2nd of Snow's Maiden, SA 172

On the corners and blank spaces ot the pages there are scribbles that resemble notes and diagrams about music.

I have always appreciated the Yar tradition of learning to sing and play and dance freely as part of our rituals, and sometimes I wanted to organize a group ritual to participate and play, but always felt that something was missing. I wanted the music to feel more...powerful? Maybe more special, and a way to give more importance to this aspect of our clan. 

I was wandering in Nor-Velyth (very peaceful place, maybe less sand and bone-trees than desirable, but the colorful trees are nice) and came across a strange place: it looked like a place for music and art rituals, but instead of an altar I saw a large stage and some tables, like a tavern. Inside there was Glorier, my now bardmancy teacher, that was teaching some more advanced magic to another student.

It was an unexpectingly war welcome, since my people and elves usually don't get along very well. In fact she claimed that It was a long time since she had seen another gobbo getting into bardmancy. 

The first thing she thaught me was finding my "inner mana" to connect to the magic. As a shaman, I get my magic from the power of the spirits, not from me, so it was quite an adjustment do make: it took me a couple tries to get it right, but i found that concentrating on a fond memory of music helped me in this task.

What's the memory you might ask? Well that's too private even for my own diary! I will just say that the desert has the best acoustics... 

Anyway, now i'll need to practice this meditation thing till the next lesson, there's still a long journey ahead.

 may Brimztra guide my music!

Declared, on the 17th of The Grand Harvest, Year 150, of the Second Age.

In heeding the serpents, the revelations of your dishonors have surfaced, and there is only one punishment fit within our clan for those that succumb to the pitfalls.

To Toad’Yar, and his lifemate, Glasha’Yar,  I address this; 

I. For his weakness and complacency, Toad is considered harrowed - banished from the clan. He is, as tradition states, sent to the lands of Mor’Ghuun.

II. For her duplicity and thoughtlessness, Glasha is hereby harrowed - banished from the clan. She is, as tradition states, sent to the lands of Mor’Ghuun.

III. All lands, assets, and titles owned by these two individuals should be, under good faith, afforded to the Wargoth for redistribution amongst the clans.

<(O)>

Signed,
Zag'Yar, Goth'ob Gazh-Doraz, and Wargoth of The Yar.

From San'velku to H'nor, Know This;

THROUGH THE MIGHT AND WILL OF THE GLORIOUS BARBOG, SAVIOR OF PRINCESSES AND HERO OF THE URUK-HAI, THE CLAN OF Yar SHALL BE REVIVED!

Be not afeared, good peoples of the Horde, for this is not a declaration of war or secession, but a declaration to the unwavering strength of your brothers-in-arms!
 

Clan Yar, the traditional clan of wisemen among the Uruk-Hai, has long seen better days. With no response from former Yars, I fear them passed or in self-exhile. I have spent many moons and many months among the ancestral lands of the former Yars, having been under the tutelage of some, and studying the remains of their village library since. Whilst I cannot claim to be chosen by Yars to continue their great clan, I would rather face disrespect in the Stargush'Stroh by their ancestors for falsely assuming the title, than face the shame of letting this grand clan die.

I write this missive as a declaration of my assumption of Yargoth, and in doing so, name myself 
Barbog'Yar,
Savior of Princesses, Hero of the Second Horde, Shaman of Krathol's Eternal Suffering, Honorary Halfling of Honeyhill,
Friend to the Vale of Nevaehlen, and the Last Vigilant of Yar's Way.

I shall strive to do this title honor, and, should any of my brothers seek to prove themselves, be they of Uruk-hai blood or Honorary Uruk, I fully intend to contend Clan Trials soon to see whomst among you may stand beside me in representing Yar's Way.

I leave you with these parting words from the late Malog'Yar, founder of Clan Yar;

“Wisdom is born of a strong mind. It is more practical than philosophy, agh goes beyond mere knowledge. It is the ability for right living, common sense, wit, resolution of life’s problems, agh success beyond material gain. Gruk for latself, but heed the blahings of those more experienced with the respect agh consideration due them. Learn from life, agh apply latz learning in a way that means something.”
 

𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓫𝓸𝓰'𝓨𝓪𝓻

Last Vigilant of Yar’s Way

Hero of the Second Horde

<O>

Yar:

   Many years ago, the great shaman Malog raised the banner of Yar for the first time in Anthos, instating a long-running clan of wisemen and those dedicated to the worship of the spirits. Symbolised by the duhnah skhelll, the great man-eating tortoises of the desert, they revere the Ancestral spirit Yar, said to be the wisest of his clan.

   While Yars place great emphasis on spirituality and the attainment of wisdom, they follow the basic fundamentals of orcish life and value strength and honour; they are still orcs, and will fight ferociously alongside their brothers in other clans in times of battle. However, they must also be able to think, and discern what is wise and honorable. A Yar is also expected to have an acute awareness of the spirits, even if that particular orc does not happen to be a shaman. The Yars remember at all times that the eyes of Krug and the spirits are upon them. Whether hunting, fighting, or whatever they do, they must keep this fact in mind, and live for the spirits. Not every Yar will be a shaman. Not every Yar will become famed as some kind of great orcish thinker, but every Yar can bring some honor to the orc for whom the clan was named by exercising wisdom to the best of his or her ability.

   “Wisdom is born of a strong mind. It is more practical than philosophy, agh goes beyond mere knowledge. It is the ability for right living, common sense, wit, resolution of life’s problems, agh success beyond material gain. Gruk for latself, but heed the blahings of those more experienced with the respect agh consideration due them. Learn from life, agh apply latz learning in a way that means something.”

-The Contemplations of Malog, V1

\o/

Culture:

Seven Pillars of Honor:

Strength

Valor

Boldness

Contentment

Wisdom

Forthrightness

Discipline

Seven Pitfalls of Dishonor:

Weakness

Irresolution

Cowardice

Avarice

Thoughtlessness

Duplicity

Complacency

Branding: 

   Upon initiation into the Yar clan, and following completion of three trials presented by one or more elders, new members are branded with the image of the duhnah skhelll. The initiate must then swear his allegiance to the clan as he sacrifices an animal:

   “Mi zwayr mi eturnul allejunze tu da Yar klan. Mi zwayr tu lib bai da klan law kode, agh tu walk en da wizdum agh onur ob Yar. Zhud mi ebur bitray da klan, mi wull bi kurz’d tu hab mi bluud zpill’d az diz animul. Mi wull bi flat’d en helplezznezz agh dizonur!”

   Translation: “I swear my eternal allegiance to the Yar clan. I swear to live by the clan law code, and to walk in the wisdom and honor of Yar. Should I ever betray the clan, I will be cursed to have my blood spilled as this animal. I will die in helplessness and dishonor!”

Sacrifices:

   As is common among orcs, the Yar clan performs sacrifices. These are often at special occasions, but sometimes just for the sake of sacrificing. The sacrifices take two forms: blood offerings and grain offerings.

Blood Offerings

These are offerings of living creatures.

1. Humans, elves, kharajyr, and dwarves.
2. Livestock.

Grain Offerings

   These are burnt offerings of wheat or any other form of produce. It has been a custom in Malog’s family for generations to burn herbs in honor of Yar. Traditionally these herbs are gathered from Dwarven territory as the herbs Yar himself sought on the day of his death.   

Bones:

   In the Yar Clan, bones are sacred as a symbol of structure, integrity and uprightness. The removal of bones as a Yar Clan punishment is a means by which the Yars communicate a lacking of these traits in the offender.

Adornment:

   Due to the symbolic nature of bones within the clan, it is a practice among the Yars to adorn themselves with the bones of fallen enemies or of beasts slain in hunts, be it by simply hanging them from their person or by fashioning piercings thereof. They are also strongly encouraged to represent the Yar clan in battle by painting their faces and/or bodies with the clan colors: black and white.

Sounding of the Horn:

   The Horn of Yar is an important relic in Yar culture. It is sounded at any event deemed significant enough. This can include religious gatherings, feasts, battle, or even just the birth of a new cub into the clan. The horn, as many have seen, is massive, and can be easily heard for miles outside of the capitol.

   See “Important Links” at the bottom of this post for links to the Yar Clan’s more interesting traditions.

<<<D

Law:

The giving of the law, as originally told in Anthos: 

   Malog’s head was boiling over with frustration. He needed to clear his mind. Nux’Ugluk’s decision to side with the Kaxils enraged him to no end. He decided to go out to the desert and meditate, “Purhapz da zpirutz wull gib mi guidenze,” he thought. 

   As he sat atop a large dune, he peered down at an adolescent scaddernak scurrying over to a small cave. The beast was not fully grown yet, but was still easily big enough to kill a small group of Uruks. The cave’s entrance instantly snapped shut on the encroaching scaddernak, severing both of its pincers and three of its left legs. The creature lay helpless with half its legs gone, as a hulking mass shifted out of the sand. The sand gave way to a massive shell, and what seemed to be a cave proved to be a mouth. When the dust cleared, an enormous tortoise nearly the size of a modest gatehouse stood looming over the crippled scaddernak. The words “Duhnah skhelll” passed Malog’s lips as he watched in amazement. The duhnah skhelll lifted one of its tremendous legs, and smashed its prey. It then proceeded to swallow the scaddernak whole. 

   Malog took this as a sign from the spirits, and hurried back to Gronkkston. He gathered his supporters from within the Ugluk clan, and told them what he saw. He then told them about his ancestor, Yar, a wise and powerful shaman. He had decided that if he couldn’t regain the Ugluk clan, he’d lead his followers away from the dangerous path down which that clan was being led. He had decided to lead them down the path of wisdom; the path of honor. He blew the great bronze horn he’d previously constructed atop the massive hill near Gronkkston, announcing the formation of the Yar clan. After blowing the horn, Malog then spoke forth the law code of the Yar Clan:

~

In order to ensure the Yar Clan did not stray from the path of honor, ten laws were set in place for the clan to uphold.

~

1. Do not kill your fellow orc unprovoked or outside of an agreed-upon klomp, for such is an abomination to Krug.
2. Do not consume the flesh of your fellow orc, for such is an abomination to Krug.
3. Do not steal from your fellow orc, for such is an abomination to Krug.
4. Do not free your fellow orc’s slave, nor enslave your fellow orc, for such is an abomination to Krug.
5. Do not practice the magic of the pink skin, for such is an abomination to Krug.
6. Do not disrespect your fellow orc or his property, especially an orc in authority over you. This includes challenging the Wargoth or Chieftain without legitimate reason, for such is an abomination to Krug.
7. Do not live amongst the pink skin, to dwell in their cities, nor to walk in their ways, for such is an abomination to Krug.
8. Do not speak the language of the pink skin, for such is an abomination to Krug.
9. Do not take the pink skin as your lifemate, for such is an abomination to Krug.
10. Do not worship the gods of the pink skins, for such is an abomination to Krug.

~

Failure to comply by the laws of  Clan Yar will result in the following:

~

Harrowing: 

   Any orc who breaks a clan law but is still considered redeemable may be exiled to a dangerous land for a period of time. He may either be sent into the deserts without any food or tools, or into known enemy territory. Should the accused return alive, his crimes are completely forgiven, and he is welcomed back as a brother.

Beheading: 

   This is your average beheading. The head is then piked in a public place with a sign indicating the offender's name and whitewashed status.

Heart Removal: 

   An orc who commits a particularly heinous offence is restrained while his beating heart is cut from his chest. The heart is then piked in a public area with a sign indicating the offender's name and whitewashed status.

Deboning: 

   This punishment, due to its gruesome nature, is reserved primarily for the most repugnant crimes. The only exception to this rule is towards non-orcs, who may experience this fate merely at the whim of the clan leader. An orc, however, must commit a severe atrocity to suffer this punishment. The accused is restrained while his bones are broken and removed from his body. The bones are then piled up and burned in a desecration ceremony.

>>> <<<

Yar Clan Chants:

Blessed of Yar

Shout unto Krug,

Blessed of Yar!

Throughout the Uzg,

Bear it far;

The glorious name!

Glory to Yar!

His wisdom will reign!

Glory to Yar!

Harvest

Life is toil;

Life is pain.

Till the soil;

Wait for rain.

Blood coats plow,

Workers groan.

Harvest now

Flesh agh bone!

Raise the Luzk

Raise the luzk!

Shout aloud!

Bare latz tusks!

Make Krug proud!

Bodies sever

From their spirits!

they'll forever

Dread agh fear us!

Cubs’ Chant

Chant to the Wargoth, leading us to glory.

Chant to the Choppers, on the battlefield.

Chant to the Trappers, in the burning desert. 

Chant to the Workers, pounding steel.

We are the Yar cubs, builders of the future,

Agh we the Yar cubs swear to lat;

Loyal devotion!

Fearless devotion!

Agh to klomp until we’re flat!

Chant to the faithful members of the Yar Clan.

Chant to the Skhelll lethality.

Chant to the Yar Clan; ever wise and mighty!

Clan of wisdom agh victory!

<(*)>

Important Links:

Shrunken Heads:

Bone Trees:

Bone Gavels:

Bone Singing (Throat Singing):

Yar Clan Runes:

Yar Funerary Rites:

The Horn of Yar:

Story of Yar: 

Information on the Duhna Skhelll can be found here under “Orcish Wildlife”

The same shabby little goblin gathers himself up once more, grinning toothily at the egg in the corner, resting peacefully in it's box. He nods to himself as he pats the loamy soil, ensuring that it is still a bit moist- easier for the little creature inside to get comfortable upon should it hatch in his absence. After all, hatching season is coming soon for the Drûth tortoises. Still, he pushes this thought aside as he turns to the other object of interest in the room- the large corpse of some burly human, all gutted and dessicated. The goblin is quite pleased at the lack of mess to clean up, and drags it outside by the hair. He calls out a soft goodbye to the egg, and barges out the door of his outpost.

The goblin then strides to the near-center of the village, by the large bonfire. A remarkable pile of skeletons and mangy hides await him, and await their new companion- the bones that hide in the flesh-bag at his side. He dumps it upon the ground, and makes quick work of the poor sod that used to be something, be someone. It doesn't matter anymore. Be it a beggar, thief, warrior, or king, it is now reduced to chapped hide and bones nestled in dry gore. He takes no pleasure in ripping the bones out of the trespassing sod's corpse, and tosses much of the skeleton into the pile- which, upon closer inspection, seems to be made of mainly humanoid remains. One must wonder how many people cross into this village, especially with all the shrunken heads and macabre designs lying about. It's quite a bit more likely that the goblin merely claims more of the lands around, and uses that as justification- or these may even be dead soldiers whom he came into conflict with. Truly, it is impossible to know anything about them, other than that they were deemed incredibly dishonorable to warrant this treatment.

This line of thought is to be pushed out of mind as he finishes his work, leaving the human-shaped sack of meat behind as he gathers up the pile of fur and bone.

Throughout the day he remains hard at work, gathering up twisted logs and branches as need be, entwining them around skeletons, draping hides and furs atop of those to complete the look. By the time a few hours pass, the end result stands tall by the center of the village, proud and ready to bear the ages.



Looking to his feet, he notices he still has quite a lot of material left to work with. Looking up at the sky and seeing the harshness of the midday sun, he figures he still has time enough to carry forth and construct another, towards the boundary of the village- further reasserting Yar's claim to the land. As he drags the bones and hides across the ground with intentional disrespect, he bellows out a song he found inscribed in a hut- left for the former inhabitant's children to learn, presumably, to join with their elders during celebrations or toil.

"Lyfe iz toyul,
Lyfe iz pain.
Tyll da zoil;
Wayt fur rayn.
Grizh coatz plowz,
Wurkerz groan.
Harvuzt now
Flezh agh Bone!"

The macabre tune is sang with an optimistic lilt, as if being given the chance to know and speak the lyrics is some grand milestone for the little wretch. This song is looped over and over as he swiftly constructs another harrowing ornament, covered in the same furs and bones- even featuring a full skeleton upon one of it's stronger "branches".



With his work done, the goblin gazes up at the starry night sky, and can only hope that the road of war out in the distant cities does not reach the clan's slice of the forest.

He wanders up to the roaring fire in the center of town, an irregularly deep pot sitting nearby. He bought it specially for just this purpose. The goblin sets the bloody heads down on the ground, the pot full of water into the flames, and stumbles over to the collection of left-behind books he calls a library. He draws one out, the cover a depiction of a grossly misshapen and desiccated corpse- perfect. This, he brings back to the roaring fire.
 

Flipping through the book, revealed to be sets of instructions for various rituals, the goblin stops on one in particular- the long-lived yet bold practice of creating shrunken heads. A toothy grin spreads on the goblin’s face, in stark contrast to the lifelessness of the head he holds in his hands. Shrunken heads were oft made by the Yars as warnings- though what these warnings conveyed, depended largely upon whom the unfortunate soul was whomst the head originally belonged to.
 

In this case, the goblin prepared the heads for a warning of warding- a butchered pilgrim who lost themselves in the jungle midsts, and dared to trespass on the Yar’s sacred grounds. Whilst the goblin would not claim himself a Yar, and performing a ritual he was ‘taught’, he supposes that the circumstances would allow for it- a trespass such as this could not be forgiven, it was unto the lands of the Yar, and it would be the will of the Yar that such a fool shall be made an example of.
 

Indeed, the shrinking of a head had several meanings towards it. Firstly, the ghastly sight served as a warning to any brave enough to come across it. Secondly, it was a severe disgrace to the soul that it once belonged to- to shrink a head would remove the bones, the most sacred of structure, the desecration of a head in particular to highlight this loss was due to their foolishness or callousness. Thirdly- to give appropriate notice to their kin whom would search for the body of their brethren.

It was with these goals in mind that the goblin set upon the practice.
 

With a weary sigh, the goblin lifts the finished heads from the pot, after a full day’s work. He grins proudly at their twisted, wretched visage, and nods to himself. The goblin’s hands are covered in cuts and burns from his lack of experience, but the quality of the finished product is well worth not taking shortcuts. He quickly tacks one up to a root at the edge of town, leaving below it a note forbidding anyone from further trespass upon these sacred grounds.

He carries a smiliar note, and an equally disgusting head, over to the main city of San’Velku. He slams a post into the ground, sets the head atop it, and leaves the following sign below;

 

Satisfied with his work for the day, he marches back to the riverside village, resuming his vigil once more. He looks off to the side, seeing the shrunken head at the village's border, and grins again with pride.
 

Still, it’s a small price to pay for solace and the revival of such a great clan. He heads back into his borrowed hut, dumping the vines into the forest along the way, and returning to the egg resting in a box of sandy loam.
 

He kneels down beside it and scoops the soil back over it, wetting it a little from a nearby pail, waiting patiently for it to show any signs of life. For now, however, he sits back at his small table and gazes out across the village. Obviously, being so small, most structures were single-use. But there lies a large empty hut at the top, with an ever-burning firepit inside. It would make for a good shamanic focus room. The largest building, a two-story hut that someone lived in, judging by the bed… It already had a bunch of empty bookshelves, why not turn it into a library and meeting hall? There was unfortunately nobody to suggest these ideas to, and with him refusing to change anything himself, the goblin was left to sit and wonder what might be. 

He unconsciously reclines a bit as he starts to doze off, the chair scraping against the floor and filling the hut with a sharp noise, waking him up once more. The displeasure is obvious on his face and he tosses the seat below him a scornful look- but before he can undergo a one-man war against chairs, a flash of pale color outside the window alerts him. The sky has started to crackle with lightning, bathing the swamp ground in light. He watches for a bit, until a hint of mottled grey by the riverside catches his eye- certainly something he didn’t see before on patrol.

He stumbles out the door and into the storm, trekking over roots and muck as he wades through the swampy riverside. He reaches the odd shapes he saw before, and is struck with recognition and pity. A collection of eggs lie about the shoreline- each quite large, a mottled grey-green. He recognizes their distinctive pattern; Drûth Skhell eggs, the Bush Tortoise. The reason for his pitying look is obvious- the eggs lie broken and spilled, the nest ruined as it was washed up by the violent storm.

His eyes widen in shock as he turns one over- not a single crack upon it. By far the smallest of the clutch, likely to birth a runt, but the only survivor of this nest. He gingerly picks it up with his single hand and cradles it against his body, before hobbling back to his hut.

Once inside, he lies it down upon a box packed with sandy loam, gently burying it again. Soon will be the season that these tortoises are said to hatch in, and the goblin can only hope that this egg shall bear fruit. His lips part in a toothy grin at the irony, living in this village; he may never be a Yar, and this is no Duhnah Skhell, but he shall care for it all the same.

Just past the webbing, he hears the sound of a gently running river. A toothy grin splits his branded and scarred face, knowing he draws closer to his destination. The goblin cuts down a row of vines, clearing a small path for him to squeeze through, cautious of the Gaja snake-vines the area is infamous for. Still, he knows it will be worth it as the crunch of leaves beneath his feet turns to packed dirt and planks. The breath is drawn from him as he strides up to a large notice board in the center of the path, overgrown with vines and fronds… but a patch lies suspiciously bare. In this space is a sign, declaring this region claimed, under ‘new ownership’ of some foreigner.

The relief, the purposefulness that drove the goblin to reach this place, is soon replaced with a blind fury. He rips down this sign in anger and carves a single word into the board in its place;
 

He stomps around towards the only hut that hasn’t been similarly covered in overgrowth- signs of recently being lived-in, albeit temporarily. The door is locked, but it poses no obstacle to the enraged urukim. With a lift of his stave and a muttering to Anyhuluz, Ilzgul of Destruction, he smashes the door open and storms inside.

A fine layer of dust coats the meager belongings of the individual whom attempted to lay claim to the abandoned village- their abandoned village. He snorts in derision. Clearly, they abandoned their own claim- or, hopefully, were killed before they could ruin this sacred ancestral ground.

Instead, as one of the last bearers of the Ways to which this village was meant to serve, he stumbles over to another hut. He rips down more overgrowth, and opens the door of the wall of the smallest, centralmost building-  with a commanding view of what he has sworn to protect.

He carves a series of runes into the wall, which would clearly describe his purpose here to any descendants of the founders of the village, knowing only they would be able to read the inscriptions.
The Watching Eye, The Wall, The Sounding Voice, The Giver’s Box, and last, The Tower Shield.

Without the rightful owners to defend it themselves, he shall act in their place.
He will be a stalwart tower on the river village.