How To Stop a Train

Zaaaarkooooo, Zaaaarkooooo!

Grok Gork, seizing the moment, rushed forward and took Robert in his arms.

No, this isn’t a bad fanfiction.

He then flung both of themselves onto the crude beast. Robert, terrified, did his best to calm the beast. Which entailed holding on for dear god and going please stop please stop reaching down into it’s very soul. The two had engaged in mounted combat, much to the Bulettes (now named Princess) dismay.

Jayson started being useless and shimmied up onto a crate. He attempted a shot using his own pistol, but only managed to blow a hole in the crate beneath him. But as the Gods would have it, a delicate beam of sunlight filtered through the train’s windows, illuminating the crate’s vacuous and mysterious inner-workings.

All Zark had to do was look down.

What greeted him was a new, yet familiar sight. A cache of cowboy hats. Suddenly, the floodgates of genetic memory were opened to him, as Zark felt the desert sun beat hot against his neck. The howling winds grieve for those he had slain. His gun felt hot, and light. His eyes narrowed. And in a fraction of a second, Zark had drawn his second pistol and fired. The bullet pierced the air around it, flying straight and true. The monk stood no chance.

The bullet impacted his shoulder, sending him flying back into the wall. Zark, the gunslinger, blew the smoke from his barrel. His eyes, cold and dead, met the monk’s. So full of fire and hate, a waste of energy.

AdiĆ³s, hombre muerto.

Meanwhile, Jayson discovered some Hemp and attempted to smoke it.

Galloping forward with ever increasing speed, Grok Gork and Robert were upon the wounded Monk in seconds.As Grok Gork raised his 10-inch, a burning sensation in the back of his head that he had felt for a while, began to amplify.

I think this guy is important so I don’t want to kill him, but I feel Grok Gork totally would…

Augh! The pain loosened the Orc’s concentration, as his axe sailed downwards at the crucial moment. Cleaving through the monk’s leg like butter. Thus, began the interrogation.

Oh, and Zark kept going around speaking Spanish and adopted the exhausted Orc as his Native American sidekick, “Dances with Nalgenes”.

But, returning to the more critical matter, the group gathered around their downed enemy. Robert held a rapier to the man’s throat, and Jayson kept a gun trained to his head. Robert demanded more information about IronEater, and nervously the monk spilled the beans.

IronEater planned on reaching the badlands and finding the Orc God, Macuilxochitl, who recently had made a small appearance. Staring into the sky for an entire week, the being stated, “The Seed is calling.” before returning to his cave. A strange show, since Macuilxochitl hadn’t left his cave in centuries. IronEater somehow planned on gaining the item of yore, a Seed of Being, and using it to ascend to godhood to combat a “scaly menance”. The monk did not specify what the scaly menace was, as he took a chance to poke fun at Robert’s half-elf-ness.

I hope your mother squealed when she had you.

Losing his cool, Robert thrust the rapier forward. But alas, our party overlooked the capabilities of a monk. Grabbing the rapier, the monk warned the half-elf not to be hasty. Jayson boasted some mighty words about bringing Grok Gork over there, but the monk did not take kindly to it. Using his other hand, the monk seized and crushed Jayson’s leg. He fell over with a loud yelp, and shot the monk in the head.

Grok Gork mentioned his disappointment that he wasn’t the one to kill him.

Just then, the party noticed a large rising hill of water outside the window.


Nobles, Monks, and Bulettes! Oh my!

After the, uh, spectacle of a battle our heroes went through…

They encountered a noble cart, ordained with ornate orange… things. Cowering nobles, etc. One such noble, a hefty woman passed out as the heroes entered. The sight of battle weary warriors either aroused or horrified her. Personally, most would hope it was the latter. Her husband, a scrawny man by the name of Lord Turon, rushed to her aid.

Our heroes were more than capable of treating the poor woman, having brought each other back from Death’s Door more than once. But, the noblewoman’s husband would have none of it! No muddied ruffians would touch his wife. They could never properly appreciate her soft, moonlight pale skin. Her generous curves, her… Well, you get the point. But being scrawny has few advantages, as our heroes pushed the man out of the way and cared for his wife. As they left, the noble swore revenge.

Also it is worth mentioning that on a much poorer cart, filled with the what-the-heck-is-a-bath crowd, our heroes came across a nervous human man accompanied by his teenage daughter. As the train swerved in response to another explosion, the man’s pack fell from it’s position above his head, spilling it’s contents onto the floor.

Pounds and pounds of rare, elvan gunpowder.

After they finished beating the man up, the group debated on what to do with the gunpowder. Jayson attempted to pocket some powder for himself, believing since it was already stolen there was no harm. This disappointed Zark greatly, who found this rationalization a sorry excuse. Grok Gork ate some.

Entering a Cargo-cart, our heroes were graced enough to behold a sea of crates. Their beholding was interrupted by the peeping green flesh very obviously covertly hidden behind a number of crates, guns ready. Also, a weary Orc Handler held back an Immature Bulette, it’s maw dripping with saliva. But before a fight could break out, The Monk appeared. The same one who had whispered in IronEater’s ear prior. Well-dressed, he was attired in fine ceremonial Orcish robes of purple and red. He held a fine elvan rifle, it’s engravings alone were easily a small fortune. He approached the party, giving them a choice. Leave, or die.

They did not understand his master, he explained. He fought to become a God for the Godless Humans. It was only he who deserved such a prestigious title. Our Heroes, said that was stupid. They attempted to make an intimidating pose together, but only Grok Gork succeeded. Zark sort of discharged his gun, Jayson’s jammed, and Robert… was.. Well, Robert.

Thus, began glorious combat.

The Bulette was freed from it’s chain as it’s handler fell down and spent the rest of the battle exhausted. Barreling towards our heroes, it’s rocky limbs thundered with every step. Zark, thinking not very much quickly, ascended one of the crates. He could plainly see 3 Orcs huddled behind a crate, and they could plainly see him. Skipping introductions, Zark shot his pistol. It veered off course, impacting a nearby barrel.

Which happened to be explosive.

The explosion rocked the cart, ripping a hole in it’s side and decimating the 3 Orcs. But the Bulette rushed ever closer, leaving a slimy trail of thick saliva in it’s wake.

But, ah! Glory to the Gods! Robert had remembered his natural affinity with animals, and the best way to soothe the savage beast. Summoning his trusty ukulele to his side, a sweet serenade escaped his lips…

Come on baby… Let’s do the twist, oooooh wah wah… Come on baby nooooowww…

The beast’s rapid approach suddenly ceased, as it took this as a challenge for dominance. It stomped it’s earthy paws, snorting.

Robert uttered but one word, accompanied by a descending hand.


And it did.

Bombs Explode Everyone Dies

The train’s wheels moaned and shrieked, but dutifully carried on. Screams and the sound of rebounding shrapnel filled our heroes’ ears. Quickly, Grok Gork and Jayson made a tactical re-positioning back into the caboose. Preparing for the incoming flood of green flesh from the maintenance door they had so rudely opened, they were unpleasantly surprised to see their new friends bust in through the cart windows.

Jayson bravely fought, quickly disabling an Orc with a swift shot to the leg. The Orc cried and wailed to his brethren however, who overwhelmed the poor human despite his best efforts. Luckily, Grok Gork had finished entertaining himself with the rabble-rousers near the very very very dangerous open door. Grok Gork had previously watched in good humor as one Orc foolishly put too much weight into his swing and was promptly vaulted out of the cart by his own momentum. He also “axe”-d the other two Orcs a question, one which they could only answer by bleeding profusely and falling out of the train. But, swiftly the Orc veteran dashed and swung his mighty 10-inch in a skyward arc, rendering Jayson’s attackers… Well… Dead. He patched his new friend up with ease, and the two proceeded to the bar-cart to check on those dang elves. Well, elf and half-elf. Heh, half-elf.

Simultaneously, Zark and Robert were busy with their own conflict. The Orcs had effectively taken the cart hostage, well, until the two pulled out weapons. The Barman, worried about the welfare of his high-class bar, drew his very own longsword, because this was HIS GODDAMN BAR. Like a gust of wind, Zark whipped around the battlefield, removing any chance of flanking by the Orcs. Meanwhile, the Barman sprung over his bar and delivered a heavy blow to a nearby Orc. Slashing and stabbing his way through the ocean of pine green flesh, the Barman received a bullet wound to his arm. Fighting through the pain, Barman pushed on. Meanwhile, Robert provided moral support from the rather exposed stage atop the bar. His kind and rejuvenating words inspired his cohorts to fight harder, or something.

As the last of the Sword Grunts lay dying, the three descended upon the leader of the group, a gunslinger. However, the poor Orc was caught in the process of reloading, and fell victim to many many many stab wounds and severe blood loss.

Regrouping, the party left Barman to tend the tedious job of clean up. Accepting a few potions from the Barman, and scavenging the gunslinger’s rapier and pistol, the group left for the next cart.

The group encountered two Orc brothers who held the cart hostage. What ensued was a half genius/half totally idiotic course of action. Grok Gork and Zark, the two, uh, most Orcish looking of the group, disguise themselves as Orcs. With a silver tongue and a little bit of luck, they convince the two brothers that they are their lost brothers. And that they must help them defeat all the other Orcs who have turned rogue and gone against IronJaw. Thus, joined Gkor and Krog.

Next, what ensued was the Worst Battle in DnD History. That’s all there is to say on the matter.

You Awake To The Sound Of Pistons

Our heroes had awaken on the TRI (Transcontinental Railroad International), groggily sitting in the caboose. As the ocean waves rode past them at an alarming speed, it was decided that they were hungry. Too lazy to all get up at once, Zark was forced to awkwardly make his way to the Bar-Cart.

The Bar-Cart stunk of sweaty nobles and unwashed elves. A solitary figure, known only as The Barman occupied himself by cleaning his counter-top. Zark found it apropros to stare at the one noble sitting at the bar, a man of peculiar physical description. He possessed an iron hinge where a jaw should be.

The Barman, sick of loitering teenagers, demanded the elven teenager buy something or get out. Zark could only sheepishly mutter some nonsense about buying bread, when he was very clearly in a bar. The Barman, luckily, was able to supply him and send him on his way. The Man With The Iron Jaw, however, took interest in the elf. He noticed his numerous weapons and functional armor, and struck up a conversation with the elf; possibly seeking his aid in some future work. He bought the elf a drink, despite the elf’s young age. Also ignoring the fact that he declined his offer for that very reason. Zark asks the strangers name, but our focus must shift to the others.

-Grok- Gork, Jayson, and Robert sat awkwardly in their slightly more spacious bench. The train suddenly shifted, and Robert was thrust onto -Grok- Gork’s lap. Not wanting to impose, Robert offered the orc a drink. -Grok- Gork muttered something about blood, and we can only assume he accepted Robert’s offer. Jayson continued to doze off as the two made their way up to the Bar-Cart.

-Grok- Gork was a stark contrast to the regular crowd of the bar, standing at 7 feet tall and bare-chested. Zark felt the need to throw his bread at the orc before returning to chat with the stranger. -Grok- appreciated the gesture and ate the bread off of the floor. A drunken noble remarked this fact to his friends and questioned whether the train was indeed, first class. The man, not one to hold his alcohol, began to heave as -Grok- Gork quickly spun him around. The noble vomited all over his fellow snot-nosed friends, before passing out. As all eyes turned towards -Grok- Gork, the orc simply muttered, “He tripped.”

The Barman, quite annoyed at all the commotion, began to accost -Grok- Gork.

“Hey, you gonna’ cause another mess, or you’s gonna buy somethin’?”

-Grok- Gork, deciding to throw his weight around, uttered " Cause another mess." He began to flex, and was in the process of uttering something intimidating until his intestines betrayed him. He farted. His olive green face now a scarlet red, the Orc retreated to his seat. But not before The Barman intentionally spilled ale on the sad sight of an orc.

Robert, quiet up until now, used his boyish charm to convince The Barman the orc wasn’t anybody to worry about. The Barman could only agree to this sex-god. The Man With The Iron Jaw, noting the bard’s well-armed status quickly figured Zark and him were somehow related. A quick conversation revealed Robert’s half-elf status (The Barman found this especially funny.) and his former Centaur Mentor. The rhyme scheme was not lost upon the stranger.

The Orc angrily made his way back to his seat. Jayson inquired as to why he was covered in ale and bread crumbs. The Orc didn’t want to talk about it. Jayson said okay.

The Orc mentioned something about “damn nobles”. Jayson agreed. The train shifted once again, and a heavy traveling pack, at least 5 lbs, fell onto -Grok’s- Gork’s head. The Orc was too angry to flinch, apparently. A meager human in front of the pair looked back in horror.

“Are you gonna keep walking or are you gonna die?” grumbled -Grok- Gork.

“B-but, I’m sitting..”

“Exactly, so I’d suggest you’d better start.”

The human was never seen again. Jayson commended the orc on his little show. However, -Grok- Gork was too busy noticing fellow orcs hanging on the maintenance bars of the train. Postulating that bandits were about to ransack the train, the duo decided to forcibly open the train’s rear exit. -Grok- Gork, not one for modesty, ripped the iron door off it’s hinges and chucked it towards the Bar-Cart. Where it nearly hit the Barman, but luckily impacted on the wall and fell over.

Whilst this is going on, Zark and Robert’s chat with the stranger was cut short when a Orc Monk hurriedly whispered into the stranger’s ear. The Man With The Iron Jaw hastily exited, and for some reason Zark felt the need to give him his bench number. As the stranger leaves, the arm he had previously kept in his pocket was slowly removed and a glint of metal was revealed where flesh should be. Suddenly, orcs began to pour in the cart, holding weapons beneath robes. One raised a gun, fired.


-Grok- Gork and Jayson were met with the sight of numerous Orcs hanging off the back of the train. Surprised by their visitors, the Orcs climbed away. One of them held a large, spherical, metallic object that emanated a high pitched beeping sound. The Orc threw it to another group farther down, who planted the object firmly onto a cart.

Where it exploded.


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