Chapter 77 - My SI Stash #77 - World of Whatcraft by Umodin (Warcraft) (1/2)
-Same author as that SI PKMN fic ”Y'Know Nothing Jon Snow”
*SI as a Gnoll in Warcraft~ MC that'll do anything to get powerful. This fic was in hiatus but the author seem to be getting back on it, hopefully
ヽ(・∀・)
Sypnosis: Life is a funny thing. Sometimes it does right by you, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it throws you such a ridiculous curve ball that you wake up as a baby trash mob in a land where honest conversation is something the locals think to be a food group. Why must life be so cruel? OC-Self Insert
Rated: T
Words: 21K
Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/12152244/1/World-of-Whatcraft (Umodin)
PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (*´ー｀*)
-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)
Chapter 1
For those that want to read the original variation of this story, it is in a new thread titles ”Umodin's Penitentiary of Warcraft Plotbunnies!” It will also be used to, as the title suggests, put other ideas. There's already a new, never-before seen Warcraft story up there!
And yes, yes the name is stupid. And no, I won't change it.
Anywho, on with the show!
At first, he couldn't understand what was going on.
In those first few days and weeks, or however much time truly passed, the world was nothing more than a confusing blend of colors and noise. Green and tan ups, blue and black downs, brown and grey blurs and cackles of insidious laughter. His mind refused to function properly, sifting to and fro as if he was in a fevered dream; those few thoughts that were fully formed were pulled into a jumbled mess of gibberish that followed neither rhyme nor reason.
This was not to say that it would have done much good had he been able to think properly. The body and mind were one in this regard, and he could not stay awake long enough for it to matter in any case. Consciousness was a fleeting thing, coming and going like a moonless tide. Sometimes, he would start to rouse, his mind on the brink of truly waking up, only to fade back into a slumbered embrace before he could comprehend anything. Most times, he just slept. A perpetual cycle of nothingness and b_a_r_e existence.
He was lain in a pile of twigs and grass, with a smattering of n_a_k_e_d, infant animals for company. They looked ugly, almost identical to baby squirrels, save for the longer limbs and the fuller backs. Above them stood one gigantic and monstrous looking figure, staring at them with fevered eyes whilst a puddle drool welled from its muzzle.
No… Monstrous was the incorrect word to describe this thing, though it felt close. It stood on two legs yet had claws and paws instead of hands and feet. Its body was top-heavy, with a hunched back, a mane of mottled brown fur with black stripes, and a jittery head. And what a head it was, hosting a pair of beady black eyes and a savage, lupine muzzle. This was not a monstrosity; this was a predator– no matter how alien its appearance seemed.
The predator stuck out its tongue and licked the razors it called teeth, slurping as it did so. A paw struck down, grabbing one of the babies, a runty thing that was pale white with red eyes– Albino. Without warning the predator bit into the runt, blood splattering all around that drowned out the fatal shriek from behind those red-dyed canines. The predator cackled and, after swallowing the runt, reached for another.
Dream or reality or whatever this was, he knew that escape was all that mattered after seeing that. His limbs were weak and horribly uncoordinated, but they followed the panic of his mind and attempted to get away. He crawled for the equivalent of two or three steps when another ugly chomp brought about the dead shriek of one of the infants– his siblings, his pack.
Five more steps, clumsy and loud, until a clawed paw lifted him into the air. The action made him squeal in terror, a high-pitched sound that seemed to echo throughout their location. He was turned in the paw, until he was face-to-face with an open, bloodied mouth. There were bits of his infant kin scattered throughout the gumlines of those razor-sharp canines, guts and skin and even a mangled leg.
The predator cackled, laughing up a storm. Its beady eyes were lit, twinkling in a maddened form of jubilation.
”You run! You strong! Live, live, live, yes!” it proclaimed in a broken and strangled tone, almost as if it wasn't used to speaking. Then it started to snuffle and cackle once more. ”Yowler me! Me yowl! You yowl too! Too much Yowler, though.” It scratched its chin with its free paw, scrunching up its nose in a pointedly confused manner. Then it snapped its fingers, letting out one more snuffle. ”No new Yowler, no, no! You Kowler, yes, yes!”
The predator then put the newly named Kowler down, patted his head like a dog, and once more grabbed another baby.
Kowler sat, stunned by what had just occurred. He had no clue as to how to process what he witnessed, what just occurred. And so, he turned to the only comfort he could grasp in his infantile state.
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/ ^ \
Yowler was his father.
Yowler was his father.
More than that, Yowler wasn't being horrible (well, he was). He was doing his actual job. He was sifting through one of his many nests of children, searching for pups with something wrong. The albino had been albino and was likely to have a slew of defects growing. Those other pups from Kowlers own nest had defects ranging from missing limbs to blindness. One wasn't even alive, it was a stillborn.
Of the seven pups that came from his specific nest, there were now only three. Including Kowler himself, the other two were thusly named Towler and Fowler respectively.