The Gathering - Orc Forum RP

[Smaw 2376]

The Ziim-agh; Brew of a Thousand Eyes

 

 

Note: This will be a Forum RP thread dedicated to a select few from the current leadership. As such, only they will be allowed to respond initially, and I may or may not open it up to outside influence as it progresses.

 

 

"I will take you to hell, brother. But I will also bring you back."

 

It is said that the plants of the world were mere husks before the dawn of the Spirits, who, in their unrivaled power infused their essence into the flora that scattered the mortal realms. This benevolent act gave them their near endless forms and colours, and brought to them the dualistic nature of the Universe.

 

And with this service came the pieces of a puzzle, which, when combined would form a key. A component that would allow the Mortals of the world to unlock their potential, and endeavour to explore the very fabric of reality from within their own Souls, free of mortal ties.

 

 

The Ziim-agh 

 

 

 

Commonly referred to as the Brew of a Thousand Eyes, the Zim-agh is the height of medical advancement in Shamanic Medicine culture, and is revered as the ultimate healing brew. 

 

It is created by the mixture of various plants and vines that are scattered across the realm. Each plant is essential in the brewing process, for their Spiritual Essence, when combined, becomes a potent avenue through which to access the Spirit Realm.

 

The Ziim-agh is made with the Spine of Ixli, a vine found within the remote Jungles of the world, and the Fingers of Ghorza, the various leaves that come from a specific tree cultivated by the Shamans that produce the Brew in their private dwellings.

 

The brewing process was discovered many decades after the affliction of the Iblees Curse, when the Orcs began to make contact with the Spirits and their realm. This knowledge was gifted to the Shamans in order to help the un-attuned mortals of the world overcome their physical and mental ailments, and to allow them the chance to open up to Spiritual Energies.

 

The taste is vile and the colouration is a dark clay red, and as such is taken in a quick swig in order to prevent heaving.

 

 

The First Ceremony

 

 

 

Swathes of beautiful colours envelop your vision as you recline into a state of relaxation, and a sensation of peace begins to vibrate within your core as you sit in silence. However, this experience is short lived, and soon that feeling in your core becomes a nauseating sensation in your stomach.

 

You sit up in a panic, anxiety and dread biting at every fibre of your being and you throw up all over the floor. You begin to heave excessively as the colours begin to drain and darken, forming into sinister shapes and representations. Your deepest fears and concerns materialise before you, challenging your understanding of yourself as you continue to throw up the contents of your stomach.

 

You are thrown into hell, stuck in a mid-section between the Mortal realm and the Spiritual realm. You see the world before you, yet a looming shadow drapes over it, contorting and twisting your perception and your understanding of your reality.

 

You face horrendous situations, envision traumatic sights and succumb to the overwhelming darkness of the world.

 

And then you are brought back, the masked Shaman peering over your trembling form as you begin to understand the events that had taken place.

 

 

The Second Ceremony

 

 

 

 

 

Once again you swig from the cup, somehow reassured by the Shaman that you will learn more from this experience.

 

And soon enough the familiar colours begin to envelop your vision. Yet this time they remain, and you no longer feel the need to throw up or recoil in fear. Instead, you are embraced by warm energies, and soon you find yourself within the Realms of the Spirits.

 

What happens to you here is unique to you, and only the Shaman may direct the journey.

 

 

 

The Gathering

 

Gijaak peered around the cauldron that offered the only respite from the surrounding darkness of the looming forest. Between the bats shuffling about within the leaves, the bubbling of his cauldron was heard alongside his silent contemplation. For many moments he remained still, a stack of parchments wrapped and held within his right hand. He stared into the fires of the open pot, nodding to himself.

 

Before long he set out to one of the nearby trees that towered above him. Attached along the bark were various locked bird cages, each containing a different breed of bird. The Shaman proceeded to attach one of each parchment to the many birds that were caged, and, with a hopeful gesture, he set them out on their path.

 

As he watched them fly off into daybreak, he settled himself down beside the cauldron in anticipation.

 

The Birds would fly to the following people:

 

Gnarl'Lak

Drokon

Shagarath'Yar

Malog'Yar

Lukra'Braduk

Kulgarok'Lak

Zlazh

Kuntklobbera'Raguk

Vagud'Gorkil

 

 

It would read:

Brothers and Sisters

 

I will endeavour to keep this letter short, for time is of the essence. I am arranging a gathering, where I will take us to the Spirit Realm and alleviate our Bloodlust.

 

There we will speak with clear minds, and come to a positive solution to the struggle we find ourselves in.

 

Follow the co-ordinates listed at the back of the parchment, and prepare tribute.

 

[Man of Respect 5471]

Gnarl'Lak

Drokon

Shagarath'Yar

Malog'Yar

Lukra'Braduk

Kulgarok'Lak

Zlazh

Kuntklobbera'Raguk

Vagud'Gorkil

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y983TDjoglQ

[_pok_ 1768]

Drokon makes his way to the co-ordinates, unsure exactly what the Orc meant of "alleviating his bloodlust." Upon arrival, he would find a seat close to Gijaak, nodding to other assembled Orcs. His eyes drift to the cauldron in the center of the room and then back to Gijaak, "Bruddah, what am that?"

[Yankee 130]

Gnarl would receive the parchment and take note of the co-ordinates. He headed out towards his destination, Shreck'Lak also in his company, with basic provisions and his tribute. Upon his arrival he would sit with the several other orcs gathered, offering them all a slight nod. Only then he began asking questions within his mind, questioning what Gijaak had in store for him.

[2samspan 241]

"Aha! Finally!" Vagud shouts excitedly, his voice echoing through the snowy ravine he had spent most of the afternoon searching and scaling the slick cliffs, falling and getting up over and over to the point that the large, roughly sewn together coat and mittens he had made days before had torn to near shreds, leaving large swaths of cut and bruised skin exposed to the elements, until he finally spotted a solitary flower growing on the edge of the cliff-a silver line. Vagud’s typical cold demeanor is all but gone, replaced with a look of joy and serenity, despite having endured this frigid temperature for almost two hours at this point, as he pressed himself up against the wall of the ravine, smoothed over with ice, and moved his feet just the tiniest bit across the ledge, carefully judging each movement in an attempt to stay on the ledge and not fall back down and potentially do more than just scrape himself against the walls. This minute movement, this moment of absolute concentration, lasted for nearly four minutes, before finally resting his foot on the outcropping that hosted this lone flower. Vagud’s eyes lit up, his yellow pupils glittering like topaz, as he bent down and reached out to grab the flower, his callused fingers reaching as far into the crag that hosted the flower and, with a delicacy of an Elf handling one of their lovers, began to carefully extract it, trying not to damage its roots or the stem enough for it to be irreparable. Vagud licked his freezing lips, his eyes narrowing in concentration as the delicate flower’s roots were disconnected from the near frozen soil and rock. The ravine was dead still, the only movement being the light snowflakes that fell, and the entire world seemed to fall silent.

 

Vagud’s intense concentration, and the near unnatural silence surrounding him was suddenly interrupted by the shrill shriek of a raven as it dropped down into the ravine. The sudden disruption caused Vagud’s arm to jerk back, the top half of the flower tearing off and leaving the rest of the stem and its roots half dangling out of the rock. Vagud stared at the ruined stem in his hand, barely moving except for a minor twitch of his eye. He stood like this for almost 10 seconds before his face twisted into a gruesome snarl, his once joyous eyes replaced with ones filled with pure, unbridled rage. He tossed the now ruined flower out of his hand and punched at the ice covered ravine, creating a rather large dent in the stone beneath. He looked around wildly for the source of the intrusion, before finally setting his eyes on the dot of black in the pristine white snow on the floor if the ravine. He let out a growl and jumped off of the outcropping, falling 18 feet and landing on his stomach with a thud on the deep, partially frozen over snow. With barely a second passing, he pushed himself up and onto his feet, immediately charging at the small bird.

 

~

As the sun began to set, Vagud arrived at the location, the head of the raven in one hand, the note attached to it in the other, and a tiny rutsack tied around his hip. He looked around the area for a second before acknowledging the other Uruks there with a bow of his head, still looking extremely miffed about what had happened. He looks at the cauldron in the center of the room and sighs. “Diz beddur be wurv id.” He grumbles, taking a seat in the least occupied part of the room.

[Catarrh 720]

   Malog takes up his staff, and follows the directions on the note. Upon entering the room, he greets the others with a solemn, "Throm'ka," still seeming a bit worn out after the events of the meeting in Azaghol. He sits with a sigh, and leans his staff against a wall, waiting for everyone else to arrive. 

[herculean_wud 3662]

Kuntklobbera, later than his brethren, arrived upon his Myrzym with a sizeable entourage of redskinned, banner-bearing Raguk rallied behind him, "Throm'ka Gijaak, mi brudda." He stated blithely, sluggishly dismounting himself from his large companions form. He makes haste thereafter to find his seat. 

[Smaw 2376]

 

 

Gijaak would appear standing beside the frothing cauldron, adorned in what looked like ceremonial garb. He wore an obsidian mask with a line of gold through the centre, with ram horns attached on either side. As well as this, he was draped in a long, ashen cloak and held an aurum staff within his hand.

 

The Shaman's eyes scanned those that had arrived, and took particular note of the Raven's head gripped in Vagud's hand. He shook his own head in mild disappointment, before clearing his throat.

 

"I hope you will return a Raven to me." He remarked, pointing his staff over to Vagud before addressing the crowd.

 

"Brothers and Sisters, I have brought you all here to rediscover the past. I have spent many years studying our cultures of old, and have discovered the most potent of Shamanic brews." He said, tapping his staff against the cauldron. 

 

"It is time for you each to take a cup." He added, pointing his finger to the stack of cups that were placed around the pot. "Take a cup, and return to your seat. Do not drink until I have advised you to." He said with a warning, before stepping aside and holding his staff with both hands.

 

[_pok_ 1768]

Drokon tilted his head as he looked at the cauldron, the strange brew capturing his curiosity. Without breaking his gaze upon the cauldron, the Ugluk stood from his seat and approached the cauldron, grabbing a heavy nearby clay mug. He bent over the cauldron, carefully running the mouth of his mug along the top of the brew. After adequately filling the cup, he turned and sat back down while grasping the mug with both hands waiting anxiously to take a swig. 

[2samspan 241]

Vagud looked over at the cauldron and raises an eyebrow. After a second of inspecting the cauldron he dropped the raven's head onto the forest floor, stood up and walked over to the cauldron. The Wargoth grabbed one of the nearby cups and looked down at the red mixture in the cauldron. He took a deep breath, leaned down, and dipped the bowl into the brew, quickly scooping up a fair portion. After glancing down at the bowl, he lifted the bowl up out of the cauldron and turned, briskly heading back toward his seat. 

[Catarrh 720]

   Malog stands with a grunt, and approaches the cauldron with a curious sniff. After producing a waterskin from his satchel, and fills it with the peculiar liquid before taking his seat again.

[Samoblivion 532]

Lukra in turn takes up a cup and fills it with the foul liquid.

[Smaw 2376]

As each Orc returned to their seated position on the grass, the Shaman held the long, aurum staff above his head with both of his hands shoulder width apart. His eyes began to roll into the back of his head as his inaudible mumbling began to grow in magnitude. 

 

*"Zabûrz shalk gimbub ghaash-Uzg..." He remarked, motioning for each of the Orcs to take a swig from the vile concoction cradled in each of their hands.

 

 

 

*Translation: Tonight we enter Hell..."

[HedgeHug 2049]

Shagarath too had arrived shortly after most had come, once more accompanied by a Muyakelg ( @Ardor). The creature situates itself in a vacant corner as it observes the specacle take place. The shaman himself remaining further quiet and listens intently to Gijaaks words. Bobbing his head up and down his attention is soon drawn by the brew and the spoken blackspeech.

 

He stirs the concoction in his cup, eventually mumbling to himself "Ilzgûl'u" before taking a swing.

[herculean_wud 3662]

Finally, Kuntklobbera arose from planted upon his seat, and made his staggering way onwards to the bubbling vat. He curled digits around a mug which was pleasantly set aside, and continued furthermore by immersing the tankard into the concoction to fill it. In acclaim, he allowed himself two steps backwards and nodded to Gijaak, before raising the cup. He downed its contents briskly.