Thread: ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏsᴛ, ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ғɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ [ ɢᴇᴍ x ᴡᴏʟᴢᴇʀᴇx ]

Most people's morning routines involve a cup of tea or coffee, along with breakfast. If you're a merchant, you prepare your wares in your store. If you're a craftsman, you prepare your materials for whatever you need to make that day, and get out whatever tools and merchendise you'll need to complete the days assignments and purchases. Which is exactly what Korm should have been doing that morning, except he was too busy getting punched. The blow barely scraped his ribs, and that was really only because he wasn't even trying that hard. Shaking his head in dismay, the tall half-orc held up his fists in a fighting stance and issued one last warning. Listen, this doesn't have to end with you lot unconscious, he growled. He doubted the three men in front of him would take his advice. They had proven themselves complete idiots too many times to figure they would listen to any sort of reason. First, most people wouldn't have attacked Korm simply because he was a half-orc. Orcs were VERY well known for being unstoppable brutes, and their half-breed offspring were rarely considered much better. There was some truth to this, as a half-orc was often considerably bigger and stronger than a typical human. Which was the second reason they were stupid Korm, at 6'4, stood a head and shoulder taller than any of them, and was very obviously in better fighting condition than they were. His blue-gray skin rippled on top of his rock hard musculature. Years of working at the forge and getting into more fights than he could count had turned his arms, shoulders, back and chest into a sight to behold. His big, calloused hands could have easily fit over any one of the men's faces. Finally, the third way they had proved themselves stupid was by missing how easily Korm dodged their first series of attacks. When it takes three to mob one man and get only a single punch in, it should warn anyone as to how outmatched they are. But the three thugs standing before him still had their stubborn, drunken sneers on their pugish faces and didn't seem ready to let up. Well maybe you shouldn't stick your nose in other people's business, half-breed bastard, the ringleader, Bart, spat at him. Korm's jaw muscles worked hard as he fought to push down the rage that began to bubble up inside of him. He was really sick of hearing that insult. Alright fine, he said, rolling his shoulders forward and straightening up. His icy blue eyes had a dangerous gleam in them as he studied the men before him. Let me make this crystal clear for you. Leave the Miller girl alone, stop visiting and threatening her. Or else, I'll come back, and break the other one. The other one? The other one of wha-AHHHH! Bart's sentence was cut short by his yell of surprise that immediately turned into a scream of pain. Korm had darted forward, grabbed his arm, twisted it back, and promptly popped it out of its socket. Technically that wasn't breaking it, but it was just as painful and far less permanently debilitating. He didn't figure Bart would really care about the difference either way. A second later, as he shoved Bart away, he threw one punch each at the remaining two thugs and left them sprawled unconscious on the ground. It all happened in the space of about three seconds, and didn't even leave him breathing heavily. Dusting off his hands, Korm surveyed his handiwork for a moment and then nodded in satisfaction. Stepping over Bart's writhing form, he departed from the docks. Half an hour later he was back at his forge, hammering out a band new plow blade from the finest iron. The city of Mekken was a well-to-do small port city that saw lots of trade, influx of interesting new people, and every adventurer or wanderer that came out west for any reason. It was one of the few places Korm could have found enough tolerance to open his blacksmithing business outside of the orcish nation of Kur'zak. So here it was he had spent the last three years plying his trade, trying to bury his past and memories in good solid work. There were some people he knew well and trusted, and who trusted him. The Miller family was one of them, John Miller being Korm's most reliable source of highest quality metal ore. He rather doubted John or his daughter Melena would every know how he intervened to stop Bart's unwanted advances on her, but that suited him just fine. He preferred it when people didn't know what he was up to from day to day. It made it easier to do what he needed to do without anyone ever asking questions, especially the city guard. He'd left them a 'present' of a criminal more than once in the past, and very much wanted to keep his anonymity in that regard. Later that day, he heard a loud commotion coming from the town square just a short distance from his forge. Taking off his leather apron and wiping some of the sweat from his body, he wandered over to the town center to see what all the fuss was about. Korm tended to keep to himself and didn't usually go where crowds gathered, even though he rarely got into trouble. Most people knew who he was, and either respected his craft or his strength enough to not cause him any problems. Still, even after three years, the pang he felt whenever he got a distrustful sidelong glance from someone was something he couldn't get used to. Still, after the morning's events he felt restless, and decided anything new to occupy his mind might be nice. When he arrived, the performer's show was already well underway. Hanging at the back of the crowd, he watched curiously as two boys told a story with illusory visuals. As he watched, he was pulled into the story and suddenly realized why the whole crowd seemed spellbound. In spite of his surroundings, he found himself smiling as he observed the enrapturing show up on the stage. The way the words and images melted together and formed an even better image in his mind was something he hadn't enjoyed in several years. Suddenly, his mind flew back to long ago, and someone else who used to tell him stories. The smile on his face vanished and suddenly a familiar ache returned to his heart. Absentmindedly, he reached up and rubbed the simple silver ring on his finger, shaped like two intertwining chords. He was so lost in thought that he missed the end of the story and almost missed the entrance of the next act. Snapping out of his reverie as the crowd clapped, he shook his head to dispel the images of the lovely face that still haunted him. Scowling, he folded his arms in front of his chest and tried to focus on the show. But then a gorgeous woman walked out on stage, and his heart skipped a beat. The rest of the crowd had a similar reaction it seemed, from the low murmurs of surprise that ran through it. Korm stood, spellbound as she began to dance before them, a mystical and captivating sight. The longer he watched however, the more he felt a lump forming in his throat. The way she moved and danced was...familiar. Again, he found himself absentmindedly rubbing the ring on his finger, eyes wide as he followed the woman's every move. She was unbelievably beautiful and graceful, and could only possibly remind him of one person. But then she did something that made him start and his jaw drop, even as his heart began to hammer in his chest. Fire suddenly appeared all around her, but it didn't consume her. Rather, it became a part of the dance, causing the crowd to go wild with delight. But for his part, Korm was speechless. How was this possible? Were the gods tormenting him with images of what she could have been? Did they just enjoy toying with his heart? What were the odds that a woman who could dance and use the fire element in such a way would appear before him now? A million to one? It couldn't possibly be actually her, so how was this dancer reminding him so much of her? But Korm couldn't make himself pull his gaze away. He stood, as if frozen, watching her incredible display with a mixture of fascination and dread.