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Independant Fishing

27 Mar

World of Warcraft ain’t mine.  It never will be.  Riermar, Marlendra, and Fil’ul are characters on the Undermine server, from the Independants guild, all run by my friends and I.

“Thisss vay, ya idiotsss!” Fil’ul called as he settled in on a rock in the middle of the lake.  All around, irate fish jumped about, ready.  At his feet, the water on the stone was beginning to freeze.  His armor was dark blue and covered in spikes.  He shielded his glowing, dead eyes from the sun as he looked upward at two great, flying beasts.

One, he knew, carried the massive cow-man, Riermar.  He was a good fighter.  He was strong, for someone who fought at a distance.  Riermar was a good companion, and he anticipated an enjoyable time fishing with him, if the Tauren did not drink himself sick again.

The other was Marlendra.  She was an orc with a human name, and for that, he was suspicious of her.  She was a horrible companion when danger was high, prone more to endangering herself and others than being an effective fighter.  Her armor was oft worn out and mussed rather than cared for properly, and her weapons were blunt.  She was so painfully unimpressive in combat.  Her strength was her attention span in regards to very specific things.  Marlendra could perform repetitive tasks quickly, if they were not dangerous.  Her worst trait was how closely she followed the teachings of someone called “Leeroy Jenkins.”

As for Fil’ul, he was a dead Troll who walked, fought, and lived as though he had never fallen in battle.  His creed was strength, in whatever form a person had it.  Some people were strong for their magic, others for their technique.  Some used raw power, while others had strength of words and abilities.  He loved men more than women, and though his performance in that area was waning, he made up for his lack with energy, purpose, and gusto.

High above, the two fliers descended after they finally spotted Fil’ul.  The old male waved a long arm from his perch and smirked.  He stomped a foot lightly on the ground, and though some of the ice beneath him cracked, more formed quickly, and some began to form under the feet of Marlendra and Riermar, as well. “It took you long enough.” His sharp-toothed grin was wide. “I hope you brought ya fissshin’ polesss.” His voice was as low and slow as ever.

Riermar looked over at him and snorted.  He held up his fancy pole, a bulky, golden thing that looked just his size, although the reel looked too small for the Tauren’s thick fingers. “I’m ready,” the great bull said softly as Marlendra dashed off on her own to fish on the side of the lake.

“You rememba vich fissshiesss ve be needin, ya?”

“Whatever I catch, as long as it’s a lot, right?” The Orc called back.

“Good girl.” Fil’ul smirked, then looked at the huge beast-man beside him. “Down ta busssinesss, den.” he lowered his straw hat and settled in on his toes.  From the ground, he pulled up his own fishing pole– a green stick with a string, a bobber, and a hook.

Riermar snickered. “That’s your pole?”

“Ya got a problem vit dat?” Fil’ul glanced up, one brow raised. “It vorksss.”

“It’s not a very good-looking pole, that’s all.”

The Troll chuckled quietly as he made a cast. “Looksss ain’t everyting, mon.  Look at me.”

That got a laugh out of the Tauren, who leaned his back against the wiry male’s back and began to fish, as well.

Several minutes passed, and Fil’ul hooked many of the flopping redbelly mandarin before he began to see them avoid his casts. “I hope ya remember how ta sssvim.” The fish were swarming more heartily than even the mantid could.  He was unafraid of what would happen, should a giant, fuzzy man fall into the water.

“What?” Riermar looked back, only to notice Fil’ul stand up straight.  Riermar lost his footing on the slick ice under his feet, and shouted as he fell with a great splash into the water.

As the Tauren surfaced, Fil’ul grinned down at him from the little rock island. “Enjoy ya sssvim?  De fisssh be movin on, we ssshould, too.  Jump up.  De ssspell I put on ya be keepin ya able ta valk on de vater… if you be payin’ attention.” The aged Troll offered a hand to help the Tauren up, and yelped as the larger male pulled him into the water.  In a brief moment of panic, Fil’ul boiled the blood of several dozen fish as he fell into the water.

Once he surfaced, he punched Riermar. “Fel-blooded bull.”

“Rotting corpse.”

“Flea-infesssted udder-lover.”

“Fey.”

“Voman.”

The two continued on until Riermar, once more on his feet, suddenly sank back into the water. “Fil’ul, can you cast that spell again?” he asked sheepishly.

“Ya, mon.” Fil’ul twitched one foot, then dove deep before he drove himself up.  His almost supernatural strength shot him back onto his original rock perch. “Done.” He looked around for another place to fish, then began to walk on rapidly-forming ice to a promising-looking spot.

Behind him, Riermar followed along as Fil’ul stepped onto another rock.  Riermar stepped on after him, and the two fished side-by side.

“Riermar?” Fil’ul asked after a few moments of quiet fishing.

“Yes?”

“You heard from Theeloosss’ girl, mon?”

“Yes.  Cilloos has recently begun adventuring in Northrend.  She’s under Garrosh’s command.” He grimaced, waiting for an explosion.

Fil’ul closed his eyes, then sighed. “De girl hasss a knock for finding troublesss.  Ssshe’sss going to be havin’ a bad time unda him, essspesssially if ssshe still remembersss how he almossst threw her off dat bridge.”

“I agree.” Riermar sighed.

“It be part of growin’ up.”

“Yep.”

For a long time, silence reigned.  A cool breeze offered some relief from the bright sun, and the pleasant mood returned all on its own.

Riermar was about to fall asleep when Fil’ul spoke again.

“Hey Riermar?”

“Yes, Fil’ul?” He opened one eye to look at the green-skinned troll.

“Don’t drown, mon.” Fil’ul’s leg shot out and sent Riermar into the water again.

As Riermar surfaced with a glare, the old warrior simply smirked and cast his line again. “My pole ssstill be bettah.”

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