[!] Fliers are posted across Almaris.

In two cactus days, Un’Satum will be hosting a PUBLIC night of gambling in the camp tavern, celebrating the domains of Ghorza & Glutros!

A GAME OF DICE

To begin the night, each player will start with a simple game of dice, rolling until the luckiest man stands. The winner of this game will receive a sum of 250 minas.

BLACKJACK

Afterwards, players will be able to play multiple rounds of Blackjack, with the winningest player also receiving a sum of 250 minas. Blackjack is a simple game, where players will draw one card per turn (rolling out of 10) with the goal of having the closest number to 21 out of the entire group. If a player exceeds 21 with their cards, they will bust, meaning that they are eliminated for said round. Players may also choose to pass on a card during their turns, meaning the card they draw will not be added to their total sum.

Drinks will be served throughout the night, free of charge.

Warchief Kho’Gorkil, Wargoth of Clan Gorkil, Head of the Hunter’s Guild
 

A depiction of the recent battle between Un’Satum and Balian.

THE BATTLE OF GYBOHT

Through the course of the entirety of Un’Satum’s existence, they have been met with naught but daggers and blades pressed against their throats from the Kingdom of Balian. Countless times they have spun lies, attempted to rally forces outside our lands, intrude upon our claims, threaten those who seek to ally us, threaten to declare war upon us, and threaten to kill us all. However, countless times they have failed to follow through with any of these threats. Why is it that their bloodthirst is aimed upon our people? Nevertheless, it is time that such bloodlust is finally answered.

Whilst they sit among their ‘prestigious’ walls and slander our people, we saw an opportunity to answer their callings of war. Entering their city with minimal resistance, our forces captured an essential part of the Balianite machine: a Princess. After which we had returned to our lands and put her in captivity as we awaited for the men of Balian to come and save her. And alas, they had come. However, even with their rallies of Petrans, Farfolk, Balianites, and more, they failed to step even a foot inside our camp. One by one, we began to cut their forces down as the battle ran long into the night. Their soldiers grew tired, and they began to beg us for mercy in the means of a skirmish between their best soldiers and ours.

Given that we are of the blood of KRUG, their best soldiers didn’t stand a chance, being wiped out without a single drop of blood from our men. It was here that the humans abandoned their princess that we had captured. They became cowards, giving up on rescuing her and leaving her to die. Despite this, we are not orcs of dishonor, as allowed her to return home safely after we treated her wounds that she had endured during her capture. However, we say this onto those who had embraced defeat at our doorsteps:

~

Your unwarranted warmongering and bloodthirsting will no longer go unanswered. Should you continue, battles akin to the one in which your men fled off in retreat will continue to happen. This is a warning, to cease your aggression towards the land of Un’Satum.
 

"Gather around all- I have a story to tell! One of valor and great sacrifice!" he exclaim to all who will listen. "Not too long ago my friends, I embarked on a hunt with out very own war-chiefs, and a handful of other residents. We trekked into our own backyard, the heat almost unbearable to some extent. But we persisted anyways! We crossed the river, the pull of the current strong to some, but no match for us! I helped the goblin kid up onto my shoulders as we crossed to insure they didn't get swept away by rouge tides." he pauses for dramatic effect, his hands moving around as he speaks to make it more interesting. "Once we crossed, I loaded my bow as I heard the beat of a million wings upon the horizon. A dark cloud began to shift towards us as Kho screamed for its attention. The rest of us, readied ourselves for battle." his expression shifts to a serious demeanor, as his voice gains a more weighted tone. "I aimed my bow at the cloud of insects and fired, it hit a few but the holes in their defenses patched themselves up like liquid taking shape of a container. I then ditched the bow for my battle axe- I began to swing at the cloud as it engulfed us. But to no avail, the others did what they could to fend them off along side me. But they continued to bite and tear at our flesh. I had no choice but to use my body naturally... I began to crush them all with my weight. My bloodlust at a high as my friends were helplessly getting attacked! It all went red for me.. when I awoke from my rage.. the lotus were dead, hundreds of corpses laid around us.. the sound of those wings ceased." he looks to all around him. Of course all of them in obvious shock to his story. Papir stands and exits the temple... for dramatic effect.

UN’SATUM





[!] A flier is sent out to the Iron Horde, its constituents, and wherever else the notice of whitewashing may have reached

In response to the late ‘whitewashing’ of our lands, we wish to announce what the urukim of the Iron Horde failed to mention. The people of our lands pride themselves upon casting out dark spawn, and serving as the sentinels against Iblees, as our great ancestor Krug had intended himself. As a result, a battalion of our soldiers, the Thrak-mau, were on a regular patrol to find darkspawn and eliminate them. On our stop at San’Velku, we came across a large creature made of white stone and water, an undead sorcerer, a flesh beast, and another ectoplasmic entity.

This force of darkspawn was laying waste to the lands of the Iron Horde, as a result of their recent declaration of war upon their lands. In our battalion, we possessed a force of three orcs, a goblin, and an alchemist who wished to join our hunt against the darkspawn of the world. After seeing the wrath being evoked upon San’Velku, we did not hesitate to help our kin in fighting off these demonic entities.

During the battle, our alchemist had sent a fireball into the midst of their party, one that regretfully struck the one known as Skaatchnak as well. When this had hit him, it appeared his body was limp and weakened from whatever had happened between the Horde and the Darkspawn prior to our arrival. The battle continued and the burning Skaatchnak sat idle for some time whilst the Horde orcs hurled insults at us and stood on the sidelines as we fought their very own war for them. We had successfully damaged the party of darkspawn to a great degree before they had used a magical force to wall us off from the lands of San’Velku, which we saw as an opportunity to escape with our wounded.

We wished to send help to the lands but as a result of past transgressions from multiple human cities and governments, alongside other nations harboring darkspawn, we had no options to reach out to as our lands do not have many connections. In regard to using the term ‘Azdrazi’, we do not know what such a creature is, nor have we made any pacts with them.

We are sorry for the loss of your prior Rex and elder Skaatchnak. However, you will not blame us for your lack of power and forces to fend off the darkspawn, not blame the death of your elder on us whilst you sat there idle as we attempted to save you. Your words and positions in which you mean to throw people are absurd, and corrupt in all natures. If we were to “forsake our kin”, perhaps we would have joined in with the darkspawn in raiding your lands instead of helping you fight them off. You have none but yourself to blame for the death of your own kin.

Instead of fighting the very creatures you declared war upon, you wanted to trade off prisoners instead - yet for some reason you brandish us as cowards.

Kho’Gorkil, Warchief of Un’Satum, Commander of the Thrak-mau

The Thrak-mau of Un’Satum serving as the frontline in battle.

THE THRAK-MAU OF UN’SATUM
 

The Thrak-mau are the spiritual warriors of Un’Satum, orcs who have proven their mettle through a series of trials designed to test the mind, body, and soul of those who attempt. These trials help bind a prospective Thrak-mau to a patron spirit, who they will then follow and spread the influence of. These warriors are well-respected within Un’Satum, as their ability in combat and faith in the spirits makes them the ideal orc.





TRIAL ONE

The first trial is a trial by combat. Those who wish to take up the title and responsibilities of a Thrak-mau must first prove that they are a capable warrior by defeating either the trial host or a person the trial host selects to do the fight. The aspiring Thrak-mau does not have to win, but they must at least prove that they are knowledgeable about the art of combat and capable enough to win a fight.

TRIAL TWO

The second trial is a test of faith. The aspirant must meditate for two months (2 IRL days) to reflect upon themselves and identify characteristic flaws and strengths. Then, the aspirant must return to their trial host and complete a spiritual task based on their weaknesses. 

TRIAL THREE

In the third trial, the aspirant must study and tame an animal that they feel reflects themselves. For example, a combative aspirant may choose a warboar, while a resourceful one may tame a stortfel. The animal that the aspirant tames in this trial will serve as a lifelong companion for the budding Thrak-mau, and the warrior will be expected to care for this animal as long as they live.

TRIAL FOUR

In the fourth and final trial, the aspirant will be tasked with hunting a great beast alongside either their animal companion from the third trial or a descendant companion, discretionary to the trial host. The corpse of this beast must be brought back to Un’Satum for the village people to harvest and feast upon, and it is at the beginning of the feast where the now Thrak-mau will be assigned their patron spirit.
 

APPEARANCE
 

The Thrak-mau take upon a very bold appearance. Their bodies covered in bones, hardened leather, and bronze plating. Upon their helm is a thick skull with ferrum plated inside of it's core to keep the wearer safe, and upon their back a delicate cape. Each Thrak-mau however may have varying styles of armors to suit their needs.

RANKINGS

 

        The ranking system of the Thrak-Mau is rather simple, and goes as follows;

Warchief - The highest honor an individual can gain within the Thrak-mau is to become a Warchief of Un’Satum. This is the most sacred, and safeguarded title within the entire government and is rewarded to legendary members. Only members of the orcish race are permitted this rank.

Specialist - Specialist rank is the base rank within the Thrak-mau. They are called specialists, as each member within the Thrak-mau must be specialized within one useful skill. For example, there can be a specialist in alchemy, espionage, shamanism, and so forth. However, there would never be a specialist of the same topic, as that would be a redundancy and waste of devotion to creating powerful Thrak-mau individuals. Members of all races are permitted to hold this rank.

JOINING

If you are interested in joining, join our discord and head on down to Un'Satum. It is located directly north of south hub!

https://discord.gg/BSG8CMWDR3

UN’SATUM





[!] A flier is sent out to all of the governments across Almaris.

To all  governments within the lands, I pen this letter to you on behalf of the newly found lands of Un’Satum. We wish to establish diplomatic relations with those interested in such. An opportunity for you to associate yourself with a new age of Urukin. Our location being that of the southern lands just near the ruins of the great lands of Myrine. We welcome all who come to share their cultures, to establish relations, and to make conversation.

For those curious about our lands and governments, we are ruled by two individuals who serve as warlords, myself, Plank’Dregort and one known as Kho’Gorkil. These lands were established to show a new era of our kind, and to write the wrongs of those in the past who still linger in foreign lands. We seek to be pacifists among all, save for those who take this pacifism as weakness and wish to encroach upon our nationality or lands.
 

Signed,
Plank’Dregort, Dreggoth of Clan Dregort and Warlord of Un’Satum.
Kho’Gorkil, Wargoth of Clan Gorkil, and Warlord of Un’Satum.
 

After a decent amount of time spent within the Rexdom of Krugmar, two uruks Kho’Gorkil and Plank’Dregort had become increasingly dissatisfied with the systems and state of the Rexdom. Shamans obeyed every whim of the immortal spirits, Uruks refused to fight with honor, and the strength granted to their kind by Aeriel was abused by the populous. These dissatisfied uruks met with each other, and ultimately decided to abandon the Rexdom to form their own settlement. The two founders of what would later become Un’Satum wished to create a place where Urukim would follow the ways of their ancestors; being honorable, pious, and strong. 

The founders of Un’Satum both recognized the faults in the system of the Rexdom, making it their mission to do away with the dilapidated ways of the old Uzg and modernize the nation of Urukim through the means listed below.

 

HIERARCHY
 

Warchief

First held by the two founders of the Lands of Un’Satum, the Warchiefs of Un’Satum work as a heirarchy that rules over the people and the lands. The Warchiefs are selected by their predecessors, who make this decision based on the qualities of their posterity, whether it be simple things like military aptitude or more complex things like excelled ability in the mortal arts.

Commoner

The commoners of Un’Satum are regular citizens. They can be of any descendant race, and they must live somewhere within the lands of Un’Satum to be qualified as a commoner. Commoners can also be constructs, such as golems, sorvians, and automatons.

ON MAGICS

Deific Magics

While deific magics (druidism, paladinism, templarism) are not prohibited, practitioners of these magics must only use them with good reason. For example, a Paladin may use their abilities to rid the lands of darkspawn. However, if a present Warchief forbids a practitioner from using their magics whilst they are present, said practitioner will not use their magics else they be forcefully removed.

Shamanism, whilst it is a deific magic, is allowed within the lands of Un’Satum. Farseeing, Witch-Doctery, Haruspexy, and Lutaumancy are able to be practiced freely within the lands so long as the intents of usage are not ill.

Voidal Magics

The usage of voidal magic is strictly prohibited within the lands of Un’Satum. While practitioners of voidal magics are allowed to visit the lands, usage of their magics will result in said practitioners being forcefully removed from the lands.

Dark Magics

Practitioners of dark magics will be killed.

CLANS

Clans or Families within the lands of Un’Satum will not hold any political power within the lands. However, clans are allowed to resolve disputes between each other through means they see fit, whether it be through simple talks or a clan war. Additionally, clans with eight or more contributing members will be granted a sect of land in which they are to build their own camp or hall.

Clan Wars

As mentioned, wars between clans are permitted within the lands of Un’Satum. However, any and all fights or battles MUST take place outside the capital. Should a clan war threaten the existence of Un’Satum, the Warchiefs will intervene and stop the conflict. If the leaders of the conflicting parties choose to continue a war against the wishes of the Warchiefs, they will promptly be slain.

LAWS

The Udu’Maruubh

Un’Satum was founded upon seven principles to ensure the longevity of its existence. These principles are upheld at all costs and are dictated by the Warchiefs themselves, which go as follows.

I. Do not steal from your brethren.
II. Cast out and destroy all that is dark, no matter the costs.
III. Do not have offspring of mixed race. It is cruel to subject someone to multiple curses.
IV. Hold your patron spirit close to your heart and serve them faithfully. 
V. Uphold the honor of Un’Satum.

VI. Let not your bloodlust dictate your mind and actions.
VII. Take pride in the challenges before you, and accept them no matter the odds.

Should one be caught within violation of these laws they will be punished accordingly. If one is accused of such, it will be brought forth during the weekly tribunal assuming such is not a grave offense that requires immediate action. Punishments can range anywhere from periods of banishment, public humiliation, to even execution based upon the offense. 

THE TRIBUNAL



Whilst Un-Satum is led in a dictatorial fashion on behalf of the Warchiefs, they do encourage guidance from the citizens of the lands. Each week they seek to gather the clans and other citizens within the meeting hall to discuss the problems and queries of Un’Satum. It is important to note that whilst all races are welcome within the lands, orcish voices hold more power than the voices of other races during the tribunal.
 

RELIGION

The main religion practiced within the city is that of spiritualism. Members within the city are suggested to seek out a spiritual connection, or a pact with one of the many desired spirits. After selecting one they are encouraged by the populace of Un’Satum to serve them fully and without regret for doing so. It is not uncommon for members to even seek after physical appearances of their desired spirit to create a closer connection with them and is often done on behalf of witch doctory or alchemy. The practice of any other religion besides that of spiritualism to the immortal, elemental, or ancestral spirits must be strictly done in private by the individual.

 

DISCORD


https://discord.gg/BSG8CMWDR3

The Sons and Daughter of Krug had been laboring hard to prepare their ship, fitting it with rations of food, booze, and green to get them to the new lands that had been scouted out. It was during such preparations to put the finishing touches is when the sky split apart, the arid blue turning into a seething rage of flame and death as rocks from the heavens came to smite the city of San'Azgahk. Led by The Rex, the Orcs of Krugmar fled their home, taking their last bit of belongings that had yet to be packed within the ship. They climbed into the large long boat that had been built, and with the determination steeled against what was to come, they left Arcas, in search of their new home.

A missive would go out across the nation of Krugmar and perhaps even farther out into the world, signed by the tell tale sign of the Rex. A smiling toalak with its' tongue sticking out.

"Welp. Weve all seen it at this point. The world shakes and cries out against us, probably angry we flatted that zkahin Aengul. Just now I saw the skies above New Reza burst into a celestial storm the likes of which I have not seen in my 90 years upon this Uzg. We orcs may not always be the smartest, but we arent dumb. Pack your zkahin shite and start headin to the boats. We aint stickin around to get crushed beneath our home! We head to the mighty boat made by the Yazgurtan Korzkub'Lur. We head to new lands. LUP'KRUG! LUP'ILZ'GUL!"

The missive itself would be scribed with a thick red berry paste, giving the note a tasty sent, despite the dire news.

⚙-⚙-⚙

| MASSACRE! |

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬

The following piece of literary work would make it’s rounds across the Orcish community, seemingly written by a witness of the massacre that occurred.

“A scream and a bang; a cold chill crawling up Matumakh’Raguk’s spine as he bashed the door down. Their warband had traveled to the land of murderers to enact vengeance, and their goal stood infront of them. They had entered The Eternal Uzg via the following climb:

CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED 

Despite such a path, they entered nonetheless. Now, they stood inside a Lur blarg; weapons drawn as they commenced their slaughter. Oronak’Raguk, Skullcrusha’Raguk, Ugrad’Lur. These were the names of those accompanying him as they bashed and hacked their way through the vile abode.

As Matumakh’Raguk drove the pommel of his warblade deep into a Lur’s skull, it tearing his victim’s brain, he heard Kretz’Ox pleas for peace. For a moment, he eyed the lifeless body drop to the cold floor, thumping as he thought to himself: Are these actions regretful? Should I show remorse? 

Alas, the uruk quickly remembered he was killing weakling and dishonorable vermin, felt no regret,  and continued on with his slaughter; trophying the head from his kill’s shoulders. Soon, after his warband too took their vengeance upon the Lurs, they returned to the Stone Basilisk fort to drink and party. Surely Enrohk had blessed their raid, for they lost no warriors.

This was a good day for Raguk, a good day for war.”

“ANG GUND GRIISH.”

|| A CLAIMS TO A PEOPLE ||

(Hereupon, is depicted the bestowing upon Grishnaakh’Raguk, Wargoth of Raguk, his claims to the Crimson Horde; and sons and daughters of Raguk).

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hereafter, is notated in the script of commoners, and all sufficient readers:

          Since the day I had rightfully been bestowed, the coveted gift of honour, from, however a controversial figure amongst those of Krug’s spawn, Rex Korgahk’Gorkil, brother to my eldest master, Lüga’Gorkil the Slaver, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind, at large. From the moment, I was blessed with Kor’s touch, and hence was allowed to grasp upon the spirit realm, with a tether, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind. When I served, in my term, a Dominus, and advisor to a Rex whom shaped Krugmar, and its terrain, as we know it today, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind, at large.

          And yet, here, as I live and breathe, in my moment seldom sparing time to the great worship of the spirits, but instead my brothers, whom bear skin a scarlet and crimson in its hue, and in the midst of a clan war, I am still viewed as but an outsider, amongst those, whom claim spawn to Krug? No, that cannot be right. Were not, the paths of Krug and Maehr, paths that granted those who laid their weary feet upon them, the semblance of brotherhood, where one could not find it? Were it not, a path that granted honour, to a world and a people, otherwise stricken with dishonour? In my aid to the cause against the Ibleespawn, my honour is viewed as illegitimate. In my own craft of shrines, my honour is viewed as illegitimate. In the loss of my own two hands, at the expense of Urguan, by the wishes of the Rex Murdok’Lak, I am viewed as an outsider.

          No longer, will the mali’aheral, whom left his own kin in blood, to grow and prosper amongst individuals, whom are the basis’ of laments and folklore, be viewed as but a pariah. Truly, a causes unjust on behalf of the very spawn of Krug. Today, I adopt, as my own, the claims to the Raguk people, and the Crimson Horde as their Rex. No – the one, true Rex; and the only of my ilk, since Phaedrus –. As voted and dictated by the children of Clan Raguk, I, Grishnaakh’Raguk, first of his name, name myself Rex of the Crimson Horde.

”Our skins burn red, as our wrath does. Our tusks, a yellow as marble. Our pride, undying as the Myrzym we mounted in times of yore. And, whence I prevail, a Rex amongst all, united orcs, will there be duality, in the name and spirit of Krug. Watch, in the Court of the Crimson Rex.”

Scribed, and bloodscripted by Grishnaakh’Raguk, Rex of the Crimson Horde,

Bloodscripted by Matumakh’Raguk,

Bloodscripted by the Effigy.

Shiitake and a small group of Shrogo Snotling wander around Krugmar, then stumble upon an odd tree.
“Uh...”
“Wubba ***??”

wtf??

 Shiitake points at the Red Tree, pointing it out to his group. 

”Wub iz dis? Peep like mojo tree.” The Snotlings nodded. They all decided to take a brake from hunting, and gather a short distance from the ‘Blood Tree’. This name was given to the tree by Shii. ”Duh Blud Tree iz a short diztunce frum duh Droodz, maybe iz Droop Dik sabatoge?” Droop **** being his made up slang for Druidic. ”Maybe iz sapping duh Uzg ub plant life? Zo no cropz.” Shiitake promptly knocked out the brainmelt of a Snotling. “Id’jit! Droodz nub harm plantz.” All the little goblins in the hunting party backed up. ”Though mi gruk dey might harm plantz fer a big plan, mi nub gruk, meh.” The Green midgets sat around for a short minute, as Shiitake Pondered. ”Maybe iz just a mojo tree from anover mojo group, dat iz just pudding deez mojo treez down fur fun, and to zpread ‘lub’ and ‘habbynuz’. Maybe iz just a fanzee schmanzee shrine, but dey usually include a sign detaling wub spirit the shrine iz for. Mi alzo remember peeping a tree juzt like dis near zootica, but ubba green culuh.” As Shiitake paced, he kicked a Snotling square in the face in frustration. He was Knocked cold. The Goblins now forming a defensive circle and shifting about, to avoid getting pulverized. ”We shud experiment on duh tree too. Maybe it haz diamond ztrong wud, ‘r it turnz on fiyah when latz blah duh mojo wurd. Well, zoon mi guezz. Abtur dis liddul hunt, zpread wurd of diz spooky tree.”

The Return of the Shrogo

~Znitgit’Shrogo circa 1721

   Znitgit woke up on his small dinghy, not knowing where he was, only knowing that when he took the mad caps, Luara had told him to head out to the high seas in search of his homeland in order to bring more disciples to Atlas, to know her and to praise her as more than just the crude idols of the moon that had been erected on their isle of Shroglund. In a frenzy of religious fervor, he chopped down three trees and, using his skills with carpentry he gained from making the Great Shrine of Luara outside of his clan's cave, he built the small dinghy in the shape of a moon. Thereafter, he set off into the seas in the general direction of where he thought they'd come from. Unfortunately for him, a boat in the shape of the moon is not the most agile boat, and he had neither the skill nor the strength to drive the boat forward. Additionally, he'd forgotten food and water, carrying nought but the mushrooms that he stashed in the folds of his robe. Noting his dire circumstance, he resolved to wait until night and to eat the mushrooms in order to commune with Luara. When night came, he consumed the mushroom and suddenly the crescent moon above shined brilliantly, his boat reflecting its light. He looked up, his pupils dilating as he found himself in awe of the brilliant moon above. To him, before the boat appeared a line of silver stars, and a paddle of pure moonlight rose out of the water (in reality it was a convenient piece of driftwood from a nearby boat wreckage), and believing that Luara had aided him, he took the paddle and madly paddled onwards. He paddled for three days and three nights, stopping only once to relieve himself off the side of the boat into an astral chamberpot that presented itself (a bucket from yet another nearby wreckage) before continuing his mad dash. When his boat struck the shores of Shroglund, he found himself amazed when he looked up and the moon appeared as a large thumbs-up, egging Znitgit on towards his people. Thereafter, he stumbled into the nearest cave and fell flat on the sands before them.

   When he awoke, he was surrounded by his pale-skinned kin. They had recognized that he wore the robes of a Mushob, and talk of a 'prophet' had begun to spread among the locals. "Where’s Nuda?" and "What happened to Shiitake!?" some would say. He first weakly requested food and water, as he had not had either for three days, and when it was brought he drank much of the water and ate much of the food. Thereafter, he took a nap, right there in front of everyone, and when he woke he sprung up and jumped onto the nearest - and tallest - rock. "Bruddaz!" Znitgit shouted "Dea'z an 'ole nuvva continent out dea'! A big wun wif a big moon! It'z 'ome 'ta gitz called 'Urukz' dat run diz great nayzhun called 'Krugmar'. Luara shinez upon id'z peepul, and da Urukz 'ave people who can 'elp uz zpeak to Luara 'erzelf!" he paused for dramatic effect. Some of the Goblins gasped in awe, however a skeptical Mushob asked: "Which part of tha Bad-Moon?” Znitgit, using it as an opportunity to pontificate to the masses about Luara, continued. "Luara; da git dat zhinez' on uz at niyt, dat shelta'z uz frum da zun! Dat led'z uz 'unt an' gatha' at night! Luara'z da git whoze naym we should all rekogniyz an' prayz! Lop Luara!" he shouted, and the goblins reluctantly joined in. "Lop iz a wurd in diz ol' language dat Luara bl- zpeakz, called da 'Old Blah'. Da gitz in Krugmar zpeak da New Blah, wizh - " he lowered the pitch of his voice " - zoundz a bid liyk diz. Dey'z 'av bigga teefz den uz zo dey'z needa blah divvrunt." He raised the pitch of his voice to its normal tune once more. "But I 'ave spoken to Luara! I have spoken to da moon!" the assembled goblins gasped. An old Mushob, native to Shroglund, shouted "So 'ave I! Wif da Shroomz!" Znitgit shook his head. "Wivvout da shroomz! I've bin ON da moon! I've BLAHED wif Luara! Az in, she didunt giv me zum vizhun wif a nu- unclear idea of wot to make 'appen, she told mi!" The old Mushob shouted "Lies!" Znitgit shook his head once more. "Be'old!" Znitgit then brought forth the Shrogo Moon from his pocket, rendered naught but a useless bauble by the Skygods, but it still served as proof of Znitgit's statement. It floated gently above Znitgit's raised hand, its light filling the surrounding cavern. "Diz iz a tiynii moon dat Luara gave to uz! Diz iz da proof of my statement! Diz iz da sign dat we are Luara'z chosen! In Krugmar, we'z got an 'ole cave and an 'ole seat on da Rex'z counzil! We'z importunt enuff to be recognized an' consida'd! We'z a WARGOFF klan! Before I lef' Shiitake'Shrogo wuz Wargoff! We'z got it roight good in Krugmar! Now, Schnub'Nub came 'ea an' we believed in 'im! We truzted 'im! We were rewarded! Now, who'z gunna' follow mi liyk I follow'd Schnub!" The goblins' applause shook the cavern walls, and the news of this prophet of the moon spread all throughout Shroglund, and eventually reached the local Gobbgoth.

Infuriated by Znitgit's perceived attempt to take his people away from him, to take them to this far off land that he thought didn't exist, to lead them to wherever this 'prophet' had come back from, he came down from his high, gem-encrusted, gold-laden, silver-lined cave bourne by four strong goblins he'd appointed to have the honour of carrying his gold palanquin around with his iron, silver-inlaid, gold-hafted axe and the breastplate that he'd recently had stretched as he'd grown too fat for his armor. There, he saw the 'prophet' and shouted boisterously "You! 'Mighty Prophet of da Moon', roight? Da skah'r ya doin' wif my skahin' people!" Znitgit began his sermon anew to accommodate for the Gobbgoth, but the Gobbgoth would have none of it. He lifted his axe on high and motioned for his palanquin carriers to lower the palanquin to the ground, and stepped off the gold seat with much effort. His stomach, gelatinous as it was, jiggled around as he lowered himself to the ground. "Get reddi fur a scrap!" Znitgit had brought naught but his ritual dagger and, unlike the Gobbgoth, had no armor to speak of save the thick, heavy robes that hid his form from the sun when he wanted to walk in the day. However, Znitgit had faith in Luara, and, drawing forth one of the mad caps he kept concealed in his robe, he set it alight at a nearby torch and blew it out, then simultaneously smoking and eating the cap of the mushroom. To him, time slowed. His heart raced, on the verge of exploding. Then, he attacked. Those who witnessed him claimed that he glowed with the yellow light of the moon, though it was likely the fire that had started on the mushroom in his mouth. Others would say that he moved as swift as a moonbeam in a crack in the rock, though it was just that he'd moved much faster than the slow, obese Gobbgoth. No matter the account, all stayed the same; Znitgit slew the Gobbgoth that day, and had cut him into ribbons as well as his malleable gold armor, which was no match for Gorkil-forged steel. and the axe barely scraped the Mushob. When it was done. Znitgit collapsed, twitched for a while, then rose up once more and lifted the head and the flabby mass that formed its neck and presented it to the gathered goblins. "By right uv da' Skrap, I'm da new Gobbgoth! Now, get 'ya robez, go outzide n' build da biggezt ship lat gitz'v evva zeen!" The goblins would begin to file out of the caves with newfound determination, but would soon be stopped by the sounds of a staff hitting the floor, rhythmically and methodically.

“Ah… Hrm.” A shadowed figure stood in the doorway, a long, creeping shadow coming off of the light from outside. The group, stopped in their tracks, observed it. Some yelped, some ran, and some cowered. “I thinks I understand.” It waved a staff in the air, knocking back a few goblins, and pointed a long, spindly finger towards Znitgit. “I can tell you’ve done Schnub things, yes-yes.” It spoke, coughing and sputtering, lowering its hands and leaning on its staff. Soon it would be clear to the goblins that this was Mygenaba, one of the oldest Mushobs, let alone beings, on their island. “Hnnghh!” The old goblin convulsed, and with a shaky hand, pulled a Mad Cap from a belt that hung lazily around his waist. Consuming it, he would immediately scream. “Yes! Yes! The Bad-Moon!” He shouted with newfound energy, lumbering over to Znitgit. “It all aligns! The stars line with the moon! You have seen Schnub himself!” He waved his staff in the air once more to the amazed Znitgit, and this time while dancing. “Be bless-blessed! Gyaaah!” He smacked Znitgit on the head with his staff, before nearly collapsing. Noticing that Znitgit was about to speak, Mygenaba quickly interjected. “Speak none! Go! You carry the Bad-Moon on your shoulders!” With that, he stumbled to the side of the cave wall and laid there, pointing to the entrance of the Shrogo caves.

   It was a gruelling trip. Due to pure dumb luck, they had run off course and were headed towards Arcas rather than the cold, frigid wasteland that Atlas had become. However, that also meant that their general direction was off. They had planned for a weeklong journey and packed for two weeks, but the end of the 2nd week came and went and there was still no sign of land. Goblins began to perish or jump overboard from desperation or from bad trips, claiming the  Moon told them to do it. Other goblins, not used to even the slightest amount of light, died from incurable skin conditions. While the Shrogo fleet began with 27 ships, their numbers dwindled until they could man only one. 26 ships with Bad Moon banners were left to float adrift on the seas beyond Arcas, all laden with the corpses of Shrogo goblins not strong enough to make the trip. Znitgit had needed to Skrap a considerable amount of times, but no one could best him once he'd entered his frenzy. However, even Znitgit was wondering whether he was in the right, doubting his holy mission. On the night of the 7th month - they'd been subsisting on the flesh of the deceased, those who hadn't died of illness - he prayed to the Moon. A mist had set in that day, and all on the boat were clueless of their heading, only hoping for land. To Znitgit's shock. he opened his eyes and saw the moon, a crescent above him, and the mist before him cleared. Before him, he saw the shores of Arcas, and knew he had reached the right land. At the top of his lungs, he shouted "LAND! LUARA GAYV UZ LAND! LOP LUARA!" and the motley crew of goblins remaining burst into cheers. The Shrogos were once again coming to the shores.

OOC: Hi! I’m bringing back the Shrogo clan, but if you want to play one of these surviving members from the original isle, post a little RP blurb about the trip and your character as well as the following. I’ll send you a link to join the discord and communicate

RP Name:

MC Username:

Discord Username:

Need a skin: (Y/N)

Bogrum’Lak, after being given Rex, climbed up the Rex’s castle, up the stoney cold steps and into the warm, dim lit throne room, there he sits down in content and comfort, he sits there for a few hours before pulling out his journal, flipping open the crude leather book and onto the rough linen pages, he recalls fond memories of times past, his mentor and guide as an orc, Shreck’Lak, who helped him when he was a young tusked orc, the memories of training and being the right hand man, along side his brother, Elder Tawdnug’Lak.

With Shreck’Lak and Elder Tawdnug’Lak, Bogrum’Lak would find endless fun and enjoyment in being apart of the Clan Lak, always happy to wake up and journey, fight and talk with his brothers, everyday was a day for Laklul and Krug in the old orcs eyes, as they grew slightly misty as he recalls Tawdnug’s death, flipping the page to spare him the trouble memories of his slain brother, coming across the great Grubgoth Wud. 

The Greatest Grubgoth, and the closest friend, Bogrum would fill the hole Tawdnug left with the endless entertainment of Wud, the simple, brutish Olog who would serve nothing but delicious grub and fill the bellies of all Uruks was one of Bogrum’s closest friends, if not the only friend outside of Lak Bogrum trusted his entire life to. Wud was someone he trusted dearly and would always be glad to see him no matter what, as he was the greatest Olog to have ever lived.

Pain gripped Bogrum’s heart as he recalled the old memories, flipping the page and coming across another newer orc, that of the bald orc Tajo. He was at first unimpressed by Tajo but after numerous time spent together, Bogrum grew to respect and eventually become friends with Tajo, admiring his skill and actions, he was always happy to go on hunts and kill people brutally with Tajo’s savage skill at his side, Bogrum remembered those times .

But as the old orc flipped through his journal, he looked around in his throne room.

Empty.

He looked to his left, expecting to see the shambling obease figure of Grubgoth Wud, giving him fresh meat and saying some wise proverb like “Eat Halfing.” But he wasn’t there, and as Bogrum would look to his left for the old Laklul members who he stood side by side with, through the destruction of the Dark Shamans and Ugluk, through wars and uprisings. Expecting to see the Valiant Elder Tawdnug’Lak, Swampgoth Shreck’Lak and his newest friend, Tajo the bald elf.

He saw no-one.

Bogrum looked down at his scars, and at his journal. closing his eyes and snapping the journal shut, wrapping it in the sinew string of an animal. he placed it in the burning brazier next to him, the wisps of memories crackling and burning under the flame, he sat back down on the cold throne, in his empty hall and closed his eyes, clenching his fists as a tear dropped from his face.

Bogrum was alone.

After a night of feasting in the halls of Lur, War Lord Falum’Lur retreats to his quarters from the great feeding of slain beasts by the Hunters and Wild Orcs who glorify Votar as they dine. He grunts as he walks over to a large lump of hides and furs that one might call a bed and tosses himself into the cot. A night passes and a servant Goblin returns noticing Lord Falum had not risen from the cot which alerted him to call the others. Some of the Lur shamans return as they look him over and treat him in their odd medical examinations. After short review, the clan farseers look to the others and all agree between one another “Hiz spirit am being plagued by spiritz of disease” and begin barking orders to retrieve tools so they could begin their spirit walks to help him while his Lur wolf, Fenrir, guards his side as he suffers through the fever.

Falum’Lur has fallen.

    It had been ages since he'd last seen another of his kin. Was he the only one left in this frozen wasteland? Furs adorned his body, layer upon layer of mammoth, rabbit, deer, and any other kind of fur he could get his hands on covering his body. He'd lost track of how many Vaeyl he had slain outside of his once sandy, hot, arid, cave, only that he'd suffered since the memo of his nation's departure had not reached his cave, the messenger likely silenced by the continual ringing of the hammerstroke on his latest masterwork. A year before and 3 following the evacuation of Atlas, Shakul'Gorkil laboured tirelessly at the Forge of Azog on reforging the Black Hammer of Gorkil, the hammer he'd wielded since he was a kub on the sands of Vailor when he was known by a different name. He'd just mounted the boar-faced head onto the haft when the snows began to set in, when he'd noticed that the goi his people once called home was abandoned. He'd already taken to hunting various beasts in the desert, but he'd noticed a rather dramatic change; The coyotes and dire wolves had fled the deserts, the nullers remained beneath the sands, never to rise and torment him again, the desert tortoises and wild jabbernaks had disappeared, and the vultures no longer circled overhead. In their place, great hairy northern creatures - grizzlies, mammoths, elk, moose - had begun to appear, beasts he was familiar with from his ranging in the mountains of the unfinished San'Gorka. Anticipating the later colds, his stockpile of furs and hides began long before the snows began to rise above the low rock walls that surrounded his cave, long before the entrance was regularly blocked by a cascade of snows that required ample heat to remove. In these times, Shakul'Gorkil was grateful for the magmatic flow he'd tapped into in order to fuel the forge, grateful that he could take shelter in his cave and cook his latest kill over the scalding heat of the forge. For years, Shakul existed in this barren wasteland, drinking from buckets of melted snow and eating haunches of thawed bear meat. It was some time before he encountered the Vaeyl, a threat that he'd heard of only in the whispers on the wind before the snows began to set in. Often, he'd find himself ambushed by the armour-clad men, and often he'd find himself hauling fresh metal - and often, fresh meat - to the forge. He was beyond certain that he would die in this frozen wasteland, cold and alone, and began to make peace with Krug, with Kor, with the ancestors and immortals that he held dear to him.

    It was with this desire to make peace with his spirits that he ventured to the Elemental Plane and spoke with Quxlaz, the fire spirit that he'd made a pact with when the rivers flowed and the plains flowered, when he'd made the promise to bring to the world the greatest fire the Mortal Plane had seen, to spread Quxlaz' influence to every hearth in the halls of Krugmar.

    "You lied. You resign yourself to remain here, in this frozen wasteland and eke out the rest of your days merely living?" the fiery creature's voice shouted in the Old Blah "And for what? Why do you live? What is your purpose? You are a frail, old thing, and you have decieved me."

    Shakul'Gorkil hung his head in shame, the stinging accusations of the spirit stinging his pride and scalding his resolve. "Mi did nub lie. Mi'z intenzhuns wur-"

    "Your intentions are not your actions." Quxlaz recognized his words had made their mark. "Now, will you go meekly into Stargush'Stroh, or will you make good on your promise?"

    Shakul's pride took ahold of him, and when he departed the trance induced by the cactus green he'd smoked, he took naught but the furs on his back, his tool belt, his warhammer, some meat and a torch and left.

    The trek north was brutal. He was constantly assailed by wild animals, the Vaeyl, and the various other creatures that had come to inhabit Atlas after the cold set in. His body had began to freeze, the snows lashed at his face, and the winds bit into his skin like a hungry pack of wolves, ravenously pursuing their elusive pray, snipping at the parts that dared stray too close. The warmth that the torch provided was minimal, and rather quickly the flames went out, rendering the torch naught but a piece of charred driftwood. Sleep began to seeem like a good option, and the promise that Shakul might wake up to find this entire endeavour was naught but a green-induced dream was beginning to appeal to him. Several outcroppings in the snow-laden rock seemed appealing, but the biting words of Quxlaz nagged at the back of his mind and drove him onwards, a fiery lash driving him forward against his will. He had not slept in days, he had resorted to drinking the blood of his kills in order to stave off dehydration, and he had naught but a general notion of where he was going when he decided to set off north. He passed the ice-encased cities of the past - Haense, Marna, the Cloud Temple, Dunshire - on his trek north, all of which posed as comely distractions to the beleaguered warrior. Were he not an uruk of tougher stuff, were he not a former Rex, were he not a war hero and a survivor, he would've already been dead, and while his metal leg dragged in the snow, the wolves warily watched his every step, and the icy northern crows cackled from frozen boughs above, he continued on in spite of them, driven by his pride, his resolve, and his basic sense of survival. It was pure dumb luck when he happened upon the passageway north, the frozen statues of Atlas' fallen implying their valiant struggle against the Vaeyl on their northern retreat, armors and weapons of all races sticking out of the thick layer of ice that encased their former owners, forgotten by the children of Arcas. It was through this gate that the weary, frostbitten Shakul wandered through, not peering back to view the hellscape that became of the land he was once a leader of. Luck caused him to choose the correct passageways north, and luck caused him to amble past the Vaeyl patrols that monitored the region south of Arcas. Luck and resolve in equal measure brought him, gasping and limping, to the borders of Arcas. He was too distraught to realize that his left hand was dangerously frostbitten and in need of amputation, that two of his toes were on the verge of snapping off, and that all that saved his face from devastation was the thick beard that had set in after years of isolationism. Not realizing the threat had passed, Shakul continued his trek until he reached the Cloud Temple of Arcas and, at its border, he collapsed onto the ground. Cloud Temple monks rushed to his aid and, with their medical expertise, three of his toes, a significant portion of his left arm, and one of his fingers on his right hand were amputated. Shakul was in a catatonic state for months, tended daily by monks and watched over by their monastic order, before, eventually, Shakul woke. The fire in his heart was rekindled, and it was time to release it in the name of Quxlaz.

The Laknation of Laklul

Active Lak clan members:

• Elder Bogrum’Lak, Rex – Uruk – Nation Leader of the Orcs
• Lubok’Lak, Maugoth – Uruk – Leader of the Orcs’ military
• Omar Grimmer’Lak – Goblin – Makes boats and action figures
• Bawtl’Lak – Olog – Collects bottles and inhales food
• Baroth’Lak – Uruk – Clad in green steel armor
• Clan Lak Grunt – Goblin – Belly juju

Information:

• There are more active Orcs than just the ones listed above. Znagas (slaves) and honorary orcs can also be seen in Krug.
• Armor and weapons are supplied for free to everyone who rallies with us in times of war.
• About half of houses in Krug are in use and there are 20-30 vacant houses.
• The steward of Krug is @Lava1izard. He can help you find a house. There are no taxes.
• Pretty much 90% of the orcs are males, so I recommend making a female if you’re making a new persona.
• You should learn some Blah and learn about orc culture if you’re new to being an Orc.
• If you need an orc skin, you can use one of @_Jandy_‘s skins on planetminecraft. 
• You can contact @Etherealxx or myself if you wish to join the Lak clan.

Burbur entrapped in Ogrol’s realm.

The Rex Burbur’Lur sat within the tower of the fortress within San’Strokh, the air around him hazy with the smoke of cactus. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he read over the report from the remaining Hou-Zi, he had scratched their back, in return all he received was a void where they used to be, without a single word.

He began his chant to take him to the Spirit Realm, long had Burbur been a Farseer, and in his many years never had he made such a mistake, he trusted the Keshig next to him to keep the room quiet, so that he may concentrate in his already frustrated state, but a loud bang echoed through the room, steadily it grew louder as Burbur realized himself that the Keshig was the one making such a racket, his eyes widened as he realized what the Orc was muttering under his breath, one of those closest to him who he had given his trust had truly stabbed him in the back.

Burbur’s vision faded and he felt the gaze of two malicious presences, he had been sent to the realm of Ogrol, beside the infamous spirit sat one of it’s lesser spirits, a dryder like creature with a cage on it’s back, Burbur recognized that there were others inside of this cage, each labeled with a collar around their necks. ‘Gus’, ‘Rickardo’ ,‘Retnuh’, alongside others sat in the cage, a hopeless look on their faces. Burbur opened his mouth to speak but the spirits said no words, he was condemned.

From within the cage Burbur vowed never to trust another again.

The council of The Warnation sat around Burbur’s unmoving body, it would be obvious to Hargurr and Nazark what had happened, but there was little they could do, Burbur’s fate rest entirely in the fate of the malicious spirits who lust for nothing but power. It was up to these councilors what story would be told, and what direction the Uzg would go in now.

OOC: Thank you to all the Orcs who stuck with me in my months leading, we went from a tiny community to one of the most active nations for a time, it is unfortunate that this is the way things had to go, but I cannot justify playing on the server after what has happened. Hold your heads up and keep going, you guys are capable of great things.

To all my other friends, I’ll be around on discord if you ever need anything, and might log in for the warclaims, thanks for being cool all these years.

I hope that soon everyone will see how silly it is to have a system where players do not even know they have done something until they are already punished for it, and even then they might not know what they have done, and are given almost no opportunity to defend themselves.

Anyways. Gug’ye.

Trazha'Raguk steps out of his tent and looks around the pitiful camp. Shabby construction and a fire pit with nothing in it to kindle a fire. The state of The Raguk Clan has been on the decline for some time now. In his mind, he always knew it was an inevitability with the wargoth's decisions. Like most, he was optimistic at one point. There was a constant stream of orcs bringing in materials to build their new home and forge weapons of war. There were regular hunts for slaves to toil the fields. There were talks to make peace with The Orcs of Krugmar. But somewhere along the line, the fires of industry burned out. The wood lazily stockpiled on one side of the camp was now rotten and unfit for use. The vast wealth of iron picked over and looted by scavengers. The pitiful farm sat unused with rotting crops attracting flies and the occasional rat. The purple orc lifted his arms and spoke loudly to the few Raguks lingering around their tents. 

“Da Machine Of Eternal Drudgery haz fallen silent bruddaz. Da cogs of industrii have beeyn clogged wid webs agh dust. Da pantheyon nub longur blezzes owr kin. Da Yellerz uv owr greyt zpiridz nub hav der warriorz leydin der preyerz. Dey nub hav der zacrifiyzez uv blood agh bone. Wurdz uv der greytnezz no longur are whizpered tu uz by owr elderz. Owr klan haz grown weyk agh fragiyl. Owr greyt bloodliyne iz now nubthin more dan insignifikant specs uv dirt in da uzg.“

“Da eldurz am rizponsible for owr zeparayzhun frum Krugmar. Agh now peep arownd lat. Da elderz am ahll flat. Der akzhunz aganzt dat azh wargoth led tu uz bein zhunned frum Krugmar agh zeeykin owt zhelter heyr. Da elderz blah'd dat wi wuld build a greyt nayzhun owt uv diz land. Azh dat wuld mayke owr anzeztorz proud, agh owr enemiez trembul. But wehn wi peep arouwnd owrzelvez now?”

The orc bent low. His fingers dug deep into the coarse dirt they had built their camp upon and clenched it within his fist. He rose back to his full height and presented the soil to those gathered around him.

“Mi peep nubtin but smoke, ash, smog. A barren land dat grows nubthin agh harbors nub liyf. Diz iz nub playz fur azh uruk. Owr playz. Owwr riytful playz am wid owr bruddas in Krugmar juzt az it wuz durin da reign uv Leydluk. The feud bitween owr elderz agh da gorkilz am ovur.  Wi hav no riizon tu ztey wheyr wi du nubthin but zlowlii withur awey untyl wi am ahll flat agh forgotten. It iz tik fur da Raguks tu riturn home! Bak tu owr bruddaz agh bak tu owr pazt glorii. Gathur now wid latz zhieyldz agh zults agh mayk da greyt machine churn azh mor! Now iz da tik for azh wargoth tu riyz agh du wub neydz tu bi done! A nuw generayzhun uv doz wid bluudzteeyl jawz tu zing da prayzez uv owr zpiridz agh fill da trenchez uv war wid bluud!”

“Ang Gund Griish!”

       An old, tattered raft washed upon the Curonian shoreline. Nearby, some peasant farmers rushed down to search the small vessel for valuables, only to discover a pulsing, skinny, slimey green goblin, facedown in the sand. They’d flip the odd creature over to reveal the fabled Trash Gobo, a creature of olde, said to scour the land for trash, junk, garbage, and other discarded objects, in the hopes of building something wondrous. The new generation of humans and Orcs, they only regarded the Trash Gobo as something of legend, a tale told by the elders to misbehaving children – but indeed, the Orcs of Axios would remember Tuzbug the Trash Gobo well, and his Trash Empire.

       The Trash Gobo, as the legends say, was a small Goblin who would rush come knocking on doors at night, collecting trash from anyone who’d offer. He’d return his collection to the Trash Empire, trading and selling his goods for other trinkets or coin. With the trash nobody had any interest in, he’d engineer into magnificent artifacts and weaponry, to be sold for a higher price. The ingenuity of the Trash Gobo was his greatest weapon. The Trash Gobo, and his loyal minions, were subjects of Klan Krap, worshipping Krap, the spirit of all trash related affairs.

       When we last saw our hero, he had diverged from the rest of the Orcish migrants to Atlas, escaping persecution for bearing an illegitimate son, by the name of Lil’ Trashy, who was promptly drowned in sewage by much larger Uruks. Drifting at sea, the Trash Gobo survived primarily off of raw fish, which wasn’t too outlandish for the Trash Gobo, who formerly resided in sewers.

       “Wub da zkah iz latz duin’,” gurgled the Trash Gobo, spitting out some seawater onto one of the farmers’ boots. Before the peasants could reply, the Trash Gobo recognized where he was, and his malnourished body sprung for joy. He had missed the feeling of solid ground, to be able to scoop up sand in his grimy palms. Immediatley, the Trash Gobo felt the instinctive urge to collect discarded belongings, and to recreate his legendary junkyard. Leaving behind the two farmers and his demolished raft, the Goblin took his skinny legs as far as he could take them, in an effort to bring back the blessings of Krap to the world.

If one were to ever see the Trash Gobo, he’d likely be rummaging through a garbage can.

Keshig Mograh’Yar watched from an archer’s nest in Helena as battering rams and trebuchet shots peppered the gates. Humans stood in the distance, the size of ants, trying to bust into this city that she might have decided to burn herself had it not been the circumstances. She wasn’t sure why she was on the side that she was on, but her government and her gods had guided her to this point, so she fought with zeal despite her utter indifference to the conflict. She nocked arrows and fired blindly at the swarming humans, their forms becoming larger as they approached the keep and scrambled over rooftops to reach her nest. Cursing, she lined up a shot for her newfound opponents only to hear the whistle of a heavy stone being chucked through the air by a trebuchet. Before she knew it, her armored form was flung from the nest and into a recess between homes. As she hit the ground, managing to tenuously do so on her feet, she heard and felt a snap in her ankle. She didn’t care to figure out what had happened, her only interest was survival so she called incessantly to be freed by ladder.

The day waned on as no-one came to the Fe-Uruk’s aid. However, someone did find their way into her prison of rubble- an Orenian. He swung at her from above, jabbing down with his blade but only scratching her across her betusked face. Roaring in fury, she slammed her mace into his kneecap, sending the young man tumbling into the mud alongside her. The Orenian scrambled to his feet, keeping his buckler raised. This did little to help him as she bludgeoned her way through his shield, mercilessly spreading the poor man’s brains in the mud. The clash of steel and splintering wood had gained someone else’s attention, and with a soft prayer to the spirit of luck she looked up to see who it was.

Lucky for the Snagagoth, it was a Renatian with a rope ladder. He lowered it for her and she managed to clamber onto the debris riddled roof of a building alongside a small detachment of Renatians. Slowly but surely, they made their way across the rooftops toward a section of wall which had been taken by Orenians. Arrows rained down on the group but she managed to escape their whistling, biting wrath. Quickly, the Orenians seemed to vanish from that section of the wall. Mograh, however, had realized she had trapped herself on this section of roof.

She carefully made her way toward the ground, a section of alleyway primarily devoid of any sort of conflict but relatively close to the bottom floor of the keep. She trudged through the mud toward a ladder which lead out into the conspicuously empty, fortified street. Slowly she made her way up it, peering out to see a handful of men doing battle. Carefully, she slipped past them with minimal damage and made her way into the first floor of the keep where she and several Renatians would make their stand.

Breathing a heavy sigh before beginning to catch her breath, her sprained ankle caught up with her. She sluggishly crept to a ledge overlooking the street and nocked an arrow, beginning to take a few shots at some of the Orenians making their way up the street.

To the Yar Elder’s surprise, there went from naught but four or five Orenians to a full force, as if flood gates had been opened. The defenders were quickly overwhelmed, pushed back to Mograh’s newfound archer’s nest as the attackers worked their way in. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, the Fe-Uruk crept back while swinging wildly at any Orenian who approached her. The pain in her ankle vanished as she fought tooth and nail to keep them back, but it was to little avail. Even after putting down one man, she still found herself on the far edge of the room. The heavy metal gates on one side of the cobblestone chamber slammed shut, but Snow Elven and Orenian soldiers still flooded in through the opposite gate. She fought with a small number of Renatians to keep them back, but was forced up to a narrow and short tunnel in the roof.

At this point, all she could think of was not survival but revenge on those that would seek to bring her to her now inevitable demise. Every time one of her adversaries made their way up the ladder, she swung her mace down to keep them down. This plan did not work for long as the tunnel was soon filled with what was left of the Renatian defenders and a handful of snow elves. The fighting was bloody and Mograh began to accrue more and more bruises, cuts and scrapes.

Her nose broken, her eye black, her teeth missing, her armor and flesh torn and several fingers missing and bleeding, she and those in the tunnel with her finally managed to push back. By some twist of fate or luck, she managed to slip out and into where most of the fighting was occuring. It was like a sea of soldiers, the Renatians outnumbered but fighting bravely to the bitter end. She let loose a warcry as she hurled herself at the foe.

Even with her body broken and the blood of a freshly killed Orenian on her hands, her mind strayed to thoughts of home, of her clan, of her children- these are what she was fighting for. As she realized her purpose of being here, of slaughtering men and elves until she met her demise, she was struck in the side of the head by a mace. Sent toppling to the ground, she was trampled and buried under debris and mud. In this moment, she was no longer Elder of Clan Yar, no longer Keshig of Rex Burbur, no longer Snagagoth of Krugmar. No, she was just a young mother lying in mud, ash and blood.

                                                                                                        

‘And lo, in the youthful dark of the world when Shadow roamed unchecked,

And Starlight flickered in the chill dark without a home to return to,

When Soul and Sense whereas yet roiling in the unformed deep of the ocean,

When the waters flowed in innocence, and the earth did not yet war against the waves,

There came the Beginning, where all things found their place.'

Isilioleth culture’s founding belief is that the Soul has many senses that are unused or untempered by our lives. The most obvious Five manifest regularly and present the world in a stunted, unformed manner that misses much of the deeper nature of life. Prolific use of alchemy in the development of hallucinogenic concoctions and a great appreciation for the symbology of colour are core parts of any clan members life. Tattoos, paintings, patterns, textiles and shrines bright with a hundred colours are all components of a clan members appreciation for their traditional artistry. Homes are gaudy places filled with warmth and the thick scent of spices, gathering places glow with fire and stink of good food, good drink and good people.

Life is a stage to paint one's character upon. It is most enjoyed when one gives oneself unto it uncompromisingly and takes pleasure in the myriad sensations of the journey. Love is good for its joy, hate for its power, mercy for its nobility. The Isilioleth band together to appreciate the happiness and the sorrow of the journey and do not shy away from all that entails. They give their brothers a home to return to, a shoulder to cry upon and a voice to console their deepest worries. The long life of an elf can be hard, but they hope to revel in its wonder whilst they can.

The Recent History of the Isilioleth

When the putrid aura of Orgon had swept into every aspect of the world around them, the Isilioleth knew that only destruction and decay would await those that remained on the doomed continent of Vailor. With this is mind, they made haste toward the boat that the clan had prepared for such instances; for an element made most clear in the clan is one of preparedness, whether it be for life or death.

As the gathering of Mali’ker scrambled for their escape, the creatures of rot and destruction began to emerge from the fetid swamps around them, striking the slower of the Isilioleth that were lagging at the back of the crowd.

Alas, with little time to spare the clan had no choice but to press on against the swathe of disease and entrapment that sought to ensnare them in their rotting fingers. As the enormous portal at the Docks opened up on the horizon, the Isilioleth knew that they would have to leave as soon as they could; and such little time they had, that they were forced to prematurely depart from the docks, leaving behind a number of Mali’ker that fought to the bitter end against Orgon’s army.

Indeed, it appeared as though only the youngest and most agile of the family had made it onboard, as well as a few lingering creatures that had found their way through patches of decayed wood. As the clan fought against the remainder of these beasts, they made their way through the Spirit Realm that presented itself, absorbing the experience with adrenaline fuelled awareness.

Yet in their attempt to understand the strange world they found around them, they failed to notice the point at which they emerged in Axios, crashing into a nearby coast and scattering the survivors who woke at different times of the day; if indeed they woke at all.

It appeared the Isilioleth were not as prepared for the unknown as they had thought, a notion that would plague them in their desperate search to find one another.

                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Philosophy and Religion

The Life of an Isilioleth

_______________________________________________

Clan Roster

Tedyn Isilioleth of Clan Yar [Wrynn]

Gillionel Isilioleth [Infortunii]

Arveia Isilioleth [Ptyranna]

Serevik Isilioleth [BebbZ]

_______________________________________________

Application

IGN:

Discord:

We will arrange a time to RP, where things will be taken from there.

Credits to @Infortunii for writing the lore.

The Braduk Clan

"Ghash Nagraufom" - "The fire rises"

-Credit to Samoblivion for OP

-Credit to AmKrules for scroll artwork and formatting

Easier to Read version: https://imgur.com/a/G5tWj

Forum Formatted Version:

OOC Intro:

The Braduks are a clan with one of the most extensive lores out of all of them, most of it the work clan alums ilikefooddude, MakkaP, the1bow, samoblivion and the late Higgsy written in a longform epic style.

Although in the past we were seen as a primarily AUS clan to promote RP at Oceanic friendly times, nowadays the clan membership is more varied with members in the EST timezones. Our active times conform with standard server peaks in the GMT/EST/PST regions.

Braduk RP can be a little more insular and focussed than other clans, but that does not mean we’re closed off by any means. Although the clan comes above all in Braduk culture, the clan is currently highly engaged and influential in the current Orcish playerbase.

Clan Lore Threads

Overview of the clan history:

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/112251-the-rhinos-history/

History of the wars of the clan:

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/119187-war-stories-the-braduks/

Lore of the Braduk Rhinos:

https://www.lordofth...-braduk-rhinos/

Overview of pureblooded Braduks:

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/146917-ooc-bloodline-braduks/

Previous Braduk thread including information on specific bloodlines:

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/128780-the-braduk-clan/

Recruitment Information:

Considering joining the clan? You can join in one of three ways:

• Approach the clan on your current character and ask to join. You will be tested, and if found worthy will be inducted into the ranks.

• Create a new character that is a returning Braduk (either pure or normal). You can either have your character be a Braduk who was previously in the clan, or the (possibly adult) child of one or two of them born outside the clan. After testing for traits of cowardice and divergent behaviour, your character will be re-inducted.

• Be born into the clan. Start from childhood and work your way up.

To join, approach us in game or post here. Alternatively, message me here on the forums.

((The following Update has been translated from Blah by a snaga ☺️))
➵ Important Updates and Events

     This weeks important updates include,

       – Minotaur Hunt sometime soon this week, you can find out more by PM’ing Logan#8894. He will give you an invite to the hunting discord that the orcs are using.

       – Wargoth status has been moved to Noka’Lur! With the resigned of past Wargoth Falum’Lur.

       – Chieftain status is now filled by Ugrad’Lur! do to the fact of Noka’Lur moving up.

       – The Lur hunting camp has been made outside of Krugmar, make sure you give it a visit! It includes many houses for the Lur members, and can also be used as a snaga holding area so they                   don’t have anywhere to run to!

       –  Mandatory Lur meeting this friday! (The time will later be announced in the Lur discord)
       – For anyone looking to be a part of Lur or even another clan, make sure you head to Krugmar! You can also ask most orcs for an invite to the Krugmar Discord.
 

➵ Recent Hunts

     We recently held a basilisk hunt! We ended up fighting the basilisk in the sea near krugmar. Once the fighting began, we had a hard time defeating it but we were eventually able to achieve a victory as we smashed the basilisk’s skull in with an olog, and even burned it alive. ?

     We had a total of 10 members helping us with this, 3 of them luckily received items, we were able to get three items, an eye, scale, and fang!

➵ New Members This Week!

-Figgu’Lur! (FaZe_MiaKhalifa) (Lur Hunter)
-Zugarod’Lur (aiden0023) (Lur Hunter)
-Uraak’Lur (Malacathh) (Lur Hunter)

-Shonkor (WildWyvern) (Lur Snaga)
-Alevi (Korvic) (Lur Snaga)
 

”Lizun tu mi blah Kubz... Lung lung tik ago when mi wuz kub liyke lat. Mi kame ob wiyth agh gayme. Ah gayme zu hozh mi klomping zkool mayde ah tournameynt ob it... Mi won duh tournameynt by duh whey. ”

All of the Orc Kubs look at the old Orc waiting for him to speak more

”Duh gayme iz zimpul. Lat knuw huw tu headbutt riyght?”

The group nods slowly in response, not daring to speak while such an old Orc is telling a story

“Latz face azh ahn uther und let headbutt each uther untiyl zomeazh kant ztand ob. Duh ash standing iz duh winnur. Wunt to try?”

 The eager Orc Kubs all stand up, grabbing a partner and proceed to rapidly headbutt each other until one of them can’t stand. Laughs are heard across the campfire.

(( Just a fun little game to play in the Uzg when things are slow. OOC rules are simple. Emote proceeding to headbutt each other and then both players roll 20 until someone lands on 20 out of 20 first. The person who lands on it delivers a knock out headbutt to their opponent. You do NOT have to wait for the person to roll before you do, just keep rolling as quick as possible to get as many chances at 20/20 as possible before your opponent does. Have fun, use this game or don’t. I’m not the cops.))