Melrick

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Author: Melrick
Title: An Interesting Story
Summary: A really interesting thing happens, and then something else even more interesting happens! (Here you can write as detailed a blurb as you want to. A catchy summary to entice the reader.) 
Feedback: Feedback and constructive criticism much appreciated.
Fandom: Original
Pairing: N/A
Warnings: M/F, Oral, Anal
Solo story or chaptered story: Solo story
URL: http://original.adul...ion.net/FakeURL
Review Reply thread: Link to review reply thread in the appropriate forum, if and when you make one.

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And that’s all there is to it!

Grim saw the full-blooded orcs and bared his teeth. Just as he was about to charge into them, they saw him and looked away, totally uninterested.
Wait… did that one just roll his eyes at me?
With his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, Grim looked around. Not just orcs but humans – light skinned ones, dark skinned ones – a couple of dwarves and at least one elf.
What in the name of Shargaas is going on here! Where the hell am I?
Grim could feel panic begin to rise. He didn’t like feeling confused and out of his depth, and this place made him feel way out of his depth. Anger followed panic, which in turn became rage. He couldn’t help it, it was his orc side coming out: confusion made orcs angry. The more confused they were, the angrier they became. And right now, he was mighty confused.
This tavern was meant to be nothing but a fairy tale, something to amuse the gullible. Not for a single moment did he ever consider the possibility that it was real. And now here he was, except he had no idea where ‘here’ was. Was the world he left still outside that door? Had he been transported to some other plane? Instead of finding acceptance, Grim had found only confusion.
The only inhabitant of the tavern that gave him more than a disinterested glance – or rolled their eyes at him – was a human girl at the bar, who shot him a look of hatred. Now he had someone to focus on.
With his teeth bared again, Grim charged straight at the girl and slammed her up against the bar. His left hand clutched her throat and lifted her feet off the floor, while the tip of his sword pressed against her groin, pointing upwards.
“You better explain what the fuck is going on here and where the fuck I am, because I’m about to start killing everything I see.”

Grim saw the full-blooded orcs and bared his teeth. Just as he was about to charge into them, they saw him and looked away, totally uninterested.
Wait… did that one just roll his eyes at me?
With his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, Grim looked around. Not just orcs but humans – light skinned ones, dark skinned ones – a couple of dwarves and at least one elf.
What in the name of Shargaas is going on here! Where the hell am I?
Grim could feel panic begin to rise. He didn’t like feeling confused and out of his depth, and this place made him feel way out of his depth. Anger followed panic, which in turn became rage. He couldn’t help it, it was his orc side coming out: confusion made orcs angry. The more confused they were, the angrier they became. And right now, he was mighty confused.
This tavern was meant to be nothing but a fairy tale, something to amuse the gullible. Not for a single moment did he ever consider the possibility that it was real. And now here he was, except he had no idea where ‘here’ was. Was the world he left still outside that door? Had he been transported to some other plane? Instead of finding acceptance, Grim had found only confusion.
The only inhabitant of the tavern that gave him more than a disinterested glance – or rolled their eyes at him – was a human girl at the bar, who shot him a look of hatred. Now he had someone to focus on.
With his teeth bared again, Grim charged straight at the girl and slammed her up against the bar. His left hand clutched her throat and lifted her feet off the floor, while the tip of his sword pressed against her groin, pointing upwards.
“You better explain what the fuck is going on here and where the fuck I am, because I’m about to start killing everything I see.”

Foe frowned into his mead as he listened to the newcomer babble. He recognized a neophyte when he saw one, and the fact that she was parading around announcing she was the Queen of Thieves was just the most obvious. There were  a dozen different Queens running around that he could think of just off the top of his head, at least three of whom were currently reigning from inside some city guards’ dungeon. The fact that her current Majesty had been foolish enough to try and steal Bronx’s bow right off the table in front of them. That wasn’t just stupid – it was damned near suicidal. The only two reasons the girl wasn’t a headless, bleeding stump was first, because Bronx didn’t want to scare off the client and second, because Bronx considered it ill mannered to execute amateurs. It was clearly the girl’s first time at the Tavern, or she wouldn’t have made such a big deal about the half orc. As it was, there were at least four full blooded orcs who were currently staring at them, muttering about the “pig men” comment. 
He caught the eye of the biggest orc and shook his head slightly. The girl’s back was to him, so Foe pointed to her, then stuck out his tongue, crossed his eyes, and wagged his head back and forth. The orc barked a laugh and let go of the dagger he’d been fingering. The orcs who frequented the tavern mostly came from the local tribes, and understood the tavern’s rules. Besides, there was no honor to be had in fighting with an idiot. Against Foe and Bronx, yes. They weren’t exactly famous in the wider world at larger, but in the Tavern they had a well earned reputation for finishing more fights than they started. Better yet, they didn’t go for the kill quite so often as some of the more blood thirsty residents. Instead they gave as they were given, and left it at that. 
He rubbed one of the rings on his left hand, tossing up a bubble of silence that would keep the little girl from getting them into any more trouble, then turned his attention back to the gnome as their client finally addressed him directly. Bronx snickered at the question, and Foe just let out a sigh. “Not quite permanently, but yeah, there’s an alchemist in Sendmar who really needs to learn the difference between naga scales and gorgon scales. What I don’t get is how the head and shaft got separated in the first place.”
The gnome hung his head back and sighed. “Well, after the cock broke, the wizard grabbed the shaft and vanished, leaving my grandfather with the head. He didn’t realize quite what the curse was going to do until well after he’d gotten back home, and by that time he’d already traded the head for the supplies he needed for his journey. I had to go to half a dozen different mages to get enough scrying spells to locate the head. The shaft however...”
“Is still with the wizard, I’m assuming,” Bronx stated blandly.
“Well, no,” the gnome answered hesitantly. “From what I’ve managed to gather, he never wanted the ruby for himself, you see. He needed it for a trade. Of sorts.”
Foe began to count down the number of beings that would be interested in a powerful magical artifact. Demons, devils, dragons, the odd demi-god or two, maybe even an actual god if they were unlucky. “What sort of trade?”
“He wanted a harem, but one that would last as long as he lived,” the gnome blurted out. “And since wizards with for centuries, a simple gathering of women wouldn’t work.”
“Elves?” Bronx spat.
The gnome shook his head. “No elf with any sort of self-esteem would sleep with a mere hedge wizard, let alone share him. Besides, most elves aren’t nearly as well endowed. He had very particular tastes, and so he went to the one person who could give him what he wanted. Golems made of flesh...”
Foe and Bronx turned and shared a look, stating in unison, “Necromancer.”

Kassie burst out laughing, slapping her open palm on the table.
"That's the most interesting thing you've said all night!" Her spirits had been livened by mead and her passions stirred by the lusty tale of the whore, apparently a woman after her own heart.  The thief leaned over the table as far as she could to hazard a glimpse of the client's crotch. It was clear that if she had any standards, they weren't very high. Kassie fell back into her chair, giggling at the uncomfortable look on the client's face.
"So you need us to find a jewel, is that all? Why, that's what I call Monday!" She turned to Bronx next. "My lady," she cooed appealingly, "I offer you the esteemed services of Kassiopeia, the Queen of Thieves. Kassie if you prefer it." These travelers had the scent of adventure on them, and where there was adventure, there were riches to be had. Her own treasure hunting hadn't been bearing much fruit after the loss of her band of thieves. Her smile faded somewhat at the memory, but she quickly reclaimed it with a jaunty shake of her head. 
"He seems useful." Kassie nodded at Foe in the other seat. "But not all problems can be solved with muscles. Perhaps what you need is... A lighter touch." She ventured such a touch, drawing a finger lazily over the drow's collarbone as she batted her lashes in somewhat insincere seduction. Kassie paused, easily distracted. 
“Don't look now, but it's one of those pig men. An orc." Tilting her head towards the door, she studied Grim more thoroughly. "Half-orc," she corrected herself. A mischievous look replaced the analytical one on her face. "Do you think he takes more after his human half or his orc half in the, err... Trouser area?" Her standards weren't very specific either... 

“I suppose I should start at the beginning,”  the man said as Bronx lifted her tankard.
“Please let me hurt him a little for that,” Foe muttered. “Just for once, I’d like someone to start at the end, by paying us. That would be nice.”
Bronx took a small sip, and put the tankard down with careful deliberation. She turned her head to look at Kassie. “Do not move. If you can sit still, and make it through what’s probably going to be a very convoluted series of apologies liberally dusted with irrelevancies, we might actually be able to sift a nugget or two of actual useful information from the bullshit he’s about to spin. There might possibly be a use for you, if you think you have sufficient skill as a thief.” She pushed Foe’s tankard over to Kassie, and waved at Fred.
“My grandfather was a bastard,” the man began. “Literally. He was the son of a lord who’d had his way with one of the house wenches. The wench fell pregnant, the lady wife tried to beat the baby out of her, and when that failed, the wench was kicked out. The only work she could find was in a local brothel, scrubbing the sheets clean of other people’s fluids and letting the owner of the brothel try to fuck the baby out of her in exchange for her cot in the laundry and two meals a day. She died two days after my grandfather was born.” He paused to take a sip of his lager, and Foe shook his head.
“Don’t drink that. Fred pisses in the lager. Or maybe he pisses lager. It’s hard to tell. Stick to ale here.”
Bronx sighed. “Fred!”
“I don’t piss in the lager.” Fred’s head popped up over the edge of the bar, but he brought over ale and more mead.
The man took a sip of the ale, and got on with his story. “For once, the rumor of a whore with a heart of gold wasn’t exaggerated, and my grandfather was raised by a fairly lusty lass. When he got old enough to follow instructions, he’d liberate a little extra gold from the customer’s pouch while his adoptive mom rode the punter like one of the king’s show ponies. She taught him to steal only a little bit, never enough to get the guard called down on them, and the bit of extra gold, earnings she didn’t need to split with the brothel owner, made life pretty good for them.
“It was a bit harder when my grandfather got older, because while no one even noticed a little kid in the room, it was a different story when there was a glowering youth in the corner, watching his alleged mother fuck someone through the mattress. It put the customers off, but by now, the whore was used to her extra bit of income, and they needed a way to get at those pouches. That’s when she decided to visit the town’s resident hedge wizard.”
Foe groaned a little. “Adding a wizard to anything guarantees a clusterfuck, and not in any enjoyable sense of the word.”
The man startled, shifting further away from Foe as Foe spun his dagger in his fingers before putting it back in its hidden sheath. The first dagger was still embedded in the table, and Foe seemed disinclined to remove it just yet.
“Go on.” Bronx took a longer sip of mead as encouragement.
“Right,” the man said. A hasty sip of ale and he picked up the tale. “The wizard agreed to provide them a charm that would make my grandfather invisible, in exchange for a favor. The whore was just about to lift her skirts but that’s not what the wizard wanted. There was this statue, you see. The eyes were huge uncut emeralds, the size of a hen’s egg, and it had a cock carved from a single enormous ruby. The statue was a representation of a fertility god, and women would come and ride that ruby cock to guarantee a healthy baby. The wizard wanted the gems, but the statue was in a ruined temple deep in the desert. The only way in was a narrow crawlspace that most likely allowed sunlight in to illuminate the statue, and the statue itself was surrounded by traps, and possibly other wards. The whore was smart enough to negotiate a sum of gold in addition to the charm, and my grandfather went off with the wizard to find the gems.”
Bronx held up her free hand hand. “All right. You have my attention.” She released Kassie’s wrist. “Stay.”
“Long story short, my grandfather was just small enough to make it through the crawl space. Most of the traps had been triggered already, and by some bit of luck, my grandfather didn’t trip any wards. He got the eyes free, and the cock, too, and crawled back out. The wizard was ecstatic, and demanded to see the gems. That’s when my grandfather did the stupidest thing in what would prove to be a remarkably short life comprised of stupid choices. He said no. There was a tussle, and as my grandfather told it, the wizard tried to cast a spell, so he did the only thing he could think of. He brained the wizard with the ruby cock. The head of the cock broke off, and that’s when the curse started.”
Foe looked at the pouch on his belt for a long moment, before he unfastened it and handed it back to Bronx. “I think you should hold this, boss. I don’t like where this is going.”
The man nodded. “What you found is the head. What I need you to find is the shaft, because until that statue gets its cock back, the curse is going to travel down the male line of my family forever.” He gave Foe a slightly desperate look. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a permanent boner?”

The dappled light filtering through the forest canopy can make it difficult to spot rabbit holes in time, even for skilled riders like Grim, who also had superb orc night vision to help him out. So far, through a combination of good horsemanship and sheer luck, his horse, Ghash, had avoided any mishap.
He knew he was now in the forest of his ultimate destination, and resisted the temptation to stop and take out his map to check yet again. He knew where he was right now and the rough location of the tavern. If this wasn’t some elaborate and patently ridiculous ruse, that is. The idea of the dwarf, Tordek, concocting this whole scheme had played across his mind many times since setting off from the town of Lorwald. What he couldn’t decide on was what possible motive he could have. If he’d wanted to lure him into an ambush then there had been many better locations much closer to Lorwald that would have sufficed.
Grim yanked hard on the reins, the horses hooves skidding to a halt in the dirt. Speaking of an ambush, he thought. Grim had long come to rely on his gut instinct, and it was telling him that something was wrong. His pointy ears strained to pick out anything that wasn’t natural forest sounds, while his eyes scanned the forest ahead of him, looking for anything that stood out.
Footprints, humanoid. They’d tried to sweep them away but had missed a couple. That leafy branch, freshly broken, was probably what they’d used. The crunching of leaves, there and there.
“Alright, ladies, no need to cower in fright, little old Grim won’t hurt you.”
Nothing for a moment, until first one, then another human appeared, until four stood in an arc in front of him. And by the sound of it, two more behind.
“I told you I could smell something disgusting coming,” said one who Grim felt was likely their leader. The others laughed at his side-splitting gag. “I doubt we’ll get much from this filthy orc, other than a rash.” The others laughed even harder at their very own comedy maestro.
“That’s filthy half-orc to you,” said Grim, violently spurring his horse into a charge, straight at the comedian, catching them all by surprise. The bandit leader rose his sword, but more in a defensive gesture, something that quickly proved itself to be utterly futile. Ghash’s hooves slammed straight into his chest, knocking him flying, his body – unconscious or dead – rag-dolling across the ground.
Grim rolled backwards off the horse, still in full gallop, and landed on his feet, his sword out and charging straight at the nearest shocked bandit. Grim’s sword hacked straight through his left arm and bit deep into his chest. The next bandit’s head was soon separated from his body.
The remaining three bandits now didn’t seem too sure of themselves. The two that had been behind him and was therefore now furthest away from him soon turned and bolted.
“Would you care to dance?” he said to the last bandit remaining, holding his left hand out invitingly. The bandit let out a squeak and began to run. Without practice, it can be difficult to run fast with a sword in your hand without risking serious injury to yourself, and this bandit clearly hadn’t practiced. After a short distance, the sword was flung away as he ran, making noises that Grim found rather amusing.
“So that’s a no to the dance?” he called out after them. “You know, it’s hard not to take that personally!” he shouted. “Philistines,” he mumbled, as he approached the body of the bandit leader, to find him alive but not having the best of times.
The bandit’s breathing came in ragged, strained gasps. He coughed up blood as Grim knelt down over him. “What about you?” he asked. “Would you care to dance? What’s that? Maybe later? Well, you see, I’m needed back at the palace soon – you know how it is – so I’m afraid I can’t hang around.” Grim plunged his dagger into the side of his neck. After whistling for his horse, the half-orc was soon back on his way.
Half an hour later, though, and Grim ran into a small group of goblins, chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they sprung from their obvious hiding spots. Grim was on the ground in an instant, and as the first one charged at him, he kicked the goblin square in the testicles, lifting him off the ground and flinging him some distance away. The other goblins hesitated, and then bolted.
“Oh come on!” said Grim. “I didn’t kick him that hard! Did I really kick you that hard?” he said to the goblin, lying on his side, clutching the remains of his testicles whilst making weird little bird-like chittering noises. “Oh stop crying… or whatever it is you’re doing, they’ll grow back. A week, two weeks, tops,” he added, as he climbed back onto his horse.
Goblins might not be terribly bright, but they were cunning little bastards who know when to stand and fight and when to run away. A trait that humans rarely seemed to possess, it seemed.
After later fighting off two wolves, which his horse actually took care of, Grim reached the edge of the clearing that he suspected would be the location of the mysterious tavern. If it even existed. But as he stepped through the trees, he could soon see exactly that, a tavern. Right there, in the middle of the damn forest. A tavern where there shouldn’t be one. A tavern in an area he was sure he’d been to before without seeing a tavern. Or had he been here before? Now he was no longer sure.
Grim spurred on his horse and warily approached the building, not knowing what to expect. After tying his horse to a post, he slowly, carefully, entered, his sword clutched tightly in his hand, hoping he was ready for anything.

Grim wandered the lands for several years after leaving behind Highburn. He preferred to stick to the wilds, but did visit populated areas when needed. For some time, Grim attempted to repudiate his human side and fully embrace the orc in him, but his sensible, reasonable human side always managed to pull him back from the brink. Once he’d even waylaid some travellers, kidnapped one of the women and attempted to rape her, but just couldn’t manage it; he couldn’t even get an erection. The memory of that mystery woman back in Highburn did an effective job of reminding him that not all human women were garbage; they didn’t all deserve punishment. And always Brenvan’s father calling out “Grim, don’t do anything stupid!” continued to echo in his ears.
But neither could he just forgive and forget the treatment of his friends and family. A half-breed didn’t seem to belong anywhere. No matter where he went, he was usually treated either as an outcast, or worse, a hostile threat. No longer did he actively try to dissuade them that a violent, homicidal rage was imminent. If they wanted to think that then let them! They might stay out of his way then.
Once upon a time, Grim chose to see himself as more human than orc, but now he no longer knew what he was. An intelligent orc or an ugly human? If you asked an orc then he was an ugly human; humans would consider him an intelligent orc, if they were choosing to be kind. Grim wondered if he’d ever be comfortable with who and what he was.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The rain teemed down, causing torrents of water to rush down the dirt streets of Lorwald. The good of it was that the water carried all the shit and rubbish away; the bad of it would be evident for anyone living down hill. But Grim didn’t care, nor did he particularly care about the rain. He was used to being out in all weather, so this was nothing new to him. Still, he was feeling hungry and thirsty, and, if he had to admit, a little cold, so a tavern was the best place to be.
Before long, a weather-beaten sign hanging from an equally weather-beaten old building grabbed his attention. The sign read “The Black Jug” which was accompanied by a faded picture of – wait for it – a black jug. Grim entered, ignoring any looks and whispers. He knew half-orcs weren’t seen everywhere, and nor were they welcomed everywhere. He was willing to ignore others, but if they weren’t willing to ignore him then they’d be sailing through the nearest wall. Although with the dilapidated state of the building, he feared every wall was a load-bearing wall.
Sidling up to the bar, Grim sat down on one of the stools, which promptly groaned in protest, but succeeded in holding him up. A woman of indeterminate age slowly ambled down to his end of the bar and raised her bushy eyebrows at him, which Grim assumed meant “what do you want?”.
“What’s on the menu?” he asked, smelling something coming from the back room but unable to determine what it was.
“Pottage,” she said in the rough accent typical of the humans of this area.
“And?” Grim prompted.
“Pottage,” she replied, without batting a filthy eyelid.
“Wow,” said Grim, “with an elaborate menu like that, you must have some real fancy chef working back there. I’ll bet he even wears a funny shaped hat.”
Gretel, as Grim chose to believe her name was, snorted up some phlegm that was no longer needed and spat it into what he dearly hoped was a spit bucket on the floor behind the bar. “Do you want it or not?” she said, once done with the internal spring clean.
“I would be honoured if you’d allow me to taste your… pottage,” he said, the last word said in as sexy a voice as possible, while fluttering his eyelids coquettishly at her.
Without the slightest reaction, Gretel turned and slowly ambled away into the back-room. Seconds later she was back with a bowl, which she plunked down in front of him. “Two coppers,” she rumbled.
Grim suspected it was probably 1 copper for others, but he didn’t care; he was enjoying the complete lack of reaction from her. “I love you, Gretel; run away with me!”
“It’s Aradyn,” she said, before wobbling away up to the other end of the bar.
Grim couldn’t help but be surprised. Aradyn was a surprisingly pretty name for what he could only assume was a human woman. The main give away as to her womanhood was the enormous boobs. Well, they were either boobs or two huge tumours. Either was equally likely.
One thing Grim had always been thankful for inheriting from his orc ancestors was his iron stomach. Pottage was usually whatever could be dropped into a pot or cauldron of what used to be water at some point in time. Sometimes it could be surprisingly tasty; other times it made you wonder if the rats were even dead when they had been dropped into the pot. This pottage soon proved itself to be of the lower end of the scale, but not the worst he’d eaten.
After only a few spoonfuls, a mug slid along the bar and stopped right behind the bowl. A glance to his left found a dwarf looking up at him. “For you, to wash it down with. You’ll need it; it doesn’t always like to stay down.”
Grim nodded his appreciation to the dwarf, although sceptical of his intentions.
“Maybe you’d care to join me at a table?”
Grim sighed, wondering what it was going to be this time. Was he going to try and sell him something he’d be a fool to turn down? Ask for help in finding something/stealing something/killing something? Or perhaps he was after a bit of rough trade?
Oh well, I’ll listen to his spiel since he bought me a drink, he thought as he grabbed his bowl and mug and got up, following the dwarf over to a table in – surprise surprise – a dim corner of the room. “Thanks for joining me,” said the dwarf. Grim grunted in response. “I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”
“So the drink wasn’t out of the kindness of your little dwarven heart? Let me guess, you want something.”
“Actually, it’s not so much what I want, it’s what you want.”
Grim looked the hairy faced dwarf up and down. “I think you’ve overestimated your physical appeal.”
The dwarf sat silent a moment, looking puzzled. “No, not me!” he finally said in shocked realisation. “What is it you want? What is it you really want? And not revenge, cause you’ve already got that.”
For the first time, Grim really studied the dwarf hard, trying to see through the hair and the beard, attempting to unlock any recognition. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tordek Dankil. You don’t know me, and nor do I know you. But I know what you want, more than anything else: acceptance. Isn’t that right?”
Grim’s hand casually dropped to the sword at his hip. “What do you want?” he said in a low voice.
“I wish you no harm,” he said, holding the palms of his hands out towards him. “Have you ever heard of a tavern in the woods, a tavern on no map, a tavern with no roads leading to it, a tavern that can’t be found… unless you really need to find it?”
Grim had heard rumours of such a tavern, of course – most people had – but had dismissed them as nonsense. “I’ve heard of the fairy tales,” he grunted, returning to his pottage. Something bobbed to the surface and tried to make a break for freedom, before Grim drowned it.
“They’re not fairy tales. I should know, I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been there. You’ve been to this mysterious, magical tavern that no one can find, have you?”
“I understand your scepticism. I was like you once, until I met someone who opened my eyes, and I wish to open yours.”
“Why?” said Grim, not trusting the dwarf. Grim didn’t like being in situations he didn’t feel he was in control of, and this was surely one such situation.
“Because I know what you’re looking for but don’t know where to find it. Look, Grim-”
“I didn’t tell you my name.”
“You’re on a precipice. If you do nothing to change your path then you’re going to step into that black void, and there’s no coming back from that. I want to show you there’s another path.”
Grim was silent for a moment. “You’re a wizard. I thought dwarves hated magic.”
“So all dwarves are the same, are they? Just like all orcs are the same, whether half human or otherwise?”
Grim was silent for a moment longer. “I ask you why you want to help me but you keep dancing around the question. Tell me now: why do you want to help me?”
Tordek sighed. “Because I can see myself in you… believe it or not,” he said, looking the huge half-orc up and down. “I too was brought up surrounded by humans, doing my best to blend in and just be one of the crowd. But, as you well know, height can make that difficult; being the wrong race can make it impossible. I too got angry and frustrated and was filled with hate. I did things – many things – I’m not proud of, but I got turned away from that life.”
“This sounds more like a religious sermon,” said Grim.
Tordek laughed. “I know, but this is more useful than any religious sermon you’ll ever likely hear.”
“Okay then, little dwarf, I’ll get my map and you can mark on it where it is. If it’s as you say then you won’t be able to mark its location.”
The dwarf smiled and nodded. “As you wish.”
In moments, Grim had retrieved his map and spread it out on the table. Accurate, detailed maps were valuable, and this one was all three of those things. Grim handed Tordek a piece of charcoal. “Mark it.”
Tordek grabbed the charcoal and studied the map a moment. “It’s there,” he said, jabbing a stubby finger at a forest.
“I’ve been all over that forest,” he said, now more sceptical than ever.
“I’m sure you have been. And now let me mark its location.” Tordek put a black smudge onto the map. The smudge stayed there.
“Ha!” said Grim almost triumphantly. “See, I told...” But as he looked, the black smudge began to fade, and then disappear. He stared at it, bemused, for a moment. “That was you,” he said, almost angrily.
The dwarf held up his hands innocently again. “I can assure you that it wasn’t. If you don’t believe me then try it yourself later when I’m no where near you. But just remember where it is, and remember why you want to go there. You should also know that it’s dangerous, more dangerous than it was when you were there before.”
“So… wait… are you telling me that the only people that can find it are people that want what I want, and only that?”
“No. Different people want different things. People aren’t all the same, remember? Not even half-orcs. Just… think about it, okay?” said Tordek, patting the back of one of Grim’s huge hands.
Grim paused a moment, before nodding. “Thanks for the drink,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome.” With that, the dwarf upended his own mug, stood up and left the tavern.
Grim slowly finished his pottage and ale – or whatever the hell it was supposed to be – and left. The rain had now stopped. After trudging through the mud to return to the stable housing his horse, Ghash, Grim left Lorwald, a town considerably more surprising that he’d assumed it would be.
After a day’s ride out from Lorwald, Grim stopped and almost reluctantly took out his map. After hesitating for some time, Grim made a mark over the same spot Tordek had marked previously. Sure enough, after a couple of seconds, the mark began to fade.
“Well shit,” said Grim to his indifferent horse.

The dappled light filtering through the forest canopy can make it difficult to spot rabbit holes in time, even for skilled riders like Grim, who also had superb orc night vision to help him out. So far, through a combination of good horsemanship and sheer luck, his horse, Ghash, had avoided any mishap.
He knew he was now in the forest of his ultimate destination, and resisted the temptation to stop and take out his map to check yet again. He knew where he was right now and the rough location of the tavern. If this wasn’t some elaborate and patently ridiculous ruse, that is. The idea of the dwarf, Tordek, concocting this whole scheme had played across his mind many times since setting off from the town of Lorwald. What he couldn’t decide on was what possible motive he could have. If he’d wanted to lure him into an ambush then there had been many better locations much closer to Lorwald that would have sufficed.
Grim yanked hard on the reins, the horses hooves skidding to a halt in the dirt. Speaking of an ambush, he thought. Grim had long come to rely on his gut instinct, and it was telling him that something was wrong. His pointy ears strained to pick out anything that wasn’t natural forest sounds, while his eyes scanned the forest ahead of him, looking for anything that stood out.
Footprints, humanoid. They’d tried to sweep them away but had missed a couple. That leafy branch, freshly broken, was probably what they’d used. The crunching of leaves, there and there.
“Alright, ladies, no need to cower in fright, little old Grim won’t hurt you.”
Nothing for a moment, until first one, then another human appeared, until four stood in an arc in front of him. And by the sound of it, two more behind.
“I told you I could smell something disgusting coming,” said one who Grim felt was likely their leader. The others laughed at his side-splitting gag. “I doubt we’ll get much from this filthy orc, other than a rash.” The others laughed even harder at their very own comedy maestro.
“That’s filthy half-orc to you,” said Grim, violently spurring his horse into a charge, straight at the comedian, catching them all by surprise. The bandit leader rose his sword, but more in a defensive gesture, something that quickly proved itself to be utterly futile. Ghash’s hooves slammed straight into his chest, knocking him flying, his body – unconscious or dead – rag-dolling across the ground.
Grim rolled backwards off the horse, still in full gallop, and landed on his feet, his sword out and charging straight at the nearest shocked bandit. Grim’s sword hacked straight through his left arm and bit deep into his chest. The next bandit’s head was soon separated from his body.
The remaining three bandits now didn’t seem too sure of themselves. The two that had been behind him and was therefore now furthest away from him soon turned and bolted.
“Would you care to dance?” he said to the last bandit remaining, holding his left hand out invitingly. The bandit let out a squeak and began to run. Without practice, it can be difficult to run fast with a sword in your hand without risking serious injury to yourself, and this bandit clearly hadn’t practiced. After a short distance, the sword was flung away as he ran, making noises that Grim found rather amusing.
“So that’s a no to the dance?” he called out after them. “You know, it’s hard not to take that personally!” he shouted. “Philistines,” he mumbled, as he approached the body of the bandit leader, to find him alive but not having the best of times.
The bandit’s breathing came in ragged, strained gasps. He coughed up blood as Grim knelt down over him. “What about you?” he asked. “Would you care to dance? What’s that? Maybe later? Well, you see, I’m needed back at the palace soon – you know how it is – so I’m afraid I can’t hang around.” Grim plunged his dagger into the side of his neck. After whistling for his horse, the half-orc was soon back on his way.
Half an hour later, though, and Grim ran into a small group of goblins, chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they sprung from their obvious hiding spots. Grim was on the ground in an instant, and as the first one charged at him, he kicked the goblin square in the testicles, lifting him off the ground and flinging him some distance away. The other goblins hesitated, and then bolted.
“Oh come on!” said Grim. “I didn’t kick him that hard! Did I really kick you that hard?” he said to the goblin, lying on his side, clutching the remains of his testicles whilst making weird little bird-like chittering noises. “Oh stop crying… or whatever it is you’re doing, they’ll grow back. A week, two weeks, tops,” he added, as he climbed back onto his horse.
Goblins might not be terribly bright, but they were cunning little bastards who know when to stand and fight and when to run away. A trait that humans rarely seemed to possess, it seemed.
After later fighting off two wolves, which his horse actually took care of, Grim reached the edge of the clearing that he suspected would be the location of the mysterious tavern. If it even existed. But as he stepped through the trees, he could soon see exactly that, a tavern. Right there, in the middle of the damn forest. A tavern where there shouldn’t be one. A tavern in an area he was sure he’d been to before without seeing a tavern. Or had he been here before? Now he was no longer sure.
Grim spurred on his horse and warily approached the building, not knowing what to expect. After tying his horse to a post, he slowly, carefully, entered, his sword clutched tightly in his hand, hoping he was ready for anything.

Grim wandered the lands for several years after leaving behind Highburn. He preferred to stick to the wilds, but did visit populated areas when needed. For some time, Grim attempted to repudiate his human side and fully embrace the orc in him, but his sensible, reasonable human side always managed to pull him back from the brink. Once he’d even waylaid some travellers, kidnapped one of the women and attempted to rape her, but just couldn’t manage it; he couldn’t even get an erection. The memory of that mystery woman back in Highburn did an effective job of reminding him that not all human women were garbage; they didn’t all deserve punishment. And always Brenvan’s father calling out “Grim, don’t do anything stupid!” continued to echo in his ears.
But neither could he just forgive and forget the treatment of his friends and family. A half-breed didn’t seem to belong anywhere. No matter where he went, he was usually treated either as an outcast, or worse, a hostile threat. No longer did he actively try to dissuade them that a violent, homicidal rage was imminent. If they wanted to think that then let them! They might stay out of his way then.
Once upon a time, Grim chose to see himself as more human than orc, but now he no longer knew what he was. An intelligent orc or an ugly human? If you asked an orc then he was an ugly human; humans would consider him an intelligent orc, if they were choosing to be kind. Grim wondered if he’d ever be comfortable with who and what he was.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The rain teemed down, causing torrents of water to rush down the dirt streets of Lorwald. The good of it was that the water carried all the shit and rubbish away; the bad of it would be evident for anyone living down hill. But Grim didn’t care, nor did he particularly care about the rain. He was used to being out in all weather, so this was nothing new to him. Still, he was feeling hungry and thirsty, and, if he had to admit, a little cold, so a tavern was the best place to be.
Before long, a weather-beaten sign hanging from an equally weather-beaten old building grabbed his attention. The sign read “The Black Jug” which was accompanied by a faded picture of – wait for it – a black jug. Grim entered, ignoring any looks and whispers. He knew half-orcs weren’t seen everywhere, and nor were they welcomed everywhere. He was willing to ignore others, but if they weren’t willing to ignore him then they’d be sailing through the nearest wall. Although with the dilapidated state of the building, he feared every wall was a load-bearing wall.
Sidling up to the bar, Grim sat down on one of the stools, which promptly groaned in protest, but succeeded in holding him up. A woman of indeterminate age slowly ambled down to his end of the bar and raised her bushy eyebrows at him, which Grim assumed meant “what do you want?”.
“What’s on the menu?” he asked, smelling something coming from the back room but unable to determine what it was.
“Pottage,” she said in the rough accent typical of the humans of this area.
“And?” Grim prompted.
“Pottage,” she replied, without batting a filthy eyelid.
“Wow,” said Grim, “with an elaborate menu like that, you must have some real fancy chef working back there. I’ll bet he even wears a funny shaped hat.”
Gretel, as Grim chose to believe her name was, snorted up some phlegm that was no longer needed and spat it into what he dearly hoped was a spit bucket on the floor behind the bar. “Do you want it or not?” she said, once done with the internal spring clean.
“I would be honoured if you’d allow me to taste your… pottage,” he said, the last word said in as sexy a voice as possible, while fluttering his eyelids coquettishly at her.
Without the slightest reaction, Gretel turned and slowly ambled away into the back-room. Seconds later she was back with a bowl, which she plunked down in front of him. “Two coppers,” she rumbled.
Grim suspected it was probably 1 copper for others, but he didn’t care; he was enjoying the complete lack of reaction from her. “I love you, Gretel; run away with me!”
“It’s Aradyn,” she said, before wobbling away up to the other end of the bar.
Grim couldn’t help but be surprised. Aradyn was a surprisingly pretty name for what he could only assume was a human woman. The main give away as to her womanhood was the enormous boobs. Well, they were either boobs or two huge tumours. Either was equally likely.
One thing Grim had always been thankful for inheriting from his orc ancestors was his iron stomach. Pottage was usually whatever could be dropped into a pot or cauldron of what used to be water at some point in time. Sometimes it could be surprisingly tasty; other times it made you wonder if the rats were even dead when they had been dropped into the pot. This pottage soon proved itself to be of the lower end of the scale, but not the worst he’d eaten.
After only a few spoonfuls, a mug slid along the bar and stopped right behind the bowl. A glance to his left found a dwarf looking up at him. “For you, to wash it down with. You’ll need it; it doesn’t always like to stay down.”
Grim nodded his appreciation to the dwarf, although sceptical of his intentions.
“Maybe you’d care to join me at a table?”
Grim sighed, wondering what it was going to be this time. Was he going to try and sell him something he’d be a fool to turn down? Ask for help in finding something/stealing something/killing something? Or perhaps he was after a bit of rough trade?
Oh well, I’ll listen to his spiel since he bought me a drink, he thought as he grabbed his bowl and mug and got up, following the dwarf over to a table in – surprise surprise – a dim corner of the room. “Thanks for joining me,” said the dwarf. Grim grunted in response. “I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”
“So the drink wasn’t out of the kindness of your little dwarven heart? Let me guess, you want something.”
“Actually, it’s not so much what I want, it’s what you want.”
Grim looked the hairy faced dwarf up and down. “I think you’ve overestimated your physical appeal.”
The dwarf sat silent a moment, looking puzzled. “No, not me!” he finally said in shocked realisation. “What is it you want? What is it you really want? And not revenge, cause you’ve already got that.”
For the first time, Grim really studied the dwarf hard, trying to see through the hair and the beard, attempting to unlock any recognition. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tordek Dankil. You don’t know me, and nor do I know you. But I know what you want, more than anything else: acceptance. Isn’t that right?”
Grim’s hand casually dropped to the sword at his hip. “What do you want?” he said in a low voice.
“I wish you no harm,” he said, holding the palms of his hands out towards him. “Have you ever heard of a tavern in the woods, a tavern on no map, a tavern with no roads leading to it, a tavern that can’t be found… unless you really need to find it?”
Grim had heard rumours of such a tavern, of course – most people had – but had dismissed them as nonsense. “I’ve heard of the fairy tales,” he grunted, returning to his pottage. Something bobbed to the surface and tried to make a break for freedom, before Grim drowned it.
“They’re not fairy tales. I should know, I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been there. You’ve been to this mysterious, magical tavern that no one can find, have you?”
“I understand your scepticism. I was like you once, until I met someone who opened my eyes, and I wish to open yours.”
“Why?” said Grim, not trusting the dwarf. Grim didn’t like being in situations he didn’t feel he was in control of, and this was surely one such situation.
“Because I know what you’re looking for but don’t know where to find it. Look, Grim-”
“I didn’t tell you my name.”
“You’re on a precipice. If you do nothing to change your path then you’re going to step into that black void, and there’s no coming back from that. I want to show you there’s another path.”
Grim was silent for a moment. “You’re a wizard. I thought dwarves hated magic.”
“So all dwarves are the same, are they? Just like all orcs are the same, whether half human or otherwise?”
Grim was silent for a moment longer. “I ask you why you want to help me but you keep dancing around the question. Tell me now: why do you want to help me?”
Tordek sighed. “Because I can see myself in you… believe it or not,” he said, looking the huge half-orc up and down. “I too was brought up surrounded by humans, doing my best to blend in and just be one of the crowd. But, as you well know, height can make that difficult; being the wrong race can make it impossible. I too got angry and frustrated and was filled with hate. I did things – many things – I’m not proud of, but I got turned away from that life.”
“This sounds more like a religious sermon,” said Grim.
Tordek laughed. “I know, but this is more useful than any religious sermon you’ll ever likely hear.”
“Okay then, little dwarf, I’ll get my map and you can mark on it where it is. If it’s as you say then you won’t be able to mark its location.”
The dwarf smiled and nodded. “As you wish.”
In moments, Grim had retrieved his map and spread it out on the table. Accurate, detailed maps were valuable, and this one was all three of those things. Grim handed Tordek a piece of charcoal. “Mark it.”
Tordek grabbed the charcoal and studied the map a moment. “It’s there,” he said, jabbing a stubby finger at a forest.
“I’ve been all over that forest,” he said, now more sceptical than ever.
“I’m sure you have been. And now let me mark its location.” Tordek put a black smudge onto the map. The smudge stayed there.
“Ha!” said Grim almost triumphantly. “See, I told...” But as he looked, the black smudge began to fade, and then disappear. He stared at it, bemused, for a moment. “That was you,” he said, almost angrily.
The dwarf held up his hands innocently again. “I can assure you that it wasn’t. If you don’t believe me then try it yourself later when I’m no where near you. But just remember where it is, and remember why you want to go there. You should also know that it’s dangerous, more dangerous than it was when you were there before.”
“So… wait… are you telling me that the only people that can find it are people that want what I want, and only that?”
“No. Different people want different things. People aren’t all the same, remember? Not even half-orcs. Just… think about it, okay?” said Tordek, patting the back of one of Grim’s huge hands.
Grim paused a moment, before nodding. “Thanks for the drink,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome.” With that, the dwarf upended his own mug, stood up and left the tavern.
Grim slowly finished his pottage and ale – or whatever the hell it was supposed to be – and left. The rain had now stopped. After trudging through the mud to return to the stable housing his horse, Ghash, Grim left Lorwald, a town considerably more surprising that he’d assumed it would be.
After a day’s ride out from Lorwald, Grim stopped and almost reluctantly took out his map. After hesitating for some time, Grim made a mark over the same spot Tordek had marked previously. Sure enough, after a couple of seconds, the mark began to fade.
“Well shit,” said Grim to his indifferent horse.

Oh, Melrick! You take care of your mum, and then come here and decompress, alright?
 

I am so sorry to hear about that! You take as much time as you need and I really hope your mom recovers quickly! 

I am loving Grim! Now that is a character!

@Melrick I am hoping that you plan on adding to your bit soon because I HAVE QUESTIONS THAT NEED ANSWERING, lol. 

Grimaruk was known by his friends as Grim. That is to say, he was known as Grim by his only real friend, Brenvan. Brenvan's parents and Grim's brother also called him Grim. Others generally used Grimaruk, if they bothered to use a non-insulting name. His parents, not surprisingly, used his full name, because “Your name isn’t Grim” insisted his mother, “It’s Grimaruk”.
It wasn't easy being a half-orc living surrounded by other races, especially humans. There were a few half-orc families in Highburn, but they mostly kept to themselves. Some were friendly in passing, while others were outright hostile. When Grim had still been a child, his father, Karimir, explained to him that it was largely because most of the half-orcs were desperate to fit in and not seem like they were developing into some kind of angry mob, ready to slaughter all the humans. While many of the humans were at least superficially friendly, there was still an undercurrent of distrust, if not outright fear, regarding half-orcs. More than a few humans were straight-out hostile towards them, and half-orcs soon worked out who to avoid and to keep their heads down. Still, Highburn was actually a pretty tolerant town for half-orcs compared to some places.
Grim's skin was grey with a hint of purple, along with the usual pointed canine teeth thrusting up from the bottom jaw, although not as prominent as full-blooded orcs. While skin colour can vary a bit amongst half-orcs, his wasn't unusual. The long auburn coloured hair was less typical, though. The family story was that the human side of their family was a Regdar human – an important human, perhaps a nobleman – hence the brown rather than black hair, which is much more typical for orcs and half-orcs. Whether or not that story was true was anyone's guess, but it sounded good. More than a few half-orcs had similar family histories, though, so Grim was doubtful at best. Not that it made them more human in the eyes of most humans, though, even if true; a half-orc was always more orc than human in their eyes. Orcs, though, had the opposite view; a half-orc was always more human than orc and to be equally distrusted, especially since half-orcs were usually smarter than full-blooded orcs. But whoever Grim’s human ancestors really were, he had reason to think they must have more than held their own in the intelligence department, because intelligence was one thing Grim prided himself on, even amongst humans.
Grim's powerful six foot seven, 240 pound frame also made him stand out from the humans of Highburn. He towered over Brenvan's five foot eight, but Brenvan never cared. Grim once asked his friend why he wasn't bothered with him being a half-orc. “Why should it?” he'd replied with a shrug of the shoulders. And that was that; they never again discussed their differences, only their similarities. And there were more than a few.
Both loved to practice sword play, sometimes training for hours a day. Grim’s great strength was usually matched by Brenvan’s speed and nimbleness, able to jump and roll out of the way of his powerful strokes of his practice weapon. It had taught Grim that he couldn’t just rely on his strength to win; it also took patience and strategy.
Both also loved roaming the countryside that surrounded Highburn, whether it be hunting or simply exploring. It wasn't unusual for them to 'forget' how long they'd been gone for and come back days after they'd said they would return. Both families eventually learnt to accept things the way they were and not to get too concerned with their extended absences.
Brenvan's family also learnt to accept the fact that their only son had a half-orc as a best friend, which wasn't exactly something to crow about to the neighbours. Still, accept it they did. If their paths crossed in public, they were little more than cordial – a nod of the head would usually suffice, if anything – but in private they felt free to be more friendly and open towards him. It certainly hadn't started that way, but Grim was happy with how things had developed.
Then things changed. At the age of 20, Brenvan fell for a village girl by the name of Lunila. He'd had flings with other girls in the past, but it had been obvious to Grim that this time was different.
“What do you think of Lunila?” he'd asked during one of their hunting trips. They'd taken a rest and were leaning against the same tree trunk.
“Not bad for a human,” joked Grim.
“Seriously, though. Do you… do you think she might be interested in marrying me? She seems to like me plenty.”
And right there and then, Grim saw their days of wandering the lands together disappearing. A part of him had always held onto a vague hope that one day they'd leave together, just pack up their stuff and… go. Where, he didn't know, and he didn't care. He hated the idea of loosing his only friend. A day like this, though, had played in the back of his mind the first time Brenvan had gotten himself a girlfriend. He also remembered how pleased and relieved he'd been when it hadn't lasted beyond a month.
The temptation now was to try and sow seeds of distrust in his friend, to turn his mind against Lunila. But he couldn't do it. He could see how much he loved her and knew how happy he'd be if she'd agreed to be his wife.
“Well, you don’t want to go rushing into things and risk scaring her off. But… I think she'd be mad to turn you down. Madder than the usual human, that is,” he said. Brenvan playfully punched his arm. “Ask if she's got a cousin that isn't too picky, or blind,” he added. They'd both laughed.
“Actually, I do know someone that just might be interested,” said Brenvan, grinning from ear to ear.
“What is she, a full-blooded orc with even worse hygiene than normal?”
Brenvan laughed. “No, she's human. She's quite attractive, in fact. Although I don't think you can afford to be too picky. I mean, look at you!” Grim punched his arm gently, but still hard enough to leave a bruise, although his mock anger was ruined by his laughter.
Unbeknown to either of them, though, was that someone else also had their eye on Lunila. It was hardly surprising, considering how attractive she was, but when Brenvan found out that this other guy was Bordic, the son of an important, rich and powerful official named Sojak, Brenvan lost heart, convinced he didn't stand a chance.
As it turned out, it would have been better if Brenvan hadn't stood a chance, but Lunila really did only have eyes for Brenvan.
One day, Grim made his way to the local markets. Hardly had he arrived than he began to overhear people talking about a tragedy that had occurred. Grim initially only half paid attention, until he heard the name Lunila mentioned.
“Why would somebody killed poor Lunila?” an old lady said to her friend as they shuffled passed. “I never would have suspected Brenvan, never! I thought he was such a good boy!”
Grim dropped his basket and ran to Brenvan's house. He burst through the door without pausing, half tearing the door off its hinges, scaring Brenvan's parents half to death.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, trying not to let panic overcome him. Brenvan's mother broke into sobbing, something she'd clearly been doing before he'd arrived.
“Brenvan has been accused of… killing Lunila,” said the father, a pained look on his face. Once looking handsome and virile, he now looked old and worn-out. Grim could feel rage beginning to bubble within.
“He didn't do it!” said his mother. “He loved her! And so did we!” she said, before descending into uncontrolled sobbing once more.
Grim turned and bolted from the house, followed by Brenvan's father calling after him, “Grim, don't do anything stupid!”
Hurrying to where he knew Brenvan would be held, the Constable's Tower, he tried to get in to him, only to be stopped by guards. No one would answer any questions, and after considering the possibility of fighting his way in, but with the words of Brenvan’s father still ringing in his ears, he reluctantly left, knowing full well the futility of such an action.
Further attempts throughout the day to gain information only ended with more frustration, with no one willing to talk to him. That night, as he was drowning his sorrows in a tavern, he overheard conversations from fellow patrons, discussing the current rumours doing the rounds.
“That Lunila girl wasn't killed by Brenvan, that's what I heard,” said one semi-inebriated patron.
“Yeah, that's what I heard, too,” said another. “What I hear is that it was that lazy son of Sojak, Bordic.” Others nodded their agreement. “I hear he had a thing for her and tried to convince her to get rid of Brenvan for him; he even tried to bribe her, so I hear.”
“And when she turned him down,” chimed in another, “he got angry and jealous and killed her. Funny that it was him that supposedly saw Brenvan kill her, don't ya think?”
“Nothin' to be done, though,” added the first. “Try to cause trouble and it'll be you hangin' by a rope.” The others nodded in agreement and quickly moved on to other subjects.
Later that night, Grim was able to waylay Bordic as he was making his way through the streets back to his luxurious home.
“You killed Lunila,” said Grim, his nose nearly touching his. “Admit it!”
Bordic laughed. “What happened, is your boyfriend going to hang? And what are you going to do about it, you filthy orc?”
Grim's right hand wrapped around his throat, while he bared his teeth and growled.
“You think killing me will save your boyfriend? You think your filthy family won't end up at the end of ropes as well?” Grim's grip, which had been tightening, stopped, and then loosened. He hadn't considered the possibility that his own family could be in danger. Grim's hand fell from his throat. Bordic snorted. “All of your filthy kind should hang, every last one of you!”
Grim's hands, now hanging by his sides, balled into fists. It was with considerable effort that Grim resisted the desperate urge to kill him where he stood. Instead, he watched as Bordic slid away along the wall and began to leave. Rather that walk away, though, Bordic turned around.
“I told Lunila she was a fool to choose Brenvan over me. No one denies me what I want! It was a lesson she learnt too late, and it'll be a lesson you'll do well to learn. Or else.” With that, Bordic swaggered away, leaving Grim fuming with impotent rage.
The only information Grim was able to obtain was that it would take a week for the mock trial and inevitable hanging to happen. With that knowledge, Grim convinced his brother, Karamak, to go hunting with him, so they could clear their heads and try to work out what to do.
After only two days’ away, though, someone came riding up to them at a gallop. At first, both Grim and his brother drew their swords, reading for a fight, until they recognised him as a friend of Brenvan.
“Thank god I found you! I might already be too late,” he gasped.
“What? What's happened?” said Grim, feeling dread settle over him.
“They're going to hang your parents! It may be too late, I don't know.” Without another word, Grim immediately broke into a sprint. “Here, take the horse! I can find my own way back.” With that, he jumped down and both Grim and Karamak leapt onto the horse and headed for Highburn.
When they got back, it took little time to find, not just Brenvan, but their father, Karimir, and mother, Senisha, being readied to hang, with a crowd gathered around to watch the spectacle. As soon as their father saw them, he called out in Orcish, “Go! Run and don't look back!”.
“We need to leave. Now,” said Karamak, also in Orcish, tugging at Grim's sleeve. “Don't go home, we've got what we need in our backpacks. We'll split up and meet at White Crag tower.” Without waiting for a reply, Karamak ran off. Grim hesitated a moment longer, fists clenched, but reluctantly ran when he noticed a guard beginning to paying close attention to him.
When Grim left Highburn, it was initially with the intention of doing just as his brother instructed. But the farther away from the town he got, the more rage he felt bubbling up within him, and a desperate need to get revenge.
But Grim couldn’t just flee, wouldn’t flee! Not long after leaving the town, and before catching up with his brother, Grim found a place to hide, waited for nightfall and crept back to Highburn. Knowing Bordic had a routine to and from a tavern, Grim waited for him in the same place he'd waylaid him the last time.
“Surprise, arsehole,” he said, pinning Bordic up against the wall. “Didn't expect to see me again, did you, shithead?” he said, seeing the look of fear on his face instead of cockiness.
“What… what do you want? You want to end up the same way as your disgusting parents?”
Grim, though, could see the fear overriding his attempt at bravado. “It's people like you that call us half-orcs savages,” raged Grim. “We're the savages! You killed a woman for turning you down, blamed an innocent man for your crime, got him and my own parents hung! You… filth! Brenvan and my parents were good people that did nothing wrong to you or anyone else!” Grim spat in his face, the glob of phlegm hitting him square in the right eye.
“Look, I… I can give you money. Lots of money! My family are rich! I can exonerate your friend and parents and blame someone else!”
Grim let out a short, humourless laugh. “I almost feel sorry for you. You really can't help being a pathetic slug, can you? Almost, but not quite.” At this, Bordic finally felt the tip of Grim's dagger press against his belly, just below his ribs.
“Wai… wait! Look… ah… look, I… I can...”
“This is for my parents,” said Grim, as he thrust the dagger into his belly, shoving it up under his ribcage. The look of fear was partly replaced by the look of shock. Clearly he never thought anyone would ever stand up to him and fight back. “And this is for Brenvan,” he added. The look of shock was immediately replaced by agony as he twisted the dagger. The only sound coming from his thin lips, though, was nothing more than a gasp and a gentle groan.
As Bordic slid to the ground, Grim withdrew his dagger. To add insult to injury, Grim pissed on the still-living body, but with the rapidly growing pool of blood gathering around him, he knew he wouldn't be living for long. He knew he should leave, but he wanted to see him take his final breath.
After a short time, Grim heard his death rattle and his body twitch one last time. Not wanting to waste any more time, he turned and fled, never planning to see Highburn again, but not before retrieving his horse, Ghash.
Grim made his way straight to the ruins of the White Crag tower, but found no sign of his brother. He looked for the remains of a camp fire, a hidden message, any signs that he'd been there, but found nothing.
Setting up his own temporary camp, Grim waited, and seethed. He’d spent his entire life attempting to live the life of a civilised human, all but repudiating his Orcish heritage. If he’d bothered to think about full-blooded orcs at all then it was with contempt. Stupid, violent creatures that seemed to live to do little but rape, steal and kill. Now, though, Grim began to rethink his opinions. Perhaps they’d had it right all along. They took what they wanted and killed those who got in their way. Non-orcs might not respect them but they certainly feared them.
All his life, Grim’s family had did their best to gain respect, and it had got his parents killed. Brenvan befriended him and that had got him killed. His brother was gone, possibly dead. Grim was on his own, no friends and no family.
After three days, Grim had decided to wait no long and began to pack up to leave, when he saw a rider in the distance heading in his direction. From a place of hiding, Grim eventually saw that he was wearing Highburn livery. His first instinct had been to quickly finish packing and leave, but then changed his mind. Grim did indeed finish packing, but instead of leaving, he left his horse tied up at a certain spot that would enable him to ambush the rider if he decided to approach his horse.
Sure enough, the rider headed straight for tower and quickly spotted his horse. After a quick look around, he hopped off his horse and approached Grim’s horse. As he began to go through the saddle bags, Grim sprung from his hiding place and slashed his sword in a horizontal arc, taking his head clean off his shoulders. The lifeless body toppled to the side, while the head landed some distance away and continued rolling for some distance still.
Grim picked up the Highburn rider and tied him across his horse, pointed it in the direction of Highburn and slapped it on the rump. The horse bolted and ran back the way they had came. Let that be a message to the worthless scum of Highburn, he thought as he hopped on his own horse.
With one last look around, Grim left, never having discovered just who this mysterious human girl was that apparently liked him, and how lucky she’d been to have escaped all this.

Grimaruk was known by his friends as Grim. That is to say, he was known as Grim by his only real friend, Brenvan. Brenvan's parents and Grim's brother also called him Grim. Others generally used Grimaruk, if they bothered to use a non-insulting name. His parents, not surprisingly, used his full name, because “Your name isn’t Grim” insisted his mother, “It’s Grimaruk”.
It wasn't easy being a half-orc living surrounded by other races, especially humans. There were a few half-orc families in Highburn, but they mostly kept to themselves. Some were friendly in passing, while others were outright hostile. When Grim had still been a child, his father, Karimir, explained to him that it was largely because most of the half-orcs were desperate to fit in and not seem like they were developing into some kind of angry mob, ready to slaughter all the humans. While many of the humans were at least superficially friendly, there was still an undercurrent of distrust, if not outright fear, regarding half-orcs. More than a few humans were straight-out hostile towards them, and half-orcs soon worked out who to avoid and to keep their heads down. Still, Highburn was actually a pretty tolerant town for half-orcs compared to some places.
Grim's skin was grey with a hint of purple, along with the usual pointed canine teeth thrusting up from the bottom jaw, although not as prominent as full-blooded orcs. While skin colour can vary a bit amongst half-orcs, his wasn't unusual. The long auburn coloured hair was less typical, though. The family story was that the human side of their family was a Regdar human – an important human, perhaps a nobleman – hence the brown rather than black hair, which is much more typical for orcs and half-orcs. Whether or not that story was true was anyone's guess, but it sounded good. More than a few half-orcs had similar family histories, though, so Grim was doubtful at best. Not that it made them more human in the eyes of most humans, though, even if true; a half-orc was always more orc than human in their eyes. Orcs, though, had the opposite view; a half-orc was always more human than orc and to be equally distrusted, especially since half-orcs were usually smarter than full-blooded orcs. But whoever Grim’s human ancestors really were, he had reason to think they must have more than held their own in the intelligence department, because intelligence was one thing Grim prided himself on, even amongst humans.
Grim's powerful six foot seven, 240 pound frame also made him stand out from the humans of Highburn. He towered over Brenvan's five foot eight, but Brenvan never cared. Grim once asked his friend why he wasn't bothered with him being a half-orc. “Why should it?” he'd replied with a shrug of the shoulders. And that was that; they never again discussed their differences, only their similarities. And there were more than a few.
Both loved to practice sword play, sometimes training for hours a day. Grim’s great strength was usually matched by Brenvan’s speed and nimbleness, able to jump and roll out of the way of his powerful strokes of his practice weapon. It had taught Grim that he couldn’t just rely on his strength to win; it also took patience and strategy.
Both also loved roaming the countryside that surrounded Highburn, whether it be hunting or simply exploring. It wasn't unusual for them to 'forget' how long they'd been gone for and come back days after they'd said they would return. Both families eventually learnt to accept things the way they were and not to get too concerned with their extended absences.
Brenvan's family also learnt to accept the fact that their only son had a half-orc as a best friend, which wasn't exactly something to crow about to the neighbours. Still, accept it they did. If their paths crossed in public, they were little more than cordial – a nod of the head would usually suffice, if anything – but in private they felt free to be more friendly and open towards him. It certainly hadn't started that way, but Grim was happy with how things had developed.
Then things changed. At the age of 20, Brenvan fell for a village girl by the name of Lunila. He'd had flings with other girls in the past, but it had been obvious to Grim that this time was different.
“What do you think of Lunila?” he'd asked during one of their hunting trips. They'd taken a rest and were leaning against the same tree trunk.
“Not bad for a human,” joked Grim.
“Seriously, though. Do you… do you think she might be interested in marrying me? She seems to like me plenty.”
And right there and then, Grim saw their days of wandering the lands together disappearing. A part of him had always held onto a vague hope that one day they'd leave together, just pack up their stuff and… go. Where, he didn't know, and he didn't care. He hated the idea of loosing his only friend. A day like this, though, had played in the back of his mind the first time Brenvan had gotten himself a girlfriend. He also remembered how pleased and relieved he'd been when it hadn't lasted beyond a month.
The temptation now was to try and sow seeds of distrust in his friend, to turn his mind against Lunila. But he couldn't do it. He could see how much he loved her and knew how happy he'd be if she'd agreed to be his wife.
“Well, you don’t want to go rushing into things and risk scaring her off. But… I think she'd be mad to turn you down. Madder than the usual human, that is,” he said. Brenvan playfully punched his arm. “Ask if she's got a cousin that isn't too picky, or blind,” he added. They'd both laughed.
“Actually, I do know someone that just might be interested,” said Brenvan, grinning from ear to ear.
“What is she, a full-blooded orc with even worse hygiene than normal?”
Brenvan laughed. “No, she's human. She's quite attractive, in fact. Although I don't think you can afford to be too picky. I mean, look at you!” Grim punched his arm gently, but still hard enough to leave a bruise, although his mock anger was ruined by his laughter.
Unbeknown to either of them, though, was that someone else also had their eye on Lunila. It was hardly surprising, considering how attractive she was, but when Brenvan found out that this other guy was Bordic, the son of an important, rich and powerful official named Sojak, Brenvan lost heart, convinced he didn't stand a chance.
As it turned out, it would have been better if Brenvan hadn't stood a chance, but Lunila really did only have eyes for Brenvan.
One day, Grim made his way to the local markets. Hardly had he arrived than he began to overhear people talking about a tragedy that had occurred. Grim initially only half paid attention, until he heard the name Lunila mentioned.
“Why would somebody killed poor Lunila?” an old lady said to her friend as they shuffled passed. “I never would have suspected Brenvan, never! I thought he was such a good boy!”
Grim dropped his basket and ran to Brenvan's house. He burst through the door without pausing, half tearing the door off its hinges, scaring Brenvan's parents half to death.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, trying not to let panic overcome him. Brenvan's mother broke into sobbing, something she'd clearly been doing before he'd arrived.
“Brenvan has been accused of… killing Lunila,” said the father, a pained look on his face. Once looking handsome and virile, he now looked old and worn-out. Grim could feel rage beginning to bubble within.
“He didn't do it!” said his mother. “He loved her! And so did we!” she said, before descending into uncontrolled sobbing once more.
Grim turned and bolted from the house, followed by Brenvan's father calling after him, “Grim, don't do anything stupid!”
Hurrying to where he knew Brenvan would be held, the Constable's Tower, he tried to get in to him, only to be stopped by guards. No one would answer any questions, and after considering the possibility of fighting his way in, but with the words of Brenvan’s father still ringing in his ears, he reluctantly left, knowing full well the futility of such an action.
Further attempts throughout the day to gain information only ended with more frustration, with no one willing to talk to him. That night, as he was drowning his sorrows in a tavern, he overheard conversations from fellow patrons, discussing the current rumours doing the rounds.
“That Lunila girl wasn't killed by Brenvan, that's what I heard,” said one semi-inebriated patron.
“Yeah, that's what I heard, too,” said another. “What I hear is that it was that lazy son of Sojak, Bordic.” Others nodded their agreement. “I hear he had a thing for her and tried to convince her to get rid of Brenvan for him; he even tried to bribe her, so I hear.”
“And when she turned him down,” chimed in another, “he got angry and jealous and killed her. Funny that it was him that supposedly saw Brenvan kill her, don't ya think?”
“Nothin' to be done, though,” added the first. “Try to cause trouble and it'll be you hangin' by a rope.” The others nodded in agreement and quickly moved on to other subjects.
Later that night, Grim was able to waylay Bordic as he was making his way through the streets back to his luxurious home.
“You killed Lunila,” said Grim, his nose nearly touching his. “Admit it!”
Bordic laughed. “What happened, is your boyfriend going to hang? And what are you going to do about it, you filthy orc?”
Grim's right hand wrapped around his throat, while he bared his teeth and growled.
“You think killing me will save your boyfriend? You think your filthy family won't end up at the end of ropes as well?” Grim's grip, which had been tightening, stopped, and then loosened. He hadn't considered the possibility that his own family could be in danger. Grim's hand fell from his throat. Bordic snorted. “All of your filthy kind should hang, every last one of you!”
Grim's hands, now hanging by his sides, balled into fists. It was with considerable effort that Grim resisted the desperate urge to kill him where he stood. Instead, he watched as Bordic slid away along the wall and began to leave. Rather that walk away, though, Bordic turned around.
“I told Lunila she was a fool to choose Brenvan over me. No one denies me what I want! It was a lesson she learnt too late, and it'll be a lesson you'll do well to learn. Or else.” With that, Bordic swaggered away, leaving Grim fuming with impotent rage.
The only information Grim was able to obtain was that it would take a week for the mock trial and inevitable hanging to happen. With that knowledge, Grim convinced his brother, Karamak, to go hunting with him, so they could clear their heads and try to work out what to do.
After only two days’ away, though, someone came riding up to them at a gallop. At first, both Grim and his brother drew their swords, reading for a fight, until they recognised him as a friend of Brenvan.
“Thank god I found you! I might already be too late,” he gasped.
“What? What's happened?” said Grim, feeling dread settle over him.
“They're going to hang your parents! It may be too late, I don't know.” Without another word, Grim immediately broke into a sprint. “Here, take the horse! I can find my own way back.” With that, he jumped down and both Grim and Karamak leapt onto the horse and headed for Highburn.
When they got back, it took little time to find, not just Brenvan, but their father, Karimir, and mother, Senisha, being readied to hang, with a crowd gathered around to watch the spectacle. As soon as their father saw them, he called out in Orcish, “Go! Run and don't look back!”.
“We need to leave. Now,” said Karamak, also in Orcish, tugging at Grim's sleeve. “Don't go home, we've got what we need in our backpacks. We'll split up and meet at White Crag tower.” Without waiting for a reply, Karamak ran off. Grim hesitated a moment longer, fists clenched, but reluctantly ran when he noticed a guard beginning to paying close attention to him.
When Grim left Highburn, it was initially with the intention of doing just as his brother instructed. But the farther away from the town he got, the more rage he felt bubbling up within him, and a desperate need to get revenge.
But Grim couldn’t just flee, wouldn’t flee! Not long after leaving the town, and before catching up with his brother, Grim found a place to hide, waited for nightfall and crept back to Highburn. Knowing Bordic had a routine to and from a tavern, Grim waited for him in the same place he'd waylaid him the last time.
“Surprise, arsehole,” he said, pinning Bordic up against the wall. “Didn't expect to see me again, did you, shithead?” he said, seeing the look of fear on his face instead of cockiness.
“What… what do you want? You want to end up the same way as your disgusting parents?”
Grim, though, could see the fear overriding his attempt at bravado. “It's people like you that call us half-orcs savages,” raged Grim. “We're the savages! You killed a woman for turning you down, blamed an innocent man for your crime, got him and my own parents hung! You… filth! Brenvan and my parents were good people that did nothing wrong to you or anyone else!” Grim spat in his face, the glob of phlegm hitting him square in the right eye.
“Look, I… I can give you money. Lots of money! My family are rich! I can exonerate your friend and parents and blame someone else!”
Grim let out a short, humourless laugh. “I almost feel sorry for you. You really can't help being a pathetic slug, can you? Almost, but not quite.” At this, Bordic finally felt the tip of Grim's dagger press against his belly, just below his ribs.
“Wai… wait! Look… ah… look, I… I can...”
“This is for my parents,” said Grim, as he thrust the dagger into his belly, shoving it up under his ribcage. The look of fear was partly replaced by the look of shock. Clearly he never thought anyone would ever stand up to him and fight back. “And this is for Brenvan,” he added. The look of shock was immediately replaced by agony as he twisted the dagger. The only sound coming from his thin lips, though, was nothing more than a gasp and a gentle groan.
As Bordic slid to the ground, Grim withdrew his dagger. To add insult to injury, Grim pissed on the still-living body, but with the rapidly growing pool of blood gathering around him, he knew he wouldn't be living for long. He knew he should leave, but he wanted to see him take his final breath.
After a short time, Grim heard his death rattle and his body twitch one last time. Not wanting to waste any more time, he turned and fled, never planning to see Highburn again, but not before retrieving his horse, Ghash.
Grim made his way straight to the ruins of the White Crag tower, but found no sign of his brother. He looked for the remains of a camp fire, a hidden message, any signs that he'd been there, but found nothing.
Setting up his own temporary camp, Grim waited, and seethed. He’d spent his entire life attempting to live the life of a civilised human, all but repudiating his Orcish heritage. If he’d bothered to think about full-blooded orcs at all then it was with contempt. Stupid, violent creatures that seemed to live to do little but rape, steal and kill. Now, though, Grim began to rethink his opinions. Perhaps they’d had it right all along. They took what they wanted and killed those who got in their way. Non-orcs might not respect them but they certainly feared them.
All his life, Grim’s family had did their best to gain respect, and it had got his parents killed. Brenvan befriended him and that had got him killed. His brother was gone, possibly dead. Grim was on his own, no friends and no family.
After three days, Grim had decided to wait no long and began to pack up to leave, when he saw a rider in the distance heading in his direction. From a place of hiding, Grim eventually saw that he was wearing Highburn livery. His first instinct had been to quickly finish packing and leave, but then changed his mind. Grim did indeed finish packing, but instead of leaving, he left his horse tied up at a certain spot that would enable him to ambush the rider if he decided to approach his horse.
Sure enough, the rider headed straight for tower and quickly spotted his horse. After a quick look around, he hopped off his horse and approached Grim’s horse. As he began to go through the saddle bags, Grim sprung from his hiding place and slashed his sword in a horizontal arc, taking his head clean off his shoulders. The lifeless body toppled to the side, while the head landed some distance away and continued rolling for some distance still.
Grim picked up the Highburn rider and tied him across his horse, pointed it in the direction of Highburn and slapped it on the rump. The horse bolted and ran back the way they had came. Let that be a message to the worthless scum of Highburn, he thought as he hopped on his own horse.
With one last look around, Grim left, never having discovered just who this mysterious human girl was that apparently liked him, and how lucky she’d been to have escaped all this.

As far as I’m concerned, you write your posts in the style your comfortable with.

As far as I’m concerned, you write your posts in the style your comfortable with.

And sometimes treasures that require trysts to obtain.

And sometimes treasures that require trysts to obtain.

Oh, that is so making me think about a plot I never found the impetus to use. ::glares at the little ankle-gnawing plot bunny:: Taverns in the woods have so much potential, speaking as a not-quite-reformed D&D player. Mysterious cloaked figure sends adventurers out in search of trysts rather than treasure...

The potential problem with doing sci fi, I think, is that it’s a less popular genre than fantasy.  Fantasy is a more accessible genre than sci fi, meaning it’s easier for people to get into than sci fi would be, even if they’re not big fantasy fans.  That’s less true when it comes to sci fi.  And if we were going to do this then it needs to be as accessible as possible to as many people as possible.  Which is why we shouldn’t say “Hey, let’s make it a Witcher 3 orgy!” for example.  If it’s based on a specific game/movie/book then people that aren’t into that are unlikely to want to join in.

Yes and no.  Pictures can only be uploaded to the Art Room forum – which is member’s only access – and then only of the drawn or digital variety; i.e., no photographs of real people.  And no photo manipulations of any kind.  Any pictures uploaded to any other forums will be deleted.  Also, no pornographic pictures beyond mild nudity will be allowed to be used in your Signature, Cover Photo or Profile Picture.
So, why have we decided to do this?  Well, firstly, this site always has been and always will be primarily about written smut, not smutty pictures.  But perhaps the main reason is that different countries have different laws about what’s illegal visually and what isn’t, and we want to make it as difficult as possible for people to accidentally stumble on pictures that would be considered illegal in their country.
Outside of the Art Room forum, you can provide a link to a picture hosted elsewhere, as long as there’s a clear description of what the picture is of, and do not use any link that means the picture is downloaded to their computer as soon as someone clicks on the link; it has to be a picture that is viewable without needing to be downloaded first.  This is to ensure no one tries to force a virus or anything else unsavoury onto an unsuspecting person.  Any link not meeting these requirements will be removed and the member warned.
If you’re unsure whether or not a picture you have uploaded to your profile or signature is acceptable then please don’t hesitate to ask a moderator.

The first thing you should know is that this forum is for promoting your own story that you’ve uploaded to the AFF archive only. That is, no stories that you’ve uploaded to other websites not connected to AdultFanFiction.

With that established, the first thing you need to do is to click on the ‘Start New Topic’ button. In the ‘Topic Title’ area, the simplest thing to put is just the name of your story.

The main body of your post could begin with a brief intro, telling people you’ve posted a new story, or a brand new chapter of your story. That isn’t required, but the following information is:

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Feedback:
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Pairing:
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Solo story or chaptered story:
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An example of what it should look like is below:

Author: Melrick
Title: An Interesting Story
Summary: A really interesting thing happens, and then something else even more interesting happens! (Here you can write as detailed a blurb as you want to. A catchy summary to entice the reader.) 
Feedback: Feedback and constructive criticism much appreciated.
Fandom: Original
Pairing: N/A
Warnings: M/F, Oral, Anal
Solo story or chaptered story: Solo story
URL: http://original.adul...ion.net/FakeURL
Review Reply thread: Link to review reply thread in the appropriate forum, if and when you make one.

You could, if you like, finish your post by thanking people for reading, or that you hope they enjoy it. And you really should make sure that your spelling and grammar is good, otherwise it won’t exactly leave a good impression about your writing skills!

And that’s all there is to it!

You’ve received a review for your story, and in the review the person has asked a question. You’d like to reply to that person. So do you just leave a ‘review’ to your own story to reply to that person? No, you don’t. Why? Because it’s against the Terms of Service, that’s why.

The full reason is two-fold. Firstly, that’s not the purpose of the reviews. It’s meant to only contain genuine reviews, not discussions; it’s not a chat service or a mini-forum. Some people like to artificially inflate their reviews by leaving their own ‘reviews’ as replies to other reviews. Some people also like to carry on arguments with nasty reviewers. If you do get a nasty review that is clearly there just to be annoying then simply delete it. If the person keeps harassing you then report it to a mod here on the forum. Also, the archive website and forums are completely free to you, but they’re definitely not free for us! Therefore, saving bandwidth makes good economic sense.

But you really want to communicate with your fans! How? This is how.

On the main forum page, scroll down until you see the ‘Fan Fiction’ section. There are three subforums for you to look at. There’s ‘Anime/Manga (all)’, ‘NON Anime/Single Fandom Subdomains’ and ‘All Other Subdomains’. Find which subforum your story falls under and go there. For example, if your story is a Harry Potter story then you’d click on ‘NON Anime/Single Fandom Subdomain’ then on ‘Harry Potter’. Where was your story posted in the archive? If it was posted in the 'Het-Male/Female' section then click on that link, for example. Regardless, choose the appropriate category and click in it.

Once there, click on the ‘Start New Topic’ button. For the Topic Title, you should write something which identifies this tread as a review replies thread for your story. For example, you could write: ‘Review Replies for <story name>’.

With that done, you should give some details of your story, such as the full name, perhaps a brief summary of your story if you like (without giving away spoilers, of course!), a link to your story on the AFF archive, and perhaps any other info you feel is relevant for the opening post. Then subsequent posts would have the username of the person you’re responding to and your reply to them. You could include replies to several people in the one post.

An important thing to remember is to mention this thread in your story posted in the archive, so readers know it’s there! If it’s a single chapter story, include an author’s note at the end of the story, telling people about your review replies thread, a link directly to that thread, and encouraging people to go there to see your comments! If your story is a multi-chapter story then you could include a short author’s note at the end of each chapter, if you like, to remind people of your review reply thread. But do not create a separate chapter for author’s notes or to reply to reviews! Both are against our ToS. Another thing you should never do is include an author’s note in the middle of your chapter. That makes your story look amateurish and you unprofessional.

What if you’ve just uploaded your story and you’re not confident that you’ll get enough replies to make creating a review reply thread straight away relevant? What if you later do get a number of replies to which you’d like to reply to? Simple! Just create the thread in the forum as mentioned above and then go into your story in the archive and edit it to include the author’s note information!

The most important thing of all is to have fun! Which includes no flaming in your review replies, but I’m sure you’d never do that.