There are worse things than being blue-balled [Riparia - Ogrim]

[Guillaume LeBeau]

The Second Cycle in the month of Kalendryas
Winter
Morning
Paradigm Shift: Gala of Empress Michelle held in Alleria Prime

Guillaume LeBeau, only son of House LeBeau, and the Brat of the Maevewood was also the man with the wedgie of the century.

Or so, it seemed, from the way he walked, wobbling like a duck and basically spreading his legs to basically minimize contact on his groin region was much as possible.

It didn't help that the bastard guards at the gates were laughing at him once they found out what happened, and fuming, mostly embarrassed, the LeBeau tried his best to walk with dignity down the streets of Riparia, looking for a place where he could get some salve or balm to relive the pain.

It turned out to be a very bad idea to try to steal a horse and ride it with no such experience, and instead of taking him Eastwards toward Jaedaxia, the bastard horse had ridden South instead, into the unknown, until Guillaume found his bearings from the tearing guards who were laughing waaaay too much.

To make matters worse, the horse appeared to be living off quite well through out the whole journey, having loads of nice shrubs and grass to feed on while all the LeBeau had were dried rations. It wasn't that good to have an animal be so smug with you, especially when it wasn't behaving the way you want it to behave, and giving you saddle burns at the side time.

And then of course, the smug bastard took off after chewing off its tether, leaving the LeBeau to walk the rest of the way on foot, cursing and heaping explicits at that bastard mount and cursing it to die of some scary syphilitic venereal disease when it shags the wrong mare in the future.

At least now he knows that there's a worse sensation than being blue-balled.

Hoo-fething-ray.

[Ogrim]

It was with some mirth that Ogrim watched Guillaume waddle down a Riparian street with obvious discomfort. The Orc, however, was not without some measure of sympathy for the manling; almost all beasts that walked upright had the same problem, though perhaps not elves. Elves had notoriously small phalluses and whether they were tucked tight or free to swing nothing seemed to afflict them, including the female condition. Consciously adjusting his own member, the greenskin pushed off the wall he was leaning against and pulled a hood over his head to shield himself from the chill winter air.

His large feet churned the snow under and turned it a dirty brown color, Ogrim quickened his step and soon drew level with the duck walking human. ”You look like you’re in pain. I can show you a good place to ease that pain, with drink or with girl. Both if you want manling.” Ogrim grinned with devilish ease and cuffed Guillaume playfully. ”What say you? Put that tiny thing to good use.”, the greenskin chortled heartily. Not much short of a prize breeding stallion could put him to shame.

”And when your liquored and blissful, I’ll rob you blind. You look rich enough.”

[Guillaume LeBeau]

The Daltinian paused. Non, he jolted to a stop.

A small smirk flashed upon his cheeks, not quite how to react -- whether to run away screaming, or to simply faint. He decided to be a smart arse instead as he look Ogrim squarely at the eyes, no mean feat considering Ogrim is almost a foot taller than him and twice his girth.

"Well, here I am, t'inkin' what could be worse meetin' an Orc, but I am rackin' me brains without success t'imagine how."

He didn't feel jittery or frighten. A bit in awe and surprise yes, but not terrified. He reckoned that if the Orc had wanted to eat him, he would have been sizzling on a platter by now.

After all, if Guillaume had to make a list of how he was gonna die, being a three-course meal for a bigger than average Orc won't be it. Of course, the only experiences that he had with Orcs was seeing them paraded on the streets when the occasional brute gets caught by the military and humiliated by the crowd. Definitely things that Ogrim didn't need to know about.

"Drinks an' women... dare I say... an Orc after me own heart?" The LeBeau, or the Manling grinned, breath evening out as he started making more snarky comments. Of course, if there was any one near by who knew him, they would be able to instantly point out that the more nervous Guillaume was, the more jokes he made.

"How 'bout you show me de way, an' I buy you de first round ey, Sir Orc? Bu' pardon-moi for bein' arrogant, bu' where I come from in Daltina, I have drunk many a Dwarves an' stilled walked them to deir beds." His grin grew wider as the promise of solace, wine and women; washing over his mind like a cooling salve, soothed the burning sores mentally.

Wait till Bianca hears about this, she'll probably faint if she knew her only son had been having drinks with... an Orc.

At least this one didn't smell that bad.

[Ogrim]

”So we got a player here.” Ogrim grinned slyly at the young manling.

”You’ve never been to Riparia before have you? If you had you’d know that this town welcomes anyone regardless of their origin. I’m just extending a little bit of hospitality to a new face. So there’s nothing sinister going on here, friend. Though there is much worse goings on than meeting an Orc in broad daylight. You could meet one in darkness. That’s not a hospitable prospect.” The Orc laughed at his own joke oblivious as to whether it was funny or not.

My name is Riconus by the way.”

Ambling along beside the human who had seemed to momentarily forget his discomfort and replace it with a cavalier attitude, Ogrim steered him towards a well known watering hole.

”We’re going to the Green Goblin. Good booze, good woman and a guaranteed good time. Ah, here it is now.”

Ogrim leaned past the human and pushed open the bound wooden door to reveal the common room. A wave of heat hit the duo and howls and cat calls came from those already inside urging them to come in quickly and close the door behind them. The greenskin obliged and ushered the human in with a hand on his back.

”What do you want to drink eh?”

[Guillaume LeBeau]

"Right... an' you be right. Dis be my maiden journey into Riparia. " He left the part on how he managed to land here unsaid. Bastard Horse The LeBeau however, accepted the warnings from the Orc with a nervous laugh as he followed behind him, trying not to gawk at everything even though everything was incredibly new to him.

At least the Orc didn't go... "Freeeeeesh meat." when he first saw him. Now that would be ten different kinds of 'uh-oh's.

"Guillaume LeBeau... from Daltina." He quipped, half-wondering how an Orc would be named 'Riconus' but decided that it was poor fashion and plain rude to ask.

'Waddling' behind the Orc, and following him into the tavern, the LeBeau tried his best to straighten himself just as he moved into the warm establishment, relieved by the wave of heat that rolled over him, momentarily making him forget that his groin was covered with saddle burns.

He didn't know what was scarier or worse. Having saddle sores near his manhood or an Orc asking him what he wanted to drink. Giving the Orc a half-smile however, he quickly replied.

"Something heavy, t'keep de heart pumpin', merci beaucoup, m'sieu Riconus." Glancing over the tavern and its patrons, he carefully moved to one of the tables where a small-statured man sat, surrounded by girls. He dropped two crowns into the Orc's palm, he mentioned it would be his round after all.

"Do us both a favor, hey, pup-pup? Scoot away from de table... Now." He did his best growl at the man and offered the women-folk his pearly, oh-baby-yes-yes-yes smile.

True, it was un-gentlemanly, and very uncouth, but his thighs were killing him, and he needed a seat. The man had the company, but not the height nor spine from the looks of it.

Completely bully-material.

[Ogrim]

”Of course I’m right whelp.” Ogrim thought to himself as he nodded in faux understanding at the manling. ”You go find us a seat and I’ll get the drink.”. The greenskin palmed the coins and pushed his way through the throng to the bar. Nodding to the barman with obvious familiarity, two large ales were slid across the countertop and into his green hands. The Green Goblin was a Brotherhood haunt and fell under their protection. Ogrim, as the leader, was privy to many privileges because of this, free liquor being one of them.

Shouldering his way through the bustling common room, using his intimidating presence and bulk to forge a path straight through to where Guillaume had obtained a seat, Ogrim caught the tail end of an altercation between the young bastard and a squat-ugly man. The man was about to retort, perhaps violently before he spied the Orc standing over the Jaedaxian’s shoulder. Smiling evilly he stood his ground, obviously sure Ogrim would prey on the demanding whelp. To his indignation, Ogrim leaned past and grated menacingly, ”Piss off.” The terse sentence was enough to convey the Orcs feelings and soon the patron left, sadly for Guillaume, with girls in tow.

Seating himself with his back to the wall, Ogrim placed the mug of ale in front of Guillaume and motioned for him to sit, oblivious of the humans intention to incise the man form the lady folk. ”Drink up. Its good stuff this.”

[Guillaume LeBeau]

"Merci." Was intoned as he took the glass from the Orc, showing the same ambitious and fearless smile as he turned cockily toward the man who seemed really to spit bones; but changed his mind once Ogrim appeared.

There was something about the Orc that reminded him of a cunning cat with a twitchy tail, yet the sight of the drinks were enough for the LeBeau to delay giving the matter much thought before he sat himself down with some what lazy grace.

"R'ight... off you go den, Pup-pup, b'fore we bully you for your Pracenda money."

The smug Human then took the place of the expelled man, sitting himself and watching wistfully as the women folk took their leave as well. A few of them gave him knowing smiles, but seemed too wise to say anything else.

"Mus' be your electrifying personality, mon ami, drivin' all dese women away."

The LeBeau had of course noticed the look in the man's eyes as he left after Ogrim's threat; intriguing, but nonetheless, he never wanted to get on this Orc's bad side. It could prove to be very... unhealthy.

Lifting his glass slightly above his shoulder, he tilted it at an angle toward the Ogrim, grinning a little as he offered him a toast.

"T'Telath an' beautiful women."

"So... Sir Riconus, w'at do you do in Riparia, b'sides bein' part of de t'welcomin' committee?"

Another gulp and the drink was finished, as the Human set down the empty glass on the table. He wasn't new to drinking, having spent much of his Noble life, ever since he had come of age -- drinking since Twilight and way pass mid-darkening to Dawn.

"W'at's nice? Something... heavier perhaps?"

[Ogrim]

The orc barked mirthlessly at the quip regarding his personality. ”If these people had an inkling as to my true nature, then the inn would be barren, friend.” Ogrim smiled without humor at his own statement. It was not a boast nor was it a threat. A wolf wouldn’t revel in its reputation as a killer of animals, it did so to survive. So did Ogrim.

Raising his own mug in a toast, Ogrim murmured ”To the Brotherhood.”. Telath could go to Aeternia for all her cared and “beautiful” women were something unattainable to the creature, at least of their own free will. The greenskin was unaware how many bastards he had fathered on the numerous raids he had led whilst a member of the Skull Hammer Clans Rog Shati. When he was afflicted by the occasional stirrings of his groin, a swift rape soon quelled that desire.

Draining his tankard in return, he let Guillaume decide on their next draught. ” Brandy’s good here. Though take it easy now, its still morning and a skinny runt like you might not last the brightening sucking back booze like that.”

[Guillaume LeBeau]

Songstamp: Irish Drinking Song - Floggin Molly
(Click to Download)

"Dis skinny runt's different, mon ami, I have drunk many a dwarves until deir hairy chins smack against de floor, an' by de hairs of my chinny chin chin, we're gonna drink an' drink an' drink an' drink an' fight!"

It was no false claim to what he was saying, but the alcohols he had been drinking had been wine, the first liquid he tasted after he had weened off his mother's milk. Liqueurs and beers though, were a completely different story.

Standing up as he swaggered toward the bar as if he owned the place, the arrogant manling moved toward the bar, quickly returning with two brandys as he placed it in the Orc's claws.

"Here mon ami, drink dis in good health."

He was feeling pretty chirpy for now, and he was pleasantly surprised at the Orc -- perhaps they weren't all uncivilized creatures after all. Then again, if he heard of Ogrim's other exploits, be might turn paler and not redder.

A glance to the right saw the skinny whelp of a man returning, this time with five burly men, two on his right and three of his left. They all had muscles the size of the LeBeau's head, and looked like every single bone in their body were as mean as Aeternia.

"That's him, that cocky bastard!"

"Oh yeah?" One of the bald man asked, grinning sardonically as he cracked his knuckles, accentuating the scar that ran down from his left eye to his jaw and it seemed fortunate for the man in itself that his left eye wasn't blind.

The LeBeau for his part, had a flash of fear running through his eyes, but that quickly faded as he stood

"Before you lie in a sputtering pile of blood, know that you had the honor of being plummet by the bad ass of Riparia, I'm going to rip your innards out with my own hands."

"Nice talk B, no wonder you only have friends who look like big scary bastards." The man murmured with a smile, carefully sipping his brandy. For a 'skinny runt' he had a lot of nerves.

"Move away, Orc. This doesn't concern you." One of them placed a hand on the Ogrim's shoulders as the rest of them moved to surround the table.

[Ogrim]

”Really?” Ogrim asked in mock surprise. He had heard several humans claim they could down alcohol like a fish did water and each had been a boast, a disappointment and ultimately, an easy mark for the orc. As Guillaume rose from his seat to collect another drink, Ogrim opened his throat and poured the remaining ale into his gullet; wiping a trickle of excess from his lower lip he expelled the trapped air through a prodigious belch.

”Nothin’ like the first drink in the mornin’ eh?”, he remarked to Guillaume as the manling returned and placed a glass of brandy in his hand. Holding the wide mouthed glass below his nose, the orc flared his nostrils and inhaled the fumes deeply. It was passable, certainly not terrible and definitely drinkable. Before he could take a swallow the duo was interrupted by a group of six men. Five of them likely looking lads and the sixth, the one talking, a skinny balding runt of a fellow, not even enough for a good meal.

With a look of mild amusement on his scarred mug the orc remained seated; five thugs didn’t worry him in the slightest. What did worry or more accurately, annoy him greatly was the apparent familiarity that one of the bully boys thought he had with the greenskin as the manling placed a hand on the orcs shoulder in an effort to keep him out of the altercation that was about to unfold.

With blood pounding in his ears and a sheen of adrenalin produced sweat breaking out on his leathery hide in an instant, Ogrims reaction was swift and violent; dousing the man with brandy, smashing the glass bowl against his chest while with his other hand he back swept the candle from the centre of the table onto the dripping liquor. Instantly the distilled wine ignited and the brute was a screaming mass of flame and flailing arms. As a completely unnecessary but wholly enjoyable after thought, Ogrim stabbed the snapped stem of the Brandy glass into the base of the thug’s throat before his victim reeled away in agony.

From the cruel teacher that is experience, Ogrim knew his actions would likely cause a measure of violent retribution, though not for a couple of moments as people hurried to get out of the way of a living bonfire. Grabbing the edge of the table with an underhand grip the orc threw it into the air with as much force as he could muster therefore flipping it up and away from Guillaume and himself before clutching a chair in his other hand and brandishing it as a crude weapon.

”Which one of you son’s of whores wants to die first huh?!”

[Guillaume LeBeau]

"Pardon my askin', m'sieu-- bu' who died an' made you God?" The young man quipped as he jumped off his chair just as Ogrim stabbed the man with the broken glass, the Nobleman's son squirming just a little, having never seen much blood in his life.

Confrontations like this usually ends up with two parties having a 'talk' -- which consisted of the usual death threats and blackmail, but like bisons locking horns, the battle of wits and nerves was usually circular, with an inch loss equals to an inch gained in return. This of course was in Daltina, and... this place, obviously... isn't Daltina.

"By de way, it's only been two minutes, mon ami -- an' I already know I don't like you. Much." He murmured at the short man, who suddenly didn't seem so confident now that the Orc easily dispatched one of them with barely a drop of sweat on his face.

"As in 'at all"'." He added with an after thought.

For an instance, Guillaume was glad that the Orc, was on his side... for now at least.

Drawing his two blades with a fluid motion, one a Rapier, the other a shorter version that obviously belonged to the same class as the Rapier -- the Stiletto, he adopted the En Garde position as he watched with bated breath.

It would be the first time he's engaging so many targets, and hopefully the Orc would be able to take care of most of them. Judging from the initial display -- he just might get lucky.

He didn't think Ogrim would take very kindly to being a meat shield though, and so instead of cowering behind the larger than average Orc, the Human moved to his left -- watching the patrons moving away, the women and younger children further away while some of the braver men stood ground to watch how the entire event would unfold.

"Get them!" The short man screamed as the remaining of the men lunged forward, two going for Ogrim while the other two went for the Daltinian. The two that went for an Orc were not without weapons, one of them holding a broken bottle with exposed edges and the other carrying a large spiked mace.

Everything was going to turn bloody soon except -- the LeBeau had to make a totally anti-climax sentence, as he spread his legs out slightly more apart than an En Garde would require, groaning a little.

"Pardon-moi, saddle sores." He moaned with a mixture of suffering in his eyes.

[Ogrim]

The wounded thug snatched fitfully at the glass stem embedded in his neck as the flames began to fizzle out. Man flesh did not prove an effective fuel for fire it would seem and he soon crumpled in a gurgling heap somewhere on the floorboards. Ogrim quickly took one step back to put more distance between himself and the other goons as a duo advanced on him and his erstwhile companion while he swung the chair back and forth to ward off any furtive attacks before he could bring his full attention to bear.

”Stop with your fething jaw boning boy.,” he grunted at Guillaume ”And guard my flank!”

As the last syllables trailed out, the orc lunged forward suddenly with his wooden baton and smashed the glass wielding assailant in the hand. The already broken bottle shattered further in his grasp and more blood splattered the wooden boards as the shards became imbedded in the flesh. Strangely the man quailed and fled at seeing his hand crippled so. Wasting not a moment to gloat at the wound, Ogrim swung the chair out to his right to take the mace wielding thug in the side. Unfortunately for the green skin his opponent’s reaction was faster and the mace shattered the chair leaving only the leg in Ogrim’s grip. This was followed by a feint to the side which the greenskin countered partially before taking a glancing hit to the shoulder as he swayed his body out of range.

Like two tigers fighting over a kill, each combatant searched for an opening that would disable his enemy whilst sustaining a minimum of damage to himself. ”Give up boy. You’ll only die.” Ogrim taunted the human, ”And I haven’t eaten today!” Bellowing a war cry that sounded to the orc like a wail of resigned death, the thug lunged with his mace held well over head, hoping to crush Ogrim’s skull swiftly. Ogrim however knew that his reach far exceeded a mere man and his arm arced out like a striking asp. The splintered wood caught the brute squarely in the groin with a muffled and fleshly thud. A split second later the cry turned into a gurgle as vomit was forced from the ruffian’s stomach and he crumpled forward in mortal agony. The greenskin pushed him on his side with a foot to the shoulder and began to pound his ribs until they cracked and ruptured, the heavy fists inflicting a devastating toll and were soon bloody with gore and viscera.

Casually wiping the spattered coppery smelling essence from his face, Ogrim looked up to see how the young man was fairing against his two opponents.

[Guillaume LeBeau]

"Doesn't mean you can't do it w'it a smile on your face, mon ami." The Lebeau grinned as he deftly side stepped what seemed to be a leg off a chair as he elbowed the man as he was charging pass -- smashing him into the side of the wall and beside Ogrim.

"Eventually, one of you dim-witted mooks is goin' t'realize not t'piss him off." He canted his head toward the Orc, who was making a glorious blood-sputtering mess of things.

Of course, there really wasn't a need for the Orc to continue plumeting the viscera out of the downed man, but he understood the psychological effect that the Orc could be trying to create her -- not only to shake the morale of the remaining men, but to decimate it completely.

He wasn't extremely proficient, but his cocksure confidence and fearless nature definitely seemed to package him like one as he aimed a high Estocada toward the last and standing man, piercing through his shoulder flesh and bone, just above the soft clavicle, before withdrawing his blade quickly to escape a fist coming from his flank.

Recovering himself quick enough, he moved forward once more, this time combining an Appel to startle the man before lunging low, near his abdomen, just near the spleen. He wasn't aiming to kill like Ogrim, merely to dissuade the man from further hostile actions.

The man however, used his arm to parry away the attack near the hilt, as the LeBeau carried on with a Ripsote, striking instead with his Main-Gauche without any break in momentum and stabbing through the lower portion of his left rib with the Stiletto -- not enough to penetrate through the body, but enough to leave a pain that was enough to stop the man from any other attacks.

To finish off the move with style, however, he moved in closer to the man's flanks as he placed his right leg in between the man's, and then jerking back to meet his ankle and with some 'encouragement' from the hand on his right shoulder saw the man falling back first onto the ground, groaning in pain -- but still alive.

The little man, who was so arrogant before, suddenly wasn't so much anymore as he turned and made a getaway for the door, looking as though he just peed himself. Of course, the Orc's comment that he hasn't eaten today may have contributed and egged him more than a little bit, obviously.

"Dis is not my idea of a good time," He turned toward the Orc, gesturing at the mess and blood spluttered everywhere, not to mention the few corpses if they didn't receive medical help soon.

"Dis is one of de best."

Feeling rather bad ass, Guillaume reached forward to snatch two drinks from a table nearby -- whose patrons seemed to want to protest, but then changed their minds at the sight of the Orc. Handing one glass to Ogrim, the Daltinian lifted the one in his own arm as he canted his head slightly with a toothy grin on his face.

"À votre santé."

[Ogrim]

”Thanks.”

Ogrim took the proffered drink from Guillaume and poured it down his gullet in one long swallow. Wiping a dribble from his maw he tossed the cup onto a nearby table and snorted explosively as the alcoholic fumes crept up the back of his sinuses. Blinking rapidly in a physical effort to remove the translucent red curtain that had sheathed his eye the orc turned towards his erstwhile companion and grated, ”We’d better leave. That fat sack will probably alert the guard and I don’t want to be caught here when they come around.”

Turning away from Guillaume, not toward the door but toward the barkeep, Ogrim withdrew a pouch and placed it on the bar. A dull metallic clink betrayed the contents of the purse. Nodding slightly at the barkeep the uruk spun on his heel and walked directly through the common room of the inn and out the door. Looking over his shoulder, he paused slightly to discover whether the human had followed.