(( Attempt at bit different style of writing. Introductory thing for my dwarven hunter. Having problems "getting into" this character. Mostly wrote this to help myself, might as well post it here as well. ))
War. A short word, a strong word. Most strong words were short, weren't they? Words of learning. Learn a new thing a day. Or kill an orc a day. The lesson was one or the other. Orc's point of weakness? Between the eyes. Headshot. Never saw a problem headshot didn't fix. Blood spatter on the walls. Beautiful, red blood from green monster. Ogres. Nasty things, two heads. Need a different angle.
Thoughts getting muddled, must retain focus. I slap myself in the face. Pain. Being attacked, they've found me! Ambush! No... just my own hand. Private Bodo looks at me with puzzled eyes. Chews on something he picked up from the floor. Good soldier. Hostile territory, must live off the land. Hostile territory? Every territory is hostile. That's what he taught me. Old dwarf, good dwarf, Master Sergeant, called him the Old Wolf. ”War never ends, boy,” he taught me. True words. It's never over. Goblins. Cunning goblins. Mad goblins. Charging down the hill with barrels of explosion. Rain of blood. Rain of guts and burnt flesh. Goblin flesh. Dwarven flesh. I close my eyes but all I see is red. Blood red. And I feel the heat. Oh the burning heat, tearing away flesh from my skin. No... NO! Focus! I slap myself again. No time for memories.
I look around myself. Tavern. Wooden tavern, human lands. Suspectible to fires. Mental note for future. Many people, avoid eye-contact. I seem to draw suspicious glances. Spies for the Horde or concerned civilians? No... no civilians. Must not trust anyone. That's what he taught me, the Old Wolf. ”Donnae trust no one, boy,” he said. ”Them 'orde. They try an' lull ye inter feelin' secure an' when ye do... they'll strike.” But not me. Won't fool me. If the orcs win, the demons will come. Land will burn. Blood will rain. Rain of blood. Rain of guts. More burnt flesh. Must prevent. Why can no one else see?!
”Excuse me, sir, is everything all right?”
Voice from nearby. High voice, tender voice. Human girl. Has tits. Bar wench, carries flagons of ale. Could be waitress. Could be goblin spy. Cunning goblins. Cunning goblins with explosives. I grunt a response, waving her away. Minimal contact. Act as if you belong. How do you act as if you belong? I trade glances with Private Bodo. We are prepared. The girl shifts few steps back. Does she go away? No, stays and speaks.
”Are you feeling all right, master dwarf?”
Master dwarf. My father was a master. I am a soldier, corporal. I am the Raccoon. Why does she call me master? ”Ahm fine,” I mutter in response. Could be gathering intelligence. Short sentences, short phrases. Minimize risk of exposure. I am the last hope. Last member of the Rifle Squad Wolverine. Survived in the mountains for decades. Tried to fool us they did. Messengers claiming war was over. Cunning goblin ploys. We survived. We lived off the land, eat what we found... and what we left behind. But time got us. Time's the enemy. Time on the side of the Horde. Must waste no more of it. Now I'm the only one left. Only one fighting the true war. No hiding anymore. Just action.
The wench reaches his hand to touch me. Do goblin spies have death touch? Doubtful. Is she dead? Dead men and women walk now. Headshot cures that. I reach to grasp her hand and yank her forward. I kick myself up from my chair and reach for my rifle. Swift movements, fluid movements. I bring the muzzle to the woman's throat and pull the hammer back. She shrieks in terror. She's scared. Or acting. Not a mage, mage would be gone by now. Shifty mages. Headshot cures them.
”Lissen up,” I hiss. The girl can hear me. So can the bar patrons. Humans, dwarves, elves and wolfmen. Why are there wolfmen in the tavern? And why are the elves purple? Bodypaint? Faulty costumes? Yes. Must be it. Error in disguise. ”Donnae come any closer or yer accomplish gets it,” I yell. They trade glances. Some of them look armed. Must act quick. Out-numbered.
”Go t' yer warchief,” I continue, ”or whoever green-skinned piece o' dung ye serve... an' tell 'im Th' Raccoon's comin' fer 'im.” Puzzled glances. Trained well. Good spy doesn't give anything away. No mistakes. Plot runs deeper than I thought.
Escape. Burn the house? Too drastic. Must act swift, but cunning. Must strike hard and fast. But for now, no casualties. Private Bodo is ready. I throw the girl forward towards the crowd. Misdirection. I reach for my flare gun and close my eyes. Bright flash. Blinded people. I feel like a beast of the wilds. One long leap from my seat to the fence before the doorway. Disoriented human blocks my way, squinting his eyes. Still almost blind. I bring down the butt of my gun against his head. There's a crack. Broken jaw at most. He'll recover.
The man is falling, I use his chest as a jumping board. Land close to the door and run outside. Guards coming to see the noise, but I am too fast. I run. Again running. The war is on. It'll never end. But I must make sure they don't win. And I'm alone.
