The Death Of Gronkk

[Aislin 4354]

Autism was a humbling curse to bear, and not even him Rexellency Goj Yazgurten Hygh Zherruf Mojo Ztuudent Zhomojo Flay’Zarjunt Gilihur’Ztoowurd Ztowt’Kingeh Loomijrim’Maztuh Pinkie’Zkahr Fatzu Kingeh Gronkk’Grandaxe’Greymane’Flay’Titania’Lur could withstand its ailments. Born a fool, Gronkk had learned to adapt to the mental condition, and even exploited it to his own advantage. None could defy the enthralling charms of Gronkk, and eventually he found himself the governing power of Anthos. The puppet Kings of the Humans bowed their heads to Gronkk’s wishes, the Dwarves found Gronkk as one of their own kin and sought to avoid combat with him at every turn, whilst the Elves feared Gronkk too much to oppose him in his quests. Even the spookmen of the North granted Gronkk safe passage, and allied with his cause. None could stop Gronkkbelly, and the Orcish brethren that worshipped it.

 

Even still, Gronkk struggled with his own mind. Many deemed Gronkk a simple Orc, when in reality the intense mental complexes that occured within his thick skull were far too much for any mortal to survive. Yet, Gronkk seemed to manage, suffering moderate mental disability at most, as well as a plethora of personality and mental disorders. Voices screamed, whispered and howled with sadistic laughter within the confines of his conscious. Reality distorted itself, twisting itself into an intense visual performance of color - light itself manipulated by the instability that was Gronkk’s reality. The plights of others were simply stories from a coloring book, and the deaths of his friends was “nap tik” to Gronkk.

 

Nay, Gronkk was not a simple fellow, not at all. Enlightened by the glory of Krug himself, Gronkk saw the world, time and others’ spirits as they really were, not filtered by the narrow perception of mortality. It was due to Gronkk’s intellectual and spiritual transcension that Gronkk was considered a “fool”; no mortal could truly understand the purpose or intent of Gronkk.

 

Gronkk had resided in the desert for many seasons of the moon. When Gronkk was handed a shovel to aid in the renovation of Gronkkston, he stealthily ran away. He decided to go for a hunt in the desert, bringing only a playboy-sized tent and two wenches. The desert was Gronkk’s domain, where none could hide from the tubby Orc King. Mounted upon his mighty Lur Wolf, Gronkkey the Donkkey, Gronkk and the two wenches approached an oasis deep in the sandy wasteland. It was there that camp was established, with the women preparing all the shelter and food while Gronkk bravely rested.

 

That fateful night, Kingy Gronkk awoke from his vengeful slumber with much vigor. Donning naught but a loincloth, he ventured out into the cold blackness of the Badlands. Demons of Setherien, the walking undead and giant spiders launched waves of relentless attack, but Gronkk crushed them under the might of his bone club enchanted by the spirit of Krug. They amassed in great numbers, however, leading Gronkk to channel the energy of the Void through his body, then summon devastating shards of ice upon the hordes. Gronkk giggled dumbly as he smoted creature after beast, proving time and time again of his worth as an Orc.

 

Gronkk ventured away from the Oasis, over the towering mount that stood behind it, and over the expansive flat plain that lied beyond. After slicing his way through swathes of evil, Gronkk discovered a cleverly hidden cave. Grunting resonates in a low rumble from the hulking figure as he tried to squeeze through the cavern entrance, and eventually slips through. Total darkness awaited Gronkk now, the sound of his labored breathing echoing through the blackness. After a laborious search, Gronkk found a branching path illuminated by a warm, orange light. He waddled down this path, and his muscles tensed up in a quick second, the salty dew of his perspiration dotting his rippling fat.

 

The light from Asulon, the old world. It was the light that told Gronkk of his family, that he was the first son of Lur, an ancient and wise Uruk. This light had sent visions of his father, Lur the mighty hunter, to Gronkk - memories long forgotten after millennia upon several worlds. And now, the very same light stood before him, deep in the heart of the Orcish Badlands. Slowly, an enormous figure of indescribable majesty and beauty emerged from the light.

 

“Gronkk, do not be alarmed. It is I, Gronkkbelly, your dearest friend. Though, others known me by a more modest name. I am Krug, the first of our kin, and your grandfather, Gronkk. You may not remember, but you’ve been alive for longer than any other Orc that lives this day, for you are the first son of Lur, my favorite son. From a young age you were a loving, charming and strong Orc, but your own childish instincts were rooted deep within you. The cynicism of the mortal world has not tainted your virgin perception, no. You see the world as it truly is, for you are not of the mortal world. You are the Trickster of Lur, the Greater Ancestral Spirit of no name. You have walked these worlds in the mortal realm, enlightening the peoples that shared the world you guarded. Now, my grandson, it appears you have succeeded in your task. All across worlds current and past, the inhabitants of these lands flocked to your cause and supported what you lived for each day.”

 

“Your destiny has been met, Gronkk. You have saved the mortals from imminent self-destruction, smiting the elitist, the xenophobic and the needlessly cruel from our realm and the next. You have defeated the skygods time and time again, and now they bend their knee to you. You have imparted the teachings of Krug upon them, granting them the merciful gift of salvation.”

 

“Rise, Gronkk. Join me in the Spirit Realm, where you may take your place in history, and protect your kin for all eternity.”

 

“Rise, Trickster.”

 

It took but a simple nod of complete bewilderment and confusion for Gronkk to slowly fade from the world of Anthos into a grandiose spectacle of light. As his physical form began to transition to the Spirit Realm, Gronkk reminisced of all the good times he had, of all the friends he had made. He held his chin high in spite of the sadness that brewed within him, knowing that it was his final destiny to ascend to Krug’s side.

 

Gronkk inhaled deeply as the damp air of the cavern began to swirl around the two figures, increasing in speed rapidly. Rocks begin to dislodge themselves from the walls and floors. The light slowly creeps up his chest, above his manboobs. With a clenching of his rear and a roar from his belly, Gronkk screams his final words as a mortal with all his might, his roars heard all across Anthos.

 

“GGGRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNKKKKKK”

 

Edit: +1 diz **** I pozt fer rep

[Nug 2011]

Nug laughs at the fatso's disappearance.

[MonkeyCoffee 516]

All of Monkey's characters feel a disturbance in the force.

[Shadeleaf 1022]

Not even Setherien's finest could resist the majesty and perhaps loss of this moment, a wave sent across His almighty web of power as Gronkk was ripped from the mortal realm, causing the Dark LIeutenants as it were, to momentarily feel something they haven't felt in a long time... a very, very long time...

 

Confused...

[Goliath 384]

no

[Daisy 9739]

Onar Stormhammer cries.

[spqrSancus 175]

((Lol, good read at least. Hope you're making another character.))

[comanderbly^ 499]

Roderick Krawfyod goes into his butchery and cries , some tears leak into the hole on his cheek

[Ricky 321]

Rickard as a man of few words describes his feelings as follows "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

[Gwonam_Blaze 385]

(( You had me laughing at the very first 7 words. ))

[domainoft 191]

Where to put this in the library....I shall have to confuse and muddle so many sections to make it work.

[Vanir 693]

Abner breaks down into a fit of sobbing, lasting several weeks.

[Silent™ 552]

Sylen doesn't hear anything...

[Stag 3234]

Tako weeps for the death of his father? Yea... he weeps... a little gobo weep.

[Zarsies 6795]

Sprat lay in  the deepest alcove of his cavern, huddled into a petite ball within a pile of utter gore and pulped mortals, residing within the mountain of bone and flesh, and in this he laid. The demon sunk into the physical manifestation of their pain churning in the greatest gift of the Creator had given the races; blood. And with his descent into the pure, true darkness, a faint vibration resonated with a slick drip of sanguine fluid from a nearby stalactite, and puddles on Sprat's forehead, the only surfaced point of the entity.

 

He twitches, and slowly opens his eyes, illuminating the darkened cave with the gleam of his stare, maugre flashing whilst he blinks, the magenta glow setting the pools of blood and hills of bone alight with their tinge. And, for the first time in a very long, very blurred time, he felt...

 

 

...the ginger caress of gloom. And from what, he knew naught.