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(Hey guys, this story is 100% user-created and is no way an official interpretation of Warcraft lore. Gamon, with all other IP included in the story belongs to Blizzard entertainment. Blah blah blah. I wasn't sure which board to post this in, but I hope this one will suffice. I'm not a writer so please be gentle. Enjoy!)
The story of Gamon
There once was a Tauren named Gamon. Little was known about the man except for the fact that he resided in Orgrimmar's inn and would be frivolously and savagely beaten often.
Did this faceless punching bag have a story of his own? His oppressors don't care, but you, dear reader, do.
Gamon originated in the quiet plains of the Barren lands, growing up on a small farmstead just south of Taurajo. He wasn't a city boy; learning to hunt, fight and survive from his father, Omontok. Gamon promised to set out one day and explore the world of Azeroth beyond the yellow savanna whom he called home for the entirety of his life. One day, two hours before the sun rest its weary head in the sky, Gamon ventured out to a small cliffside next to his home and, in quiet contemplation, observed the lands to the east. They were rugged, untamed and beautiful to him, but he was only a young buck at the time, only barely grasping the nature of sword and bow.
Gamon knew that if he was to leave one day, he would face harsh challenges along the way. He knew that, while a young and adventurous huntsman, there would be some challenges he could not overcome. From this day, Gamon set out to be a better man.
He trained each day, eventually learning the craft of metal refinement and smithing. He wasn't adept at weapon making, so he settled for a few minor provisions. Gamon was intrigued by locksmiths and their craft; observing how his father fashioned lockboxes when he was a mere calf. Gamon crafted a fine skeleton key using the blueprints his father passed onto him and stowed it in his back pocket for safe keeping.
Gamon strove to become the best huntsman he could be, one day becoming satisfied with his proficiency and brewing a clever plan.
He was to pack his things the next day; with him he brought his bow, his sword, his boots, a trusty haunch of mutton, some fine ale and a few copper. He said his farewells to his father and set off onto the unforgiving landscape of Kalimdor.
Gamon had no trouble traversing the barren lands; he was raised in it and knew it like the back of his hand. Eventually, though, he came upon his first obstacle upon heading east: the Southfury.
The Southfury was a river that flowed in between the Barren lands and the Durotar peninsula from the gear sea, reaching all the way up to the ancient elven lands his father had told him about. He knew of the river with all its hazards.
Gamon stared at it, formulating his next venture. The challenge personified itself in front of him in the form of a wicked, reptilian jaw snapping up from beneath the river's edge. Crocolisks. Crocolisks inhabited the Southfury like a plague, making most travel across the otherwise harmless small river extremely hazardous. the Tauren closed his eyes for a second, the Crocolisk snapping away from beneath the tides. He knew he had to make it across, bitten to death or otherwise.
Gamon backed up a little, stowing his burlap bag of supplies over his burly shoulder, hooves stomping the dusty terrain of the Barren land. He knew what he had to do.
He was to throw his mutton into the Southfury to distract the hungry, jaw-snapping predators -- at least momentarily for him to cross. Hesitating, he pulled the meat from his pack and took a bite of it, before rearing his hooves and tossing it about 10 yards to the right of where he planned to cross. Gamon picked his moment carefully, waiting for the attention of the beasts to be diverted before he made his move.
With all of his might, he sprinted forward, leaping about halfway across the river before splashing directly into it. He lost no momentum, however, as he glided his Tauren body through the rest of the river with incredible, adrenaline-fueled might, coming to a stop when he reached land. Gamon breathed a heavy sigh of relief; and also remorse for his lost food.
"I'd rather keep my limbs" he said in an emotionless, stoic tone, throwing his burlap supply sack over his shoulder once again, digging his hooves into the new, copper-colored rugged terrain of Durotar.
Gamon had set off north; he'd seen bright bonfires and smoke plumes in the night coming from northern Durotar, so he decided to explore north first. The land of Durotar had found itself to be as he imagined, rugged, unforgiving, rocky..All of these things he had prepared for in advance. Traveling along the Southfury he didn't encounter much of the ravenous wildlife; most of which kept to other watering holes due to the Crocolisk's domination of the river.
Eventually, Gamon decided to see what the mainland was like, venturing farther east, past countless ravenous Scorpid dens until he came to a large, bonfire-lit road, obviously created by intelligent life. "Orcs?" he thought to himself "Like the ones my father had told me about? The newfound allies to our people?"
Gamon hadn't been aware of the Orcs that had been staying in Durotar for the past 5 years, infact he was rather oblivious to most politics of Azeroth. He only knew of his people, the Orcs, the northern elves to the north..They all seemed very obscure to him. Gamon tucked his thoughts away and continued onwards, following the bonfire-lit road quite a ways. Eventually, he came upon humanoid creatures in the distance, green-skins with threatening armor, battle axes and fur clothes. They looked brutal..but also very honorable.
Gamon approached the humanoid figures on the night road, both of their attentions quickly turning to him as he approached. "Throm'ka, Tauren" They said in deep, husky voices to Gamon, obviously accepting of his presence. "Greetings..warriors" Gamon replied, choosing his words carefully. "Tauren, do you seek the warrior city of Orgrimmar?" They inquire, shifting a bit as they stand there. "Uh..yes. I'd like to visit your city, warriors. Is it to the north?" The orcs nod, one of them turning 90 degrees and pointing to the north; bonfires the only visual reference of the city in the distance. "There." The gesturing Orc says, both of the warriors casually walking past Gamon, continuing their patrols.
Gamon continued on the road, eager and excited to see the city of the Orcs. He was intrigued with their kind, how they possessed both a savage and honorable nature. He wanted to know more. After a few hours, the noble Tauren reached his destination, standing upon the threshold of the Orcish city. The threatening towers loomed ominously over the rugged landscape, a warning to all who may seek to encroach upon the land. His anticipation nearly palpable, Gamon strode onward into the city, the guards standing by the gate saluting him as he walked past.
Gamon stopped when he came upon the valley of strength, the populace almost shocking to him. Butchers roasted their meat in front of their stores, the smell of split-roasted boar, bonfires and ale culminated, invading his nostrils. Adventurers anxiously scurried from one destination to the other, a blacksmith fastened a mighty sword out of steel mere feet from the gates! Gamon stood there, awestruck of his discovery. He liked this..Orgrimmar, as the guards called it.
A few minutes passed before a tall, blue man with huge tusks and strange hair drifted toward Gamon, shaking his hand before saying anything. "'ello, mon! What'cha doin' out 'ere, so alone, standin' d'er wit' yer jaw on de floor!? Ya never see a troll before, mon?" the troll man laughed heartily. Mah name Rin'xil, but'cha can call me Rin if ya be wantin' to, mon!" Rin'xil's charisma and friendliness surprised Gamon to the point where he smiled. "Uh..Hello, Rin'xil. My name is Gamon. It's nice to meet you." He hastily responded, the troll shifting about as he stood. "Aw, come on, don't ya be all nervous 'n' stuff on me, mon! Come on, come with Rin'xil, I know a good bar ya could stay.." Without a moment's hesitation, Rin'xil gestured for Gamon to follow, backflipped and dashed off toward the Orgimmar bar and inn; the Tauren following a few yards behind.
Rin'xil strode confidently into the tavern, bonking one of the seated orcs on the head playfully as he walked past. "Get'cha face out'ta dat ale, Crog! We got's us a newbie!" Rin said, pointing over to Gamon who was standing in the door. The Orc drunkenly turned around in a daze, apparently not currently able to form a coherent sentence as he simply waved. The bar maid leaned across the counter, waving to Gamon. "A newbie, huh? Rin'xil..Is this some random Tauren you dragged in here? I thought I told you about doing that.." She proclaimed, despite her input being ignored.
The three got acquainted, shared (mostly tall) tales of battles, brawls and experiences shared on Azeroth. Gamon paid for a temporary residence at the inn and stayed there for a while. Adventurers game and went, most of them rudely interrupting conversations by shoving their fancy magical armor and weapons into the faces of the Gamon trio, demanding free brewand sometimes even stealing it. He mostly ignored the interlopers..Until one day.
Rin'xil quickly grew tired of the so called "heroes" pillaging his favorite spot on a daily basis. An Undead from the faraway lands of Lordaeron came in one day, wielding fierce, magical daggers, half of his face covered by a perfectly crafted leather mask. Putting his weapons on the table, the Undead spun them around, looking at the barmaid with a glint in his eye. "Three pints of stout..On the house." He said in a sadistic, mocking tone as he quickly drove one of his daggers violently into the wooden counter. Double-taking to her two friends, she prepared the drinks while Rin'xil looked at Gamon. "Rin'xil tired'a d'ese 'heroes' comin' in, stompin' da place up, demandin' da free brew, it just ain't right, mon..Soona'lata this place gon' go out o' business. Why must dat be, Rin'xil asks? Because o' these heroes lootin' us?" Rants the troll as Gamon tries to think of something to do; Rin'xil's anger growing by the moment. "Rin'xil tired 'a this. Gamon, stand back." The troll stood up, his mohawk brushing against the ceiling of the tavern as he readied his fist; planting what looked to be a very brutal and strong punch to the undead thief's back as he awaited his drinks.
Rin'xil kept his fist against the adventurer's back in sheer surprise as his strike provoked absolutely no reaction; the undead only turning to smile smugly at him before taking his dagger in his hand and slicing Rin'xil's throat wide open with it. Gamon stood up, readying his sword to strike at any moment. The barmaid shrieked in horror as Rin'xil fell down in a heap, the undead continuing his smirk before vanishing into thin air. Out of blind rage, Gamon swiped at the air with his sword but managing to hit nothing.
The Tauren dropped his blade, kneeling down to try and help his troll friend. Rin'xil laughed, obviously accepting of his fate. "Just remembah..Rin'xil..never goin' down..without a fight.." He uttered his final breaths, dying before the young huntsman. Gamon grunted while he watched his friend die, sadness overtaking him while a small crowd gathered around the bar.
From that day on, Gamon analyzed Rin'xil's last words, down to every final syllable the troll uttered. He kneeled there, in silent brooding, thinking about it..While the adventurers came and went, ruining the bar as usual. The barmaid said nothing in fear of hurting his feelings and he didn't utter a word in response to anything anybody would say.
"Never go down without a fight" Gamon whispered to himself as he watched the powerful heroes take what they want from the tavern, their magical items granting them constant power over the actual paying customers. "Never go down without a fight" He knew now. The key to becoming a better man -- a better person, was to not give into his oppressors. To not submit, to not falter when situations may seem futile. Every day he thought about Rin'xil, the charismatic troll who refused to back down, even when faced with an enemy he knew he could not defeat. This was Gamon's goal, what his father would want.
Matters were in his own hands. He had his beaten-up bow, his rusty sword..His path was in his hands, and so for the next three years, Gamon refused to submit. Every time an adventurer would come his way, he would fight back with all his might, only to be beaten to a pulp and go unconscious. When not fighting, Gamon was slowly mentally maturing as he waited and observed..He observed the fighting tactics of the heroes, the weaponry they used, their abilities..Slowly, in silent, brooding contemplation, Gamon grew from a young, ambitious huntsman into a deadly warrior, self-trained in every fighting style known to Azeroth.
Years had passed. Adventurers moved onto fight the war against Illidan, and soon against the Lich King. He remembered the day the war in Northrend was over, he remembered the day the scourge invaded..He remembered.
Then..it happened. Earthquakes, Tsunamis, floods, the entire world of Azeroth was being shattered beneath his hooves...But by what? He'd heard the stories; a gigantic dragon causing widespread death, destruction and unprecedented chaos the likes of which the world had never seen. Gamon silently observed as Orgrimmar's defenses were strengthened, the world changed in mere months after the shattering. It was Gamon's chance. Like with the Southfury river, Gamon had a chance to take control of his own destiny.
One foggy night, that same Undead, clad in magical armor that had killed Rin'xil three years prior came into the quiet tavern, laughing to himself at Gamon kneeling as usual, facing the wall. "Hey. You. Give me your coin." the adventurer commanded, poking Gamon's back. The Tauren's eyes opened, a wicked smirk folding across his bovine visage. "No." He stated, obviously egging on his bully. "..What!?" The undead grimaced, going into stab poor Gamon in his vulnerable back.
With reflexes faster than Azeroth's most sly rogue, Gamon turned around, grabbing the undead's bony forearm as if it were a twig. A look of horror folded across the thief's face as Gamon looked him straight in the eye, seeing nothing but the burning hatred possessed only by a tormented soul. "I said..NO!" Gamon yelled, delivering a punch of incredible proportion to the undead's solar plexus, severing his entire arm as the rest of his body is sent flying against the tavern's wall, falling down in a crumpled heap.
"Hmph." Gamon said, tossing the bony arm aside as it still clenched the dagger, before resuming kneeling at the exact same spot he was 10 seconds prior.
Barely a minute had passed before another hero -- a fearsome Tauren warrior entered the bar, wielding a fierce, intimidating battle axe as he punched Gamon in the back. "Hey! Gimme your ale, weakling.." Gamon slowly turned around, facing the other Tauren clad in magical armor. "No." Gamon stated to the newcomer. "What!? You don't say no to ME!" The Tauren responded, drawing his battle axe and swinging it downward in a crash-course with the middle of Gamon's head. The huntsman grabbed the axe's edge mid-swing with one hand, the fierce weapon not even leaving a mark as he overpowered his adversary, twisting the magical axe out of his hand before tossing it aside.
Gamon then stared into the very being of the Tauren attempting to steal his brew, a thousand-yard stare of complete desolation that would make even the bravest of heroes tremble. The warrior quickly turned and ran for his life from Gamon, across the main intersection of Orgrimmar. The young huntsman sighed, picking up the warrior's axe and stowing it on his own back, waiting for the next unfortunate adventurer to provoke his wrath.
To this day, Gamon sits in that tavern, kneeling toward the wall with that battle axe across his back, waiting for somebody to try and push him around again. Every day he watches patrons come and go as Orgrimmar turns into a better place, the Tavern being able to pay for a renovation due to not being looted as often.
The moral of the story? That one is up to you. Like him or hate him, Gamon is there. He is watching you, and should you provoke him, prepare to taste the cold steel of justice.
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