The Morning After

[Groshnok]

The city of Silvermoon was alive and bustling, just as noon came. The sun at its highest point warmed the city, children played in its light, and peddlers sold their wares. All around, the people of Silvermoon prepared for the festival celebrations, welcoming parties were at the gates to see to travellers, and constant checks were being made by its people to make sure everything looked extravagant.

And in a cold, dark alley in Murder Row, an orc groaned. Lying in a puddle of his own piss and puke, Groshnok’s eyes slowly opened and quickly shut again, the small light that the alley had in it pierced his skull harder than any axe blow. After a few minutes, he sat up, and slumped against the building next to him. Groshnok rubbed his eyes gently, before putting one hand to his head, hoping it would do something to ease the pain. But it didn’t. It never did. It was plain and simple, he knew.

Groshnok Gorewrath had drunk too much. Again.

Pulling himself to his feet, the orc wiped the small chunks of vomit that clung to his shoulders off with his hand, and wiped his hand along the wall. Sighing, he looked down at his body, to check if he still had all of his belongings.

He did not. Everything above his belt, from his tabard to his gauntlets were missing, as was his greataxe. But at least his coin purse was still there. Sighing, Groshnok stepped out of the alleyway, putting a hand above his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun. Wandering through the street, he looked around from time to time, hoping to spot a familiar face who could help him out. But all around him were unfamiliar Blood Elves, most staring at the puke-stained green skin who staggered down their streets. Groshnok wouldn’t bother to talk to one, as it seems they were trying their best to avoid him. Sighing, he looked ahead, seeing a sign for an inn. Maybe there’ll be someone in there I know, he thought to himself, as he pushed himself in the door.

Luck was not in his favour. Very few faces were inside, and Groshnok recognised none. However, something caught his eye, bringing a memory back to his pounding head. A table in the corner, he had been there last night… there were goblins with him too, he recalled. But the more he tried to remember, the harder his head pounded. Groshnok found himself a nice chair, and slumped down into it. Not a moment after his arse had hit the cushions, a young, raven-haired barmaid popped up next to him.

“You left your things outside here last night!” she told him. Groshnok winced at the high pitched voice assaulting his ear drums, drilling into his skull. “But luckily I saw them, and I put them in the back for you!” At that, the orc perked up, and turned his head to face the smiling elf.

“Ye’ got me armour?” Groshnok asked.

“And your axe! It was heavy, but I did it!” At that, the excited elf flexed her right arm, and laughed. Groshnok would have laughed too, only her voice was threatening to split his skull. Instead, he forced a smile.

“Thank ye’,” he said graciously.

“You want it now?” the elf asked, her eyebrow raised.

“No, no, not now,” the orc replied. It was already roasting hot outside, he’d cook if he put on the plate armour.

“Okay!” the elf chirped. “I’ll keep it in the back then. Any time you want it, you come to me.” She nodded happily, and walked off. Groshnok sat in the chair for a few more minutes, before pushing himself to his feet, and walking to the bar, where an old elf stood cleaning a mug.

“Give us an ale there, would ye’?” he asked the barkeeper. The old elf nodded, and Groshnok rested his elbows on the bar as he watched a tankard being filled by the frothy brew.

“That’ll be 15 silver, please,” the barkeeper told him, placing the drink before the orc. Groshnok went to his coin purse, and fished out the money, placing it on the bar. The grey-hair elf nodded at him again and walked off with the silver, putting it in a coin box behind him. Groshnok picked up the tankard and took a long pull from it, before setting it down, and turning towards that familiar table. New details were coming back now. It was a drinking game with a spinning bottle… goblins… and lifting up a tauren…

The young orc shrugged, before turning back to his drink. Eh, these were things that he’d find out later anyway. He just hoped he hadn't done anything last night to bring the wrath of the city guards down on him. He’d be sure to get a scolding off Rimeweaver about responsible drinking if he did. Groshnok brought the ale to his lips again, and took another long pull. Placing it back down on the counter again, he grinned a bit. For all the shit he'd given it on the way in, Silvermoon wasn't actually that bad of a place. The bright colours weren't good for his hangover, but at least the inside of the inn was dark. Groshnok finished his drink as the bells rung. A new hour, he thought to himself, his head pounding in time with the chimes. He walked away from the bar as the ringing stopped, down the narrow hallway of the inn's exit and out into the city. After strolling down the street for a few minutes, Groshnok found himself a nice shadowy spot in a new alley, a sat down against its building, relaxing. And a new day.

[Rhonya]

See, Rhonya warned him! Heed the advise of a Thur'ruk!

[Gridish]

Groshnok dies insilvermoon... confirmed.

[Thrash'Nak]

lol nub, l2drink. Great story though.