time. Bad voodoo." Realizing she was still holding the jar, she fished an eyeball out and tossed it into the small kettle boiling over the fire. She capped the jar again and put it back in its place on the shelf.

"They had no choice, and choo are one ta call sometin' bad voodoo," he said, looking pointedly at the kettle.

Tiski'tai looked like she was going to hit him with the now dripping ladle again, but thought better of it, instead tossing it into a bucket of dirty utensils.

"Tu es only as powerful as de last heart dat choo eat. Tu es grow weak, Bruddah. Dis Grim let choo be weak so dey keep powah ovah choo."

Sang'jai's face took on the same purplish hue, and he growled. He stepped towards her, his form shifting, even as he reached around her, his arms turning into branches, vines wrapping her close to him, twisting around her until she was fully immobilized. It was difficult to speak in this form, but he willed the formation of a wooden mouth and vocal cords.

"Ah appreciate choo concern, Sistah." He continued to squeeze, until the fierceness in her face turned instead to fear as her lungs used up the air in them, unable to pull fresh oxygen in. She began to struggle, trying to pull the bands around her ribs away. "Perhaps ah should eat your heart, hmm?" His form creaked as it tried to imitate a chuckle, the top leaves brushing against the ceiling. He counted a heartbeat, and another, and then released her, allowing his natural troll form to reappear.

"Da Grim no have powah ovah mine. Ah be Grim so dat mah powah have purpose. What purpose does your powah serve, Sistah?" Sang'jai moved to the door, leaving his sister gasping for air. He paused in the doorway, the healer in him briefly considering helping her regain her breath. Instead he took a long step away from the door, and switching into a bat, flew off without saying another word.

((Day 6. No Time - JJ Cale
Character: Druthers (orc monk M)
Location: Blackrock Foundry
Encounter: Operator Thogar
Supporting Characters: The Grim Ironbreakers
Timeframe: 8 months ago

Yeah, I don't remember the particulars of our first kill, so this is pure fabrication here. Use of other people's characters -not- used with permission, but the spirit of their characters has been preserved to the best of my knowledge. yadda yadda yadda
))

The sounds of machinery were a constant reminder of the industrial value of Blackrock Foundry. The vastness of the fortress and economical use of the space was a wonder to Druthers. The Horde had more blacksmiths and engineers than Garrosh's Iron Horde, but nothing that rivaled this monstrosity for housing them.

The Ironbreakers made their way through the tunnels, annihilating any guards and workers they came across, their cries lost in the mechanical background sounds.

Canai materialized in front of the group. "Trains up ahead. Three groups of armed laborers and a scattering of guards."

Anaie chuckled and mimed pulling a whistle cord. "Ooh, trains! Choo Choo! Choo Choo!" Alakhai closed her eyes and shook her head.

The smell and heat of furnace exhaust hit them as they entered the cavern. Smoke bombs were tossed into one crowd as the team advanced on them. The confused laborers choked and started tossing bombs of their own back at the group.

Druthers rolled into the fray with the others, coming out of the roll with a controlled spinning kick. He took a moment of pause to evaluate the life force of his companions, before attacking the closest enemy orc. Minutes later, the loading area was cleared.

Four sets of train tracks spanned the main part of the room, each disappearing into narrow tunnels just barely tall and wide enough to allow a train through it. On the other side, an impressively large orc was bellowing orders at the laborers on the other side.

Before he spotted the Ironbreakers approaching, he could be heard yelling "Blackhand wants to see these shipments in Talador. NOW!"

The group quickly crossed the distance to him. Without a pause, Alakhai charged him, landing the first blow. Still seemingly more intent on his duty than the threat in front of him the Operator yelled "Blackhand won't tolerate any more delays."

Seeing their boss being attacked, the remaining orcs joined in.

Druthers hung back, channeling chi, doing his best to manage its flow. Gathering, expelling, gathering, expelling. Bombs landed near him, so he moved what he hoped was far enough from their blast.

"Incoming!" someone yelled.

The group scattered, as a train came screaming through on the track most people were fighting on. It screeched to a halt for a moment, but the Operator waved the train on, its cargo heading towards is destination with a few less guards. The Ironbreakers were surrounded by the reinforcements, ticking bombs littering the ground. The Operator was blasting the vanguards with a fiery cannon, patches of oil-fed flames sprouting up wherever he went.

A concussion knocked Druthers forward, and then he felt himself being pulled back. "Pulse Grenades!" he yelled, rolling forward out of the blast area.

They began to make headway, dropping the reinforcements. As a pack, they began focusing on the surprisingly resilient Operator. He fended them off, and then looked up, his ears picking up the distinct vibration coming down the 2nd and 3rd tracks. He bellowed out a mighty laugh. "Command cars incoming, let's see how you handle the brass!"

The simultaneous trains roared down the middle of the room, splitting the group as some dodged left, and some ran right. Man-at-Arms exited the trains with even more reinforcements. Druthers had ended up on the side they had first entered, furiously trying to mist the area and keep his group's health up, but there was no time.

The strength of monks lies in keeping a balance. While that balance is maintained, they can literally heal for days with little stress. But constant dodging of bombs and the overwhelming odds was not giving him the chance to gather chi. And so he gave of his own energy. They were all falling behind, giving everything to this fight that so unexpectedly became much more than the 16 on 1 they had thought they had engaged.

Mist, gather, interrupted! Run from the bombs! Save the pally, save the mage!

The middle trains, seeing their leaders fall, flew off. The scattered Ironbreakers gathered together again, dropping the Man-at-Arms, allowing them to focus again on the Operator. Barely had they even started in on him when even more trains flew in on the sides.

"Warlocks, cut 'em off! Everyone else on dis bastahd," Anaie screamed.

Druthers could feel the tide, could feel the life draining away, and so he gathered, moving, gathering, feeling the pulse of his team. "Just another moment, please, give me the time..." the thought floated through his brain, even as he continued to gather, until he was filled. And he gathered even more.

Release! The healing mist rolled like a tide out around him, instantly reviving all of his companions.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe, just as he saw another train's beam of light glowed around him. He was dead center of the track.

"Incoming!"

He threw himself forward, but not quickly enough. The fiery exhaust engulfed him as he rolled out of the train's path. He lay sprawled on the ground, knowing he had to move, but lacking the energy to do even that. Then he felt the pally's light enter him, and he sprung up, gather, expel, gather, expel. He had so little in reserve; he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. He pulled a mana elixir out of a little used pocket, and sucked it dry, giving him enough energy to be able to convert again, at least for a little time.

A cheer flew through the group, suddenly. The Operator fell to his knees, his fate finally dawning on him. "That wasn't on the... schedule..." he gasped, before falling over.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining iron orcs scattered, though most did not make it past the blast of fel and arcane energy coming from the group's warlocks and mage.

(( Day 9. There's No Way Out of Here - David Gilmour
Time: ~ 10 years ago
Characters: Wrooth, Druthers
Setting: Orgrimmar ))


Dru'thars poked his sister, Wru'thars. The boy pointed at a hunched orc pushing a wheel barrow laden down with vegetables up the narrow path, likely headed towards the master cook's dwelling.

Wru's eyes narrowed, watching the orc for a moment and then looked over at her brother and shook her head.

"I can do it, just like we practiced," he whispered, pleading. His stomach growled loudly.

She continued to shake her head, and whispered back "No, we stole a bunch of carrots from him last week, he'll be on guard."

Dru's face twisted up and glared at the orc as he passed. "Are you sure? He doesn't look familiar to me..." Dru rolled into a crouch, and started following the trail of the orc, keeping low behind the empty barrels and crates that littered the sides of the path.

"Don't!" Wru hissed, following her brother. Just as she got close enough to grab the back of his tunic, he leapt forward and started jogging towards the older laborer.

"Hey Boss!" he called.

The orc glanced back, unsure who was calling to whom. Seeing the ragamuffin young orc following him, he dropped the wheel barrow down onto its support legs and turned to face his assailant.

"What'cha got in the barrow, Boss?" Dru circled around the older orc towards his target.

"Get away from my vegetables!" the orc growled, moving to stand between the barrow and the urchin.

Wru got as close as she could while staying hidden on the side of the path. It was too late to stop what was about to happen, so she watched and hoped for the best. Dru was bouncing back and forth, testing the reaction of the laborer. She was watching them so intently that she didn't notice the patrol scurrying towards the standoff until the guard was right behind Dru.

"Run!" she screamed, her protectiveness of her little brother overriding her own instinct to dash away.

"Thief!" the laborer bellowed, pointing at the urchin.

Dru glanced over his shoulder. Realizing his peril, he tried to run, but the guard easily caught up and grabbed him up. Dru struggled like a wild pig caught in a net, his jaws finding purchase in the space above the guard's bracers. The guard cursed, but only tightened his hold on the child, lifting him up off the ground.

Wru stood still, torn. "Whatever you do, don't get caught!" the words of the other homeless children echoed in her head. "Whatever you do, don't get caught!" A dozen little heads nodding in agreement. She watched her brother struggle, and knew there was no abandoning him. Blood was still blood. She put on her best worried sister look and ran towards the trio.

"There you are! Mother was absolutely horrified when she realized you'd run away." Wru went straight to the guard and slapped her brother's leg. She made to grab him from the guard, but his grip only tightened.

Her expression swiftly changed. "Please, Boss, he didn't mean any harm. Our father will give him a sound beating tonight, I promise, if you let him go back home with me." She batted her eyes in what she hoped was proof of her sincerity.

The guard's expression lightened slightly, along with his grip.

"These are the thieves who stole from me last week, in this very spot! They are liars and thieves," the laborer declared.

Dru made another fruitless attempt to escape.

"Where are your parents, child?" The guard addressed Wru.

Wru waved down the path, "Over two paths, behind the tailor's shop. Please, Boss, let him go." She hated the creeping desperation in her voice.

The guard's eyes narrowed, and nodded. "Let's go find your parents then." Firmly grasping the back of Dru's shirt, he lowered him enough that his feet could touch the ground.

Wru's mind raced, desperate to find a solution. She walked with the guard, purposely walking slower than the longer strides of the guard. They cut over to tailor's shop and the huddle of worker huts behind it. Wru walked up to one of the huts she knew would be empty at this time of day and walked in, praying the owner wasn't home. "Mother!" she called out.

Not seeing anyone, and noting that the guard was looking around this home that showed no sign of children abiding there, she quickly continued her deception. "Sorry, Boss, she must have gone to the market, I'm sure she'll be home soon, I'll be extra careful to watch him and not let him run off like that again."

The guard shook his head and growled at her. "This is not where you live, child. Tell me the truth now, or I'll haul both of you to the judge, and I can tell you he has little patience for thieves."

She doubled down. "I swear, Boss, she'll be home soon. Please, just leave him here."

The guard swore a long string of words Wru didn't recognize. "Orphans. Tell me the truth, are you orphans?"

"No, Boss, please..."

He sighed, releasing his pent up frustration. He smiled at her, a kindly smile. Without loosening his grip on the boy, he knelt down in front of her. His free hand found her shoulder and patted it gently. "Little one, neither of you looks like you've eaten in a week. Come with me to the orphanage, they will feed you, clean you up, get you some fresh clothes, and give you a safe place to sleep at night. I don't know why all of you urchins insist on living in the streets when there's a place just waiting to help you."

"Please, Boss, I swear she'll be here any minute..." Tears sprang from her eyes, and she wiped them away angrily.

"Everything will be ok, follow me." The guard stood up and headed out the door, glancing back only once to make sure she was following him.

((Day 11. Fight it Back - Accept

Characters: Wrooth and Druthers
Timeframe: ~ 1month after #9

))

Dru glared through the "cage", his dual-purpose muzzle (no biting, no talking) giving him a feral appearance that Wru hated. She herself wasn't in a much better position, on hands and knees scrubbing the floors. The words of the guard ran through her head again and again. "They will feed you, clean you up, get you some fresh clothes, and give you a safe place to sleep at night."

While technically he was correct, he clearly left out, or was oblivious of, the fact that the matron ran the orphanage as a free labor camp for various businesses around the town. The older, stronger kids were shipped off to mines behind Orgrimmar. Some helped clean shops or other tasks. Those who hadn't been fully cowered or had arrived too recently to trust were left to housekeeping the orphanage where the Matron could keep an eye on them. Those, like her brother, who refused to work, were put in locked pens.

"Mrrrrmmm mrrrm mrrrrrrggghh". Wru looked up. Her brother had his fingers in the muzzle, trying to rip it off. "MMRRRRrrrrrrgggggghh".

Wru sighed, and continued scrubbing at the floor, her fingers itchy from too much bleach in the solution. When she was done with the room, she tossed the cleaning rag in the bucket and stood, her knees popping from the sudden change.

"Mrrrruuuuu!"

She glanced around to see if the Matron was around. Not spotting her, she went over to the cage and knelt down. The two held hands through the bars. He mimed finding a key and unlocking the cage. She shook her head, and whispered "She keeps all of the keys on her."

He frowned and tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes. He mimed someone walking in and pulling the keys off the sleeper. She shook her head again "Chompers."

"Mrrrugghgghg!" He threw his hands up. He had to repeat his gestures a few times before she figured out that he was suggesting feeding the dog, although she wasn't sure if he meant poison the dog, or just distract it.

"Wru'thars, you know you are not allowed to talk to the children in detention!" the Matron growled.

"Sorry Matron!" Wru jumped up, grabbed the pail of dirty water and rushed into the next room.

The elder orc strolled next to the cage and smiled at Dru. "You really should be more like your sister. She's adapting very well. She's smart, your sister."

Dru growled and threw himself against the bars, his skinny arms reaching through the gaps in the cage trying to grab the Matron. She didn't flinch, adept at judging how close she could stand to the cage and still be safe.

"Tsk tsk tsk." She shook her head, the smile never leaving her face, but she lowered her voice so that only he could hear her. "You know, I like it when the kids come in half-wild. They always become the tamest of the lot, once they are broken."

Dru screamed, and threw himself against the bars. He scrambled back, then gathered as much momentum as he could generate in the cramped quarters and threw himself against the bars again. And again. He continued to howl long after the Matron left the room.

((12. To Find a Friend - Tom Petty
Character: Wrooth
Timeframe: ~ 4 years ago
))

Wru'thars did her best to keep up with the strange undead woman as she weaved through the Orgrimmar streets. They took the elevator to the upper level and then waited for the zeppelin to Undercity. Wru'thars stood by silently as the woman pulled out a book and started to read.

Wru fidgeted, unsure what to make of her "Orphan's Week" guide. Normally the adult who dragged her off for a week asked her endless questions about how Wru ended up in the orphanage, or stuffed her full of candy and ice cream. This one seemed to have forgotten that she'd even picked up a child.

Clearing her throat, she attempted conversation. "So, uhh, Miss Zenata. What do you do?" Silence.

The zeppelin floated in, and several passengers disembarked. "All aboard for Tirisfal Glades!" the little goblin yelled out. Wru moved towards the zeppelin, but stopped when she noticed the undead hadn't budged. "Uh, Miss Zenata?" She waved her hands above the book, trying to catch the Forsaken's attention.

"What? Yes?" Zenata peered at Wru'thars face suspiciously, her colorless eyes inexplicably focused directly at Wru.

Wru stepped back. "Did you want to catch this zeppelin? To Undercity?"

"What? Oh." Zenata wrinkled what was left of her nose. "No need!" She stood, and with a combination of mumbling and gestures, cast a portal. Wru stared at it in disbelief, but didn't struggle when Zenata grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the portal.

On the otherside, the oppressiveness of the Undercity struck Wru hard. She had been there a couple of times during previous Orphan Week excursions, but it always frightened her. Zenata took off at a quick pace, the young orc in tow. They took a series of staircases down, and then into a musty corridor. Zenata pulled out a key and opened up a door, ushering Wru in.

Inside the undead's apartment space, the walls were filled with shelves of books. Books were stacked around on the floor, on chairs, and on the large wooden table in the middle of the room. Zenata moved to the one chair that didn't have books and started reading again.

Wru shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for something to happen. When it was clear they weren't going anywhere, she started picking through the books. She had picked up a bit of Orcish writing, but these were written in language she didn't understand at all. She found a book with odd drawings every few pages and curled up against a wall and tried to make sense of it all.

(( 13. 21st Century Cure - Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack ))

Mortica slid the pouch over to the death knight. The goblin's bright blue eyes twinkled, and she leaned in. "If this stuff is as good as you say, we could be making some serious moolah."

Mortica grinned. "It works. Smoke it, brew it..." she reached into a different pouch and pulled out a white mushroom, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. "or just eat 'em straight."

Pahr nodded. "Edibles aren't really my gig, but I got just the guy who does it almost exclusively. Real reliable. He works on commission though," Pahr shrugged, "so it'll be a few days at least before I can get some revenue headed your way."

The rogue's smile grew again. "I figured as much. You know how to contact me." Bracing against the table, she stood up and teetered out of the bar. Outside, she climbed onto her nether ray and directed it back to her garrison.

Once there she headed straight for the mine, and took a cart down to the bottom. She made her way into a large chasm with a pool of water. She'd filled most of the remaining space with neatly sectioned off grids of black earth. She checked her makeshift irrigation system, the pipes running from the pool to each of the sections, and then back to the pool. From the pipes, soaker tubing was laid evenly in rows across the patches of earth. Satisfied the water system was still working, she pulled a notebook, ruler, and a goblin timing device out of the small metal cache near the front of the cave.

She checked the label of the first section and neatly entered into her notebook "Night elf, female. Moderate growth. Excellent clumping." With a small, sharp knife, she cut off a small piece of the modified ghost mushroom, clicked the goblin device, and tossed it into her mouth and chewed carefully before swallowing. After a minute she added "Taste: apple undertones, Response time: 2 minutes."

She continued down the line, her writing increasingly erratic.

Human, male. Large caps. Sporadic clumping. Taste: average. Response time: 1 minute.
Dwarf, female. Small caps, Excellent clumping. Taste: hoppy. Response time: 2 minutes.

Mortica frowned at the 4th plot, and inspected the label. "Male Gnome." She walked over to where she stored her gardening tools and brought a small spade back. She dug around the corpse, carefully pushing the soil to the side. All that remained was skeleton. In a different notebook, she wrote "Need fresh gnome." She dug out the skeleton and tossed it into a wheel barrow that contained an assortment of other bones.

When she was finished, she sprinted up the pathways to the opening of the mine and threw herself into a pile of snow outside, giggling and dreaming of all the gold she was going to make.

((14. Use Me - Bill Withers
timeframe: takes place immediately after #4
))

Sang'jai flew, letting the anger release through the efficient exercise of his bat wings. His mind tumbling as readily as the gusts of ice over Frostfire Ridge tossed this meager form of leathery skin and hollow bones.

He knew part of his frustration was from lack of measureable progress in either the fight against the Iron Horde or the Alliance. He had taken time away from the front lines to pursue something different, something he felt deep in his bones. It vibrated at some frequency only he could detect.

But it remained elusive. An itch he could not scratch in any form.

Every day he woke up, thinking today would be the day. This thing, this itch, this sound just beyond what his straining trollish ears could distinguish, it would be revealed. He would bring this gift to the Grim, and the Peace would blow across not only this time-cursed world, but every world in every dimension. Scholars would remember the name of Vol'jin, but every babe in swaddling clothes would smile, and yes, weep in awe at the image of Sang'jai Sharktooth, the Patient, the Tranquil Master, the Caretaker.

But every night he stared up into the night sky, knowing this had been yet another day that he had failed. He was patient, but the tranquility was more mirage than reality. And time, it passed. His dreams were full of dragons, bronze scales covering him like snowflakes while he stood immobile.

He knew the Grim would welcome him back to the front lines, even as unpracticed as he had become. There was glory there, and he longed for that immediate satisfaction of facing an enemy and watching its life drain away into the void. But that whisper, that itch, it seduced him. Glory. Peace. Everything he had ever wanted, it was just around that corner. If he just chased it faster, or turned fast enough, this thing would appear in full spectacle, and all of these trials would be rewarded.

Faith was something his sister claimed, but he lived it, in all of its tortuous majesty. Maybe not today. Maybe not even soon. But it would happen, and that ecstatic knowledge vibrated his soul, leaving no room for this poisonous doubt his sister sowed.