Zizzek - The bullied fishmerchant

Ooc: A story I conjured during the final hours of last night. Zizzek is a fishmerchant in Ratchet. The story is belonging to my character, Nessa Grimmeor, who works in Guluds Tavern.
Enjoy the read!


Though the morning started off so smoothely with a kind breeze from the sea, and a warm sun that made each scale of his catches glimmer brighly like precious gold, Zizzek knew that the glory of this day had now passed. His grip tightened around the leatherhold of his fishingrod. His wrinkly green fingers trembled in anger.
Not one more. Not one.. more.

And there it came. A small brown pebble, right onto his left ear and onto his hat before leaping down to the dusty ground. His right eye widens as the left squints together. Every day since she got here. Everyday she lies on that cartwheel next to his stand, with her untied boots slapped up lazily on its edge, balancing barely.

And the smoking! The smoking! Those handmade cigarettes she keeps throwing to the ground without putting them out. His soles were decorated with burnmarks from stepping on them to kill the small orange flame on them, afraid the pale grass of Ratchet would set ablaze if he didnt. The smoke was bearly noticable anymore, but his eyes would still squint at any audible breath out from the vile woman.
Those skinny legs of hers seem neverending sprouting out from those oversized boots. That tangle-locked hair, just as the circles around her eyes it was so dark. Not entirely black, but like old rotten plums would be in color before they grew that white fuzzy mold on them. Her cheekbones sticking out like she was constantly sucking her cheeks in. Those plum lips that was so pale onto her skin with cracks you could see them from afar. Deep dark trails in those pale lips. And she is scarred. Those white glowing marks, everywhere. She looked like death. And she smelled like it.
He looks to the ground after sneering at her. Another pebble. He narrowed his eye down at the small stone, mocking him after the assault by resting infront of him.

Was this the day?
Was he finally going to kill her? For days he had found so many uses for his fishing rod, all resulting in the elfs death. Each day they grew more gruesome. Would he dare?
Her raspy voice makes his skin itch. That cackle and the mocking in that crude orcish accent. Zizzek have had ogres with a more proper Orcish. Not to mention, manners.

Every day was the same. She would lie there and the second he woke her, by doing his job - by hanging up the fishes, and preparing the stand - she would mock him. She would stretch out from that cartwheel, with the bottles framing it around the ground. The empty bottles. She would look at him, and mock him. Point at the curved bumpy road down to his nosetip. How big and green it was, and would be more bumpy than riding a drunk kodo in the Un’ Goro craters. She would list everything nasty that was green, and end every sentence with ”just as green, as ye are”. She would list all the ways he would use his fishes when nobody was watching, but he would ignore it. She would roll her first cigarette of many, and collect pebbles near her. Then one at the time, slowly, in a certain odd rythm, throw them at him. Always at the ears. Why his ears?!
He would get enough, and lift his fishingrod, screeching with his bright angry goblin voice about her coming doom! She would cackle, she would snarl out wet coughs, and she would throw another pebble.
Day in and day out since she got here.Why is she here? She piles up dead rats and roaches in barrels outside the tavern. So she is pest control. A cat could do the same job, for no money at all. And it wouldnt steal drinks. And it most certainly wouldnt throw pebbles at him every morning.

And like every day, about the tenth pebble in, he would look to the shore, and hope that someone onboard the ship with their clean white sails would come to save him. Nobody ever did. Zizzek had gone all this way, to become a respected fishmerchant. A rich, respected fishmerchant. And now, he is assaulted, no, bullied, everyday by this nuisiance.

As the sun grew more orange and sleepily resting against the blue sea, she would kick at the cartwheel and force it to stand, to lift her from her seat. limping her way in to the tavern. The petrified squeaking from in there made his spine shiver. The blade swiping at the stonewalls as she hunted was the worst. The screech of the blade, and the crunching sound of insects meeting it.
The ships were coming in less regularly, and by this hour, he had stopped gazing in hope at them.
The goblin rubbed his bruised ear after finally resting his grip on the fishinrod. He tiredly stroked the wrinkled skin beneath his eyes with his hands, wiping the tears away that wouldstream out from the shooting pain from all the pebbles. Or maybe it was her words that hurt more. "Why.." he gasped unsteadily in for air to not burst into tears "..Why didn't I stick to selling bait in Booty Bay?"

(( Hahahahahha aaaawesome read hun!!! Poor ol' Zizzek!
And I couldn't help myself, so here's a little folow-up ))



Eszra stared blankly at the little Goblin. Her left eyebrow perked slightly, and her hands folded and resting on the table infront of her. "So.. ya say dat 'er be trowin' dem pebblahs at ya...?" Zizzek squinted at her, his breath shortened as he furiously told the tale all over again. "Pebblahs... as in dem littlah rocks? Ya be tellin' me.. dat ya can' get de ledeh ta stop trowin'... pebblahs..." Ezzy nodded, trying her best to keep from laughing. She took in the smell of the Goblin... He smelled of fish, and anger.. and there was this slight smell of burnt leather she couldn't quite place. "Well ya kno' Zizzek, 'er be tavernstaff, an' 's such, 'er be alowwed ta be sleepin' in de littlah cartweel. An' 's fer de smokin'... well, i can' deny 'er dat pleasah. Bu' I be keepin' an eye on 'er a'ight? Be makin' suah 'er don' be uhm.. trowin' pebblahs..." Eszra waited until the Goblin walked out of the tavern before she burst into laughter. He could probably hear her all the way out, but she couldn't hold it in anymore! A weatherbitten old Goblin, cowering at the sight of a little Blood Elf girl! Her laughing stopped abruptly as she saw the tell-tale shadow of a roach hiding behind the stove...

"Nessa!!! Dere be "nahtin'" undah de stove again!!" Ezzy shuddered at the sight of the roach. It had to be those deadies that dragged them in here! She hadn't had that much of a problem with them before.
Nessa jumped quickly down from the table she was sitting on, and crept in an almost cat-like crouch over to the stove. Ezzy was amazed everytime the girl moved, that she ddn't trip and fall on her untied far-too-big boots."I gottit Boss! I mean.. I got nuthin'! Nessa nodded meaningfully at her, and Ezzy winked slyly back. There were -no- pests in the tavern. No rats, no mice, no spiders and no roaches. That was the common understanding among the staff. "Cleanest place on Kalimdor!" Nessa grinned as her dagger came flying through the air, piercing the roach on it's way into the cookingpot. They could hear Zizzek grab tighter around his fishingpole and mutter quietly between his teeth, as the dagger pierced the roach and it let out a nasty "Crunch". The girls giggled and soon a cork and a pebble landed on the brim of Zizzek's hat...

//Ezzy - De Ledeh