Durgen briskly jogged down the dirt path on the outer edge of the village, his heart thundered in his chest and he gasped with almost every step as he felt his stamina almost bottom out again. His feet were sore and heavy as if they had been replaced by boulders. Finally, unable to continue, crawled down to his hands and knees before unceremoniously plopping to his side, gasping for air with his back against the carved rock wall. Some passerby snickered, others simply looked down on him, but Durgen was too exhausted to care. Instead, he checked his progress.

Chores for the Weak

Description: Dae’mon has given you homework while your tattoos heal. Just because you’re in recovery doesn’t mean you get to be lazy!

Push-ups: 100/250

Jog: 1.4/4 miles

Activate Sigil of the Berserker: 0/3

Solve this riddle: 0/1

Sometimes I am born in silence, other times no. I am unseen, but I make my presence known. In time, I fade without a trace. I harm no one, but I am unpopular with all. What am I?

Rewards:

+2 Strength

+2 Dexterity

+2 Wisdom

600 XP

Time remaining: 55 hours 8 minutes 49 seconds

He smiled weakly at his progress, he had been up all morning starting with getting his push-ups to one hundred after putting on more ointment, as he felt that it was a nice number to leave off at and he’s been jogging ever since, already gotten a notification not too long ago that his Dexterity score had gone up by one for his efforts. Determined, he slowly stood, the bottoms of his feet stung as soon as his boots touched ground. Legs shaking violently, he felt like a newborn fawn as he wobbled forward, occasionally bracing himself on the rock wall, careful not to bump into anyone.

He continued limping down the narrow dirt road, the pain in his feet slowly fading as the sun finally rose over the top of the mountain ridge. He took in the scene as the village became more illuminated by the rays of sunlight. More and more people are walking about, setting off to do their tasks. It wasn’t long before Durgen heard the grunting and the meaty sounds of fists hitting bare flesh. Curious, he hugged the wall until he came around the corner, realizing that he must have stumbled upon the village’s arena. A large square marked by four metal posts with ropes tightly running through them surrounded by stadium seating carved into the mountain side.

A few people were occupying some of the seats watching a trio of orcs in color coded outfits fighting strangely. They were fighting more so with their whole bodies than their fists, although Durgen did see a punch or two being thrown. The one in a yellow sash around his waist was pinning the one in blue down while twisting a limb and pulling it at an odd angle, then the red one lifted him off his victim, bending head over backwards, slamming his head into the ground. The crowd cheered as the red sashed one flexed and boasted, only to be grabbed from behind by the blue one and be lifted over his head. Holding him for only a moment, making sure the crowd was watching as he knelt and slammed yellow into his knee like he was trying to break a stick. The crowd gasped in pained sympathy. Some laughed while others shouted angerly, clearly not pleased with the outcome.

“Oi! Take it easy! Save it for Sa’urday when you boiz can ‘ave at it!” Came a booming voice somewhere near Durgen, who was so startled by the sudden outcry that he nearly fell backwards. Catching himself, he looked further around the corner, spotting a tall wooden announcers booth. “Take a break ya gitz! An’ someone check on Stev, make sure he ain’t broken!” Before Durgen could react, a large muscular orc in a studded fur kilt stepped from to back of the booth towards the stairwell, immediately catching Durgen’s gaze. “Well what’s dis den? You lost welp?” He asked without breaking stride.

“Nah, I’z just passin’ through.” Durgen managed to spew out.

“Ya sure? Ya got alot of ink fur a puny welp. Ya got ‘em from Dae’mon roight? Ah, dese ‘re fresh!” the big orc continued, walking right up to Durgen, admiring the patterns on his arms.

“Yeah it be a blessin’… gibes me extra strength. Said I needs it.” Durgen half lied. Remembering how the shaman reacted when he told him about the sigil.

“Hehe! What’s ur name, boi?”

“Durgen.” He answered with an outstretched hand.

“Grig, I be runnin’ da arena.” Grig greeted accepting the offered hand with a more than firm shake. Wincing slightly, Durgen changed the subject.

“I can tell, I saw that last bit, what kind of foighten’ is dat? Iz dat git goin be okay?” Durgen asked pointing to the pair of orcs carrying off what he guessed was Stev with his back arched in an odd angle on a stretcher walking behind Grig, groaning in agony. Grig turned to that direction, his shoulder visibly slumped.

“Ah zog!” he cursed. “Looks loike I needs a new opener. How’s about you, boi? You got two arms an’ legs!”

“Wha- me? No way I’d get stomped!”

“Bah! Not if ya the know how! It’s all a show, fur enta’tainment. ‘ave ya never been ‘ere?” Grig asked in surprise, Durgen shrugged.

“Neva ‘ad a reason to.” Durgen admitted. “Me mum sez itz all nonsense.”

“Hehe, that be the point! Tell ya what, boi, unless ya got somethin’ else to do, I can use another wrestler for tomorra’.” Grig said, then a message popped in Durgen’s vision.

New Quest Received: Turbo Smackdown Ultra!

Description: Warboss Grig, The Gremlin Tamer, has asked if you would like to volunteer for tomorrow night’s event.

Fight in at least one match: 0/1

Rewards:

Unknown

Accept /// Decline

I’ve been gettin’ a lot of quests lately. Durgen noted in his inner thoughts, as well as a couple other details in the quest that caught his attention, such as the rewards were ‘unknown’ and probably the most alarming:

“You’z a Warboss!?” Durgen blurted, his voice cracking.

“Dats roight, one of the three, but dat doesn’t answer MY question now, does it?” Durgen thought for a moment, concentrating on the quest, he only had one active quest to work on and he really wasn’t doing much else. He didn’t like the fact that the rewards were unknown but figured he’d learn something new or at the very least get some use out of his sigil. He hovered over the quest for only a moment before accepting it.

“Alroight, what do I gotta do?” Durgen queried as Grig beamed a wide smile.

“Follow me to dah ring.” He instructed, leading Durgen to the center of the arena splitting a pair of ropes for him to climb through.

“Whyz it called a ring if it’s a square?” Durgen asked while Grig climbed his way up to the platform.

“It used to be just a circle drawn in dirt, the name just stuck. Now come on, I gotta show you some of dah basics.” He said, gesturing to Durgen towards the center of the ring. “Now I won’t lie, you’z small, but you can work dat to yur advan’age. You wanna take a wide stance.” He began while demonstrating. “Both feet pointing forward while yur best foot is one step ahead. Dis way you can shift yur weight around.” He said while going side to side and gestured to Durgen to do the same. Mirroring Grig, Durgen shifted back and forth getting a good feel for his own weight as Grig continued. “Every fight you’ll be in will be situational, but ‘ere most will be bigger, stronger, an’ more experience. I’ll show you some basic takedowns that even I still use.”

“Take downs? I thought we were fightin’. What kind of fightin’ is dis?” Durgen asked impatiently.

“Oi, good question, iz called ‘wrestlin’.’ When two orcy boiz wail on eachotha’ with bare fists, what you think will happen? Not much. Our constitution is naturally high, their punches wouldn’t do anything to eachotha’, so some smart boi came up with dis style of fightin’ dats designed to cause as much pain as possible with permanent damage being optional.”

“Optional?” Durgen asked in surprise.

“You’ll see, but first quit yur yappin’ an pay attention.” Grig said while going back to his wide stance and Durgen doing the same. “Dis is called a double leg takedown, what I loike to do is lead with my left hand loike dis.” He instructed, placing the hand on Durgen’s right shoulder. “An with yur otha’ hand wrap around dah back of dah head an snap downwards.” Grig continued, following through his instructions, and pulling Durgen’s head downward, Durgen’s comfort level having dropped drastically but didn’t resist as the lesson continued. “Now yur first instinct iz probably going to be getting’ yur head back up roight?” Durgen nodded. “Dat’s usually their first reaction too, so you let ‘em go an as they pull their head back up, dat’s when you get lower, elbows down to yur sides loike dis.” Grig said while releasing his hold on Durgen who immediately pulled himself back up without realizing and found himself looking over a hunched over Grig, his elbows down to his hips. “Now when yur here, ya take a step forward with yur leadin’ leg an as ya do so, you’ll drive yur knee down, grab behind dah knees an’ with yur otha’ leg drive yourself forward while pulling up an’ towards yourself loike dis.” He finished as he followed through the motions he just explained, dropping to one knee while grabbing behind both Durgen’s, causing him to loss all control and fell backwards knocking out all the air in his lungs, before Durgen can take in the much the needed air Grig was already on top of him, his weight alone preventing him from inhaling.

The next few hours came and went, the small crowd of other wrestlers watched in amusement as Durgen learned more ways to take down an opponent with Grig often giving him firsthand experience, as well as different ways to pin them down, twist their limbs, and use the environment to his advantage. Durgen was surprised to hear that it wasn’t uncommon for people in the audience to throw in chairs and other furniture in the ring to spice things up. Upon asking what they were for Grig was kind enough to show him by slamming him into a dining table, breaking it in half. Once the lessons were finished, Grig, complimenting his fast learning ability, offered him lunch as Durgen limped alongside him, heading to the nearby concession stand. Durgen was beaten, sweaty, and bruised, but oddly enough, he had to admit he had a really great time. They took their seats and watched four wrestlers practice flipping themselves off the ropes while eating what Durgen was told “Goblin Pie.” He had no idea what was in it, but it had a nice meaty taste, so he didn’t complain. A pair of goblins sat on the bench Infront of them, food in literal handfuls, Durgen couldn’t help but overhear their idle chatter.

“Pie good! Pie friend! Make music from bum!” The other chuckled, spewing meat chunks on his friend, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Bum music is just food ghosts you nug!” the other chided playfully before stuffing his face again. Durgen took another bite and chewed through the stick meat and his new thought. Bum music? Was dey talkin’ about farts? Dat’s nasty, but what if it was silent… Realization struck Durgen as he swallowed, bringing some words to the front of his mind. Born in slince, unseen, known presence, unpopular with all. It all makes sense; The answer was farts!

Quest objective complete! The riddle has been solved! 3/4 objectives remain, you can do it!

Durgen was elated! Now all he had to do was all the physical objectives. He was about to jump in the air with fists raised but he still had food in his hands, and he had priorities, so instead he settled on a celebrity bite out of his goblin pie. He was chewing through his third bite when Grig spoke up.

“So, any idea what yur wrestlin’ names gonna be?” he asked.

“My wut?” Durgen asked, bits of pie spewing from his lips.

“Ya know! Yur characta! Every wrestlas go their own characta, its half the show!”

“I still don know wut ya mean.” Grig took a deep sigh before continuing.

“It’s like dis roight, I’z da Grimlin Tama, I tame only da bestest green gremlins dat anyone ‘as eva greeted, anyone who seyz othawise gets stomped. Dats my characta. See dat git ova dere?” Grig asked, pointing to another wrestler casually watching the others practice. Durgen nodded.

“His names Grump, but his characta is da Rubbish Boi, he comes in da ring with fist-fulls of garbage and throws it around at people, the crowd loves it!”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Durgen admitted.

“Den let’s go.” Grig suggested as he stood. Unsure what to do Durgen took another bite and followed with his pie in tow. Looking back, he saw Grig left half eaten, memories of his mother scolding him for wasting food came to mind so while he wasn’t looking, he grabbed it. Fur safe keepin’! He told himself.

Durgen followed him through the village as he scarfed down. It was mid-day, and the village was as full of life with everyone doing something. However, as the pair approached Durgen couldn’t help but note that once again everyone looked at them funny. Small crowds would part ways, leaving plenty of space. He looked back up to Grig and noticed he was giving off a strange presence that he hadn’t seen before, a strange aura of alpha authority radiated from him, compelling Durgen to follow. The sound of hammering grew louder as they approached the smithy. The old smith was accompanied by a trio of goblins taking turns hammering away on a large piece of red-hot iron while he watched, arms folded. His hair was short but braided and his saggy skin was a pale, sickly green. He looked at Grig and only gave a small wave as a greeting. Grig nodded in reply and Durgen followed him around back where a large stone structure was hidden. The only other thing to note was the banded iron door in the center.

“What is dis?” He asked.

“One of our storage rooms, dis one iz where we keep da scraps. We go fishin’ in ‘ere fur our ooniforms.” Grig explained as he fiddled for something in his pocket before pulling out a ring of keys. After several attempts he found the right one, Durgen cringed as the heavy door swung open with a loud scraping sound as the rusted hinges protested the door’s shifting weight. The room illuminated with glowing yellow and orange spheres that ran along the walls horizontally as Grig stepped in, gesturing for Durgen to follow once more. Piles of miscellaneous armor scraps, weapons, and tools were strewn about haphazardly as though they were simply tossed in here without a second thought. The only items that seemed to be treated with any form of care were the weapons mounted on the walls. Each one unique in its design with several styles of craftsmanship that he didn’t recognize.

Durgen turned around just in time to dodge a rogue object zip past his head. While he was distracted by the first one, he winced as another bounced off his arm. He whipped back around spotting Grig hunched over rummaging through a random pile, occasionally throwing something over his shoulder. To get out of throwing distance Durgen circled around towards him, being mindful of each step, often having to nudge something out of his way for his foot to touch the ground. While trying to avoid a particular set of spiky armor he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A rusted horned iron helmet with three arrow shafts sticking out of it was resting on top of a pile nearby, facing away from him just within reach. He grabbed it by a horn, wanting a closer look, but when he lifted it something came with it that he hadn’t noticed. At first, he thought it was something that got snagged but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a part of it. Their tags appearing in his vision.

Rusted Orcish Iron Helmet

Rarity: Common

Quality: Trash

Item Slot: Head

Iron

Armor: 20

Durability: 7/18

Orcish Iron Jaw

Rarity: Common

Quality: Great

Item Slot: Face

Iron

Armor: 40

Durability: 120/120

He finagled with the leather straps inside the helmet, careful not to cut himself on the arrowheads, until he finally got the jaw loose. It was “U” shaped with jagged metal “teeth” painted red, bolted all along the front. After a couple attempts, he managed to wear it correctly, tightening the two straps that run around over and the back of his head over his hair, his chin resting on the little plate at the base of the jaw. He moved his mouth around, going side to side and up and down, testing the weight, finding that it's still too loose as it jostled and swayed, despite tightening as much as he could. He wished that he could have an idea of what he looked like with it on and as soon as the thought struck him, a window popped up in his vision displaying a smaller version of himself with arms raised in a “T” pose as it slowly rotated.

“Oh yeah!” Durgen exclaimed as he recalled how Dae’mon taught him about this the other day.

“Was dat?” Grig called out. “You find somethin’?” Durgen turned behind him, suddenly remembering what he was doing here in the first place as Grig carefully tip toed his way to him, carrying something in arms that radiated with a strange presence. Once he got close enough to get a good look, he smiled. “Ah! Good eye, boi! Dose fell outta style a while ago, way to bring ‘em back!” he said approvingly, holding out what he was cradling earlier. “Hold dese an hold still.” he continued, as Durgen did so without thinking. He stood in silence as Grig unbuckled the leather straps up and around his head. He held up to his face, examining it closely. A few approving nods later he held the jaw on both ends and bent them a little closer together before putting it back on Durgen’s face, moving Durgen’s dreads out of the way as he tightened the straps and pulled the hair back, making the straps nearly invisible according to Durgen’s display window. “Looks good! How’s it feel?” Grig asked. Durgen once again moved his jaw around, the metal jaw moving in unison.

“Perfect!” He exclaimed, beaming a wide smile.

“Good, now try those on.” Grig gestured to the clothes he was holding. “I think dose are da best we can find at ur level.” Durgen looked down at what he was holding as a new message appeared in his vision.

Perception check failed! Knowledge check failed!

Overruled, gifted by owner: Warboss Grig, The Gremlin Tamer.

Bracers of the Bear

Rarity: Uncommon

Quality: Decent

Item Slot: Wrist

Leather

Armor: 30

+5 Strength

Durability: 30/30

Belt of the Boar

Rarity: Uncommon

Quality: Decent

Item Slot: Waist

Leather

Armor: 30

+5 Constitution

Durability: 30/30

Boots of the Puma

Rarity: Uncommon

Quality: Decent

Item Slot: Wrist

Leather

Armor: 30

+5 Dexterity

Durability: 30/30

If Durgen’s jaw wasn’t literally strapped to his head, he was certain that it would’ve been on the floor. Never in his life had he even thought about items that just gave raw stat boosts. And now here he is, holding them in his hands. He looked back up at Grig, still processing what he had been given.

“Wat?” Grig asked before raising his eyebrow. “Go on, put ‘em on, try ‘em out.” Gesturing Durgen to go on with it. Durgen, still in awe, looked around himself, looking for a place to sit. After nudging a few boxes off on top of a chest he planted his rear, immediately began donning his new boots. Feeling the small amount of power as his feet slid inside the black leather, going up just before the knee. Once the laces were tied, he stood back up, instantly feeling a little extra spring in his step as he almost hoped in place. When he wrapped the belt around his waist and took in a deep breath as a wave of warmth rippled through his body. Lastly the gloves, it wasn’t until he had both of them on that the power course through his body, causing all his muscles to involuntarily flex and twitch for a brief moment. He tested his new grip, feeling the snug gloves press against the back of his hands as he did so. With his display in the corner of his vision he knew what he looked like, but it didn’t answer the question that was on the back of his mind.

“So, ‘ow do I look?” Durgen asked, striking a pose with his fists resting on his hips.

“Not too bad!” Grig replied. “Now ya just need ur wrestlin’ name, something to put on da roster and the crowd to chant. I was tinkin’ ‘Bonecrasha’ but it's up to you, boi. Wat ya tink?” Durgen thought for a moment, ‘Bonecrusha’ seemed a little far-fetched for him, as well as a little generic. No, he wanted a name that people would remember and mean something to them. He rubbed his chin in thought, or at least tried to, finding only the cold iron jaw instead. That’s when an idea struck him.

“How about… Ironjaw?”

“Hey! Look at you! I’ll make a wrestla’ outa you yet!” Grig praised. “The newcomer, Ironjaw, fused his jaw with iron to take a bite out of any sorry zogs in his way! His hunger knows no bounds!” He continued dramatically, waving, and flexing his arms around. “Good stuff, lad! You should come to da ring tomorra, go over some of the matchups and da otha’s you be workin’ with.”

“I’ll be there! When?” Durgen asked enthusiastically.

“Noon.” Grig answered simply.

“Okay. What’s noon?”

“Twelve in the evenin’…”

“Okay!” Durgen blurted out excitedly, he took three long careful steps towards the exit before turning back around, another question popping in his mind. “How do I know when its twelve?” Grig took a long sigh and pinched his brow before answering.

“If ya tink real hard a lil’ clock will appear in yur face. If dats too hard fur ya, say da command phrase: ‘System, wat toyme iz it?’ I should also tell ya dat I won’t be dare tomorra’, look fur a git called ‘Squiggins’, he’ll help ya bulk up a bit. Anything else?”

“Do fish get thirsty?”

“BAH! Get out of ‘ere!” Grig shouted in annoyance. Durgen cackled as he sped through the piles of junk towards the door, quickly closing it behind him. Ignoring the now curious glances from around the forge, he concentrated and tried to summon the ‘clock’ Grig was talking about but when he tried to imagine it, but he had no idea what it looked like. Finally, he gave up.

“System, wat toyme iz it?” Durgen asked outload and was rewarded by a little window in the corner of his vision.

Time:

5:46:23 P.M.

7/05/727

The moment of realization was quite palpable to Durgen. Was he always able to do this? Do others know? What else had he been missing out on? He watched the seconds tic by a few more times while it hovered in the corner of his vision. Closing his eyes, it was still there ticking away. Finding that a little jarring, he willed it away and it disappeared. He felt quite happy that he no longer had to use the sun as a reference point to tell what time it is and something the so little people seem to know about. Does his mother know? He should go tell her! Without skipping a beat, he jogged out the smithy towards the hut, making sure to go the long way and doing a few extra turns to squeeze out that extra mile. His new boots helped him go the distance.

*****

“Durgen, wat’re ya wearin’?” his mother asked in a tired tone that gave off the idea that she already did not liking what she was seeing. She had been sitting nice and peacefully by the fire on the log bench cooking up an easy meal when her son came running up to her completely out of breath.

“I’z da new wrestla’ Ma!” Durgen replied in confidence with his fists on his hips and chin angled upward to show his namesake. “Dah Ironjaw!” He announced. A long audible sigh escaped his mother’s lips.

“Dat git already got a name fur himself.” She mumbled under her breath just quietly enough for him to not hear. “Durgen, I don’t tink dat bein’ a wrestla’ iz a good idea fur you, yur half their size and can stomp ya.”

“Nah Ma! It’z all fur show! I’ll be fine. See dese gloves? Dey give me a strength bonus and dese boots give me extra dexterity!”

“Wat!? Where did you get dose!?” His mother asked, standing straight up and marched directly to him. Durgen took an instinctive step back as his mother approached, hands raised with palms out in defence.

“They’re a gift from Grig, dah Warboss!” His mother halted directly in front of him, looming over him, looking angry for only the briefest of moments before letting out another deep sigh, shoulders visibly relaxing. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in tightly, resting her cheek on top his head.

“Ya sure dis iz wat you want, boi?” she asked in a defeated tone.

“Ye.” Durgen answered simply yet firmly.

“Did ya remember to use yur ointment?”

“No.” he said wincing slightly. His skin did feel kinda tight now that he thought about it.

“Go get dat takin’ care of and clean yur hands, dinners almost ready.”

“Yes, Ma.”

After undressing and smearing the ointment all along his body, his skin felt soft and relaxed. He hadn’t realized how dried his tattoos had gotten and made a special note to take the ointment with him to the arena tomorrow just in case. After doing twenty-five push-ups he washed his hands in a nearby water bucket and put on his now clean work pants before going outside to enjoy a meal with his mother where he caught her up with today’s events over a freshly broiled chicken soup. To her dismay, she couldn’t change his mind. Now she could only support him and pray that he didn’t get torn in half or get flattened like a piece of vellum. Durgen did his best to ease her mind and invited her to watch the arena tomorrow night, she reluctantly agreed.

Once he finished helping to wash a few dishes the two said their goodnights and went into their respective huts. However, Durgen couldn’t bring himself to sleep. Exciting thoughts of what tomorrow awaits invaded his mind and couldn’t help but make himself all giddy inside. Finally, there was a chance that people wouldn’t see him as the bottom of the totem pole. He would give it his all, fighting until his body refused to respond and every fiber in his being ached. He had to crawl out of his cot and do twenty-five more push-ups in a vain attempt to tire himself out. When that didn’t work, he did twenty more. Now his arms were sore, and he still wasn’t tired. However, he fell asleep on the floor without even realizing it, dreaming of the crowds cheering his name, hollering and whistling, and he relished it. To be finally accepted, that is his dream.