Mugrir's Bad Weekend (Choose your Own Adventure!)
Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 1:25 pm
Mugrir Choose your Own Adventure #1!
Or, also known as "Mugrir's Bad Weekend"
((This has been a LONG time wishful project in the works, and after the wonderful hacking that happened to me, I got down to putting together an excuse as to why he suddenly disappeared, as well as showing up without shoes in Stormwind half a week later. So... I'm sitting here with a messy flowchart of choices, seeing how this turns out.
This is an interactive story, where the reader(s) have some small say into how horrific his unexpected break from Northrend was - Mugrir always curses about how goblins are terrible but he is always vague on the details. Well, this is a chance to fill some of those in. The way it works is that after this story goes up on the Boomstick and Wildfire Forums, you can comment on it as you like, as well as choosing one of the choices given at the end. After a certainly point in time, I'll tally up the votes, and put down the next segment of the script. I have at least 5 different 'choice times' happening, and on some branches, it goes on longer. So, for the sake of Mugrir's backstory, try to get him out of the goblin's clutches as safely as possible! Or attempt for him to get out of there in the most unheroic way possible - it's your choice that counts now! Hope this is fun!))
It was a hot and sweaty day on the shores of Stranglethorn, much like it was every other day. Heat shimmers hung lazily off the wooden docks, as the sounds of a busy harbor rang out across the waters of the bay. The sun beat down on bronzed dwarven skin as Mugrir finally emerged from one of the hole-in-the-wall stores.
"Bloody bird better like these... makin' me come all th' way down 'ere..." The dwarf's hands heaved a large bag each, the very tops exposed by the glittering scaled bodies of fish. With practiced maneuvering, he walked nearly sightlessly to the end of the dock, grunting and mumbling the entire time. For all the trouble of getting down to these docks, and picking up a food he himself didn't like... the positives did outweigh the negatives. After all, Gryndi had saved his life on more than one occasion, not to mention give him some company up traveling the world. And of course, there was the fact that it wasn't Icecrown. A day out of Icecrown was nice.
"You! Dwarf-man!"
"Nrn?" Mugrir grunted, and looked over around the massive brown bag of fish in his left arm. Staring back as a stringy, rather well dressed goblin, waving at him.
"You look tired, friend! Long day on the docks?"
The boomstick narrowed his gaze lightly. "Goin' back te Northrend, tryin' te save yer sorry arses." Never a fan of goblins to begin with, Mugrir sighed, waiting for the inevitable sales pitch. With goblins, it always was about money, not honor or other more interesting notions. He took another step forward.
"In that case, you should get our special price on the brew I have here!" The goblin's smile has black in some places, also a crusty yellow.
Mugrir stopped walking. "Ale?"
"Three silver and five copper, and I'll give you a flagon for the road! Friend, I promise you that here in Booty Bay, you will not find a better pr-" The goblin was cut off by a loud thumping noise, as the dwarf had stomped up the rickety nailed-together stand he had set up, slamming down the cash. The goblin didn't miss a beat, and turned to the open cask on the ground next to him - grabbing a wooden tankard and dropping it into the nearly black brew.
Runehammer waited impatiently, and turned away with the frothing drink to grab his bags, ignoring the grinning-idiot greenskin. Putting the ale to his lips, he swallowed a few gulps quickly, smacking it down with his lips and tongue. If anything, something to drink while waiting for the damned boat was worth the change he had in his pockets. A minute or two later, the dwarf dropped his bags again, now at the end of the blisteringly hot dock, and ran calloused fingers through his hair, pulling it back away from his face. Picking up the tankard, he drank deeply of... whatever it was, it was damn strong. Perhaps a bit like... Dark... Iron... Lager...
* * * *
Mugrir blinked his eyes open with a pounding headache at the back of his head. First, the astute dwarf that he was, he realized that it was dark and cool, instead of hot and blistering. There didn't seem to be any stars in the sky either. Groaning, he sat up, and his forehead slammed into something hard and wooden. Cursing loudly as his head swam again, Mugrir quickly realized another interesting point - that bars of iron were all around him, carefully placed. A cage, the word came to the addled Runehammer finally, one that he could barely sit comfortably in. Rubbing his head, still trying to piece together what exactly had transpired, he realized that some dim torchlight did allow him to see faintly in whatever large room he was in, filled with boxes and...
Something caught his eye. He looked down to his body, squinting while trying to remember what two plus two actually looked like. Something was wrong... his tabard, it was skin colored now. And unadorned... hell, his makeshift armor felt like it wasn't even there, light and - reality slapped Mugrir across the face suddenly, finally clueing him in to the fact that the cold breeze he felt across his body was due to him being stark naked.
"Well... shite."
((Should Mugrir...
A - Wait calmly, and attempt to access what exactly is going on?
B - Rattle the cage, try to break out immediately, and raise some hell?
Choices should be in by Saturday at Noon, Eastern Standard Time!))
Or, also known as "Mugrir's Bad Weekend"
((This has been a LONG time wishful project in the works, and after the wonderful hacking that happened to me, I got down to putting together an excuse as to why he suddenly disappeared, as well as showing up without shoes in Stormwind half a week later. So... I'm sitting here with a messy flowchart of choices, seeing how this turns out.
This is an interactive story, where the reader(s) have some small say into how horrific his unexpected break from Northrend was - Mugrir always curses about how goblins are terrible but he is always vague on the details. Well, this is a chance to fill some of those in. The way it works is that after this story goes up on the Boomstick and Wildfire Forums, you can comment on it as you like, as well as choosing one of the choices given at the end. After a certainly point in time, I'll tally up the votes, and put down the next segment of the script. I have at least 5 different 'choice times' happening, and on some branches, it goes on longer. So, for the sake of Mugrir's backstory, try to get him out of the goblin's clutches as safely as possible! Or attempt for him to get out of there in the most unheroic way possible - it's your choice that counts now! Hope this is fun!))
It was a hot and sweaty day on the shores of Stranglethorn, much like it was every other day. Heat shimmers hung lazily off the wooden docks, as the sounds of a busy harbor rang out across the waters of the bay. The sun beat down on bronzed dwarven skin as Mugrir finally emerged from one of the hole-in-the-wall stores.
"Bloody bird better like these... makin' me come all th' way down 'ere..." The dwarf's hands heaved a large bag each, the very tops exposed by the glittering scaled bodies of fish. With practiced maneuvering, he walked nearly sightlessly to the end of the dock, grunting and mumbling the entire time. For all the trouble of getting down to these docks, and picking up a food he himself didn't like... the positives did outweigh the negatives. After all, Gryndi had saved his life on more than one occasion, not to mention give him some company up traveling the world. And of course, there was the fact that it wasn't Icecrown. A day out of Icecrown was nice.
"You! Dwarf-man!"
"Nrn?" Mugrir grunted, and looked over around the massive brown bag of fish in his left arm. Staring back as a stringy, rather well dressed goblin, waving at him.
"You look tired, friend! Long day on the docks?"
The boomstick narrowed his gaze lightly. "Goin' back te Northrend, tryin' te save yer sorry arses." Never a fan of goblins to begin with, Mugrir sighed, waiting for the inevitable sales pitch. With goblins, it always was about money, not honor or other more interesting notions. He took another step forward.
"In that case, you should get our special price on the brew I have here!" The goblin's smile has black in some places, also a crusty yellow.
Mugrir stopped walking. "Ale?"
"Three silver and five copper, and I'll give you a flagon for the road! Friend, I promise you that here in Booty Bay, you will not find a better pr-" The goblin was cut off by a loud thumping noise, as the dwarf had stomped up the rickety nailed-together stand he had set up, slamming down the cash. The goblin didn't miss a beat, and turned to the open cask on the ground next to him - grabbing a wooden tankard and dropping it into the nearly black brew.
Runehammer waited impatiently, and turned away with the frothing drink to grab his bags, ignoring the grinning-idiot greenskin. Putting the ale to his lips, he swallowed a few gulps quickly, smacking it down with his lips and tongue. If anything, something to drink while waiting for the damned boat was worth the change he had in his pockets. A minute or two later, the dwarf dropped his bags again, now at the end of the blisteringly hot dock, and ran calloused fingers through his hair, pulling it back away from his face. Picking up the tankard, he drank deeply of... whatever it was, it was damn strong. Perhaps a bit like... Dark... Iron... Lager...
* * * *
Mugrir blinked his eyes open with a pounding headache at the back of his head. First, the astute dwarf that he was, he realized that it was dark and cool, instead of hot and blistering. There didn't seem to be any stars in the sky either. Groaning, he sat up, and his forehead slammed into something hard and wooden. Cursing loudly as his head swam again, Mugrir quickly realized another interesting point - that bars of iron were all around him, carefully placed. A cage, the word came to the addled Runehammer finally, one that he could barely sit comfortably in. Rubbing his head, still trying to piece together what exactly had transpired, he realized that some dim torchlight did allow him to see faintly in whatever large room he was in, filled with boxes and...
Something caught his eye. He looked down to his body, squinting while trying to remember what two plus two actually looked like. Something was wrong... his tabard, it was skin colored now. And unadorned... hell, his makeshift armor felt like it wasn't even there, light and - reality slapped Mugrir across the face suddenly, finally clueing him in to the fact that the cold breeze he felt across his body was due to him being stark naked.
"Well... shite."
((Should Mugrir...
A - Wait calmly, and attempt to access what exactly is going on?
B - Rattle the cage, try to break out immediately, and raise some hell?
Choices should be in by Saturday at Noon, Eastern Standard Time!))