Author's Note- This story is half-inspired by parts of a true story
Author's Note- This story is half-inspired by parts of a true story. You may want to read Adventure in Alcohol before you read this, but you don't have to.
Disclaimer- World of Warcraft is coprywrite of Blizzard. But; Gurul, Sylvia, Edward, and this plotline are copywrite of me. So, Blizzard, if you ever use those names or this plotline in any of your lore I will sue you until you beg for mercy.
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It was high noon in Ashenvale. A quiet stillness had descended on the forest as the chirping birds were pacified by the beating sun. A solitary deer wandered out of the thicker forest and into a small clearing, sniffing as it went. Hearing the far-off sounds of crashing and snapping limbs, the deer looked up and fixed its gaze in the direction of the disturbance. As the sounds of crashing and breaking grew rapidly closer, the deer lost its nerve and bolted off into the woods. Milliseconds later, a burly, mail-clad orc burst through the bushes. Sprinting for all he was worth, the orc crossed the clearing in seconds and plunged back into the deep forest. Jingling mail armor, snapping branches, and crunching leaves left a cacophony of noise in the warrior's wake as he plowed through the undergrowth. Weaving through a dense patch of saplings, the Orcish warrior stole a glance over his shoulder. A flash of movement in the forest behind him spurred him to run even faster.
Turning around to look ahead, he barely managed to duck under a massive arching root. He quickly recovered and continued sprinting through the undergrowth; not even noticing the clawing thorns and whipping branches. Crashing sounds of pursuit followed him closely, forcing the orc to put on an extra burst of speed. He hurtled fallen logs, plowed through thorn bushes, leaped over puddles of ensnaring mud; all in an effort to shake his pursuer. Casting another glance over his shoulder, he was horrified to see another flash of movement in the bushes. He hadn't even slowed it down! In another act of desperation, he scrambled up a small cliff face, whirled around, and threw himself against a tottering boulder. The massive rock tumbled over the edge and hurtled down into the forest. Pausing for a moment, the warrior watched the rock disappear from sight, and was rewarded with a scream of rage and pain that came from the direction the rock had tumbled.
Turning around once more, the Orcish warrior put on a fresh burst of speed, intending to outpace his pursuer once and for all. He sprinted through the forest, dodging trees, ducking branches, and leaping over roots. After what seemed like an eternity of running with no sounds of pursuit, he allowed his pace to slow to a jog, and finally to a walk. Leaning against a tree to catch his breath, the orc allowed himself a slight chuckle of relief.
Almost immediately, an arrow whizzed out of the undergrowth and buried itself in the trunk, inches from his head.
Oaths and swears exploding from his mouth, the orc took off running once more. Panting heavily, he burst through a wall of bushes and over the edge of a small gully. He tumbled head over heels down the small gulch and landed face first in a stream. Scrambling quickly to his feet, the orc splashed across the stream and clawed up the other side of the gully. Violent splashing behind him revealed his stalker was in hot pursuit. Desperate to lose his pursuer, the orc leaped over a patch of brambles onto a fallen tree. Running the length of the massive trunk, he found himself suspended over the edge of a steep cliff dotted with vines and scrub. Whirling around, he saw the undergrowth shaking violently and crashing sounds of pursuit rapidly approaching. Turning back to face the cliff, he took a deep breath… and jumped.
He hit the cliff wall hard and rolled, sending up clouds of dust. The world was a tumbling blur of motion as he rolled down the cliff face, smashing through bushes and saplings. A tangle of vines slowed his descent enough for him to roll to his feet and continue his descent in a wild, leaping plunge toward the ground. He landed roughly on a mossy outcropping, but his momentum kept him going, sending him hurtling once more down the cliff wall. Crashing through the canopy of the trees below the cliff, the orc bashed violently into branch after branch, slowing his fall a little more each time. Eventually he landed roughly on a branch sturdy enough to bear his weight. At least, sturdy enough to bear his weight momentarily. With a loud snap, the branch broke in half, sending the orc plummeting twenty feet to the forest floor.
With a heavy crash, the orc landed in a large bush. The world swam around him as he blearily looked up through the canopy. It registered to him that it was an amazing feat that he was still conscious. Anything other than an orc would probably be either concussed or dead at this point. Staggering weakly to his feet, the orc looked around at his surroundings. He was near the coast, where the forest started to thin out. He needed cover, and he needed it fast. Looking across a large clearing, he saw a rocky outcropping with several trees growing out of it. It was the best option he had. Steeling himself, the orc charged across the large clearing, looking all around as he did. The area appeared to be deserted. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he sprinted across the clearing. When he finally made it to the outcropping, he bounded onto a group of boulders, vaulted over a massive root, then scrambled backwards madly and hid inside the small alcove the arching root created.
For an immeasurable time, the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of birds and the Orcish warrior's own light panting. Eventually, when he judged sufficient time had passed, the orc let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the alcove wall. Just then, two black chain boots smashed into the ground in front of him. The orc looked up in horror; directly in front of him stood a night elf foe of obvious superiority. His armor was chain as black as night, with white-hot magical enchantments burning across its surface. His shoulders were adorned with armor cut into the likeness of dragon's mouths, with fel mist oozing from between their teeth. Spikes and edges covered almost every inch of the Night Elf's suit, and his face was obscured by a soulless, black faceplate. Behind him, a massive and powerful bear snarled and gouged at the ground with its claws.
With slow and deliberate resolution, the night elf drew a fiendishly ornate bow from his back and nocked an arrow. Drawing the bow back to its maximum curve, the Night Elf aimed directly at the Orc's chest. The Orcish warrior did the only thing he could think to do: raise a finger in the universal, cross-cultural, gesture of defiance. It was his last living action.
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Once more, the world slowly came into focus for the orc. Looking around, he noticed he was now standing in a graveyard. He also appeared to be dead. The orc groaned in frustration. His name was Gurul Battlelust, and this was the sixteenth time he'd been killed by that Night Elf. Looking up at the Spirit Healer, he sighed.
"You can go ahead and bring me back here. I give up."
"Are you sure? Your weapons and armor will take damage and you will suffer fro-"
"Yeah, yeah." The Orc said, waving away her warnings, "I don't care, just bring me back."
"Very well," the Spirit Healer replied.
Abruptly, the shadowy translucence of the Spirit World solidified into the firmness of Azeroth; the ground of which Gurul promptly vomited all over.
"Damned resurrection sickness," He muttered, wiping his mouth and staggering off towards Splintertree Post. It would be a long time before he was prepared to do anything beyond drinking heavily and taking a nap.
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Author's Note-
Really, it wouldn't take long.
Even a retarded monkey can do it.
Very much joy will be brought by it.
It helps my self-esteem.
Entire careers are built around it.
Word that starts with "W".