The Silence of War

[𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖚𝖘𝖍 2451]

 

 

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[!] Falum of Clan Lur turning towards his brothers after the conclusion of the skirmish of Jornheim Fields

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Blood is splattered across every body adorned in rugged or shiny armor all together. As the last of the forces were struck down and the red mist of war begins to vanish most were quick to boast and celebrate of their well-met victory and survival of the War, but what rang out most to Falum is the short silence that held for an eternity. As his awareness slowly grows back and his eyes dim from it’s bright red nature the silence helped his Spirit ease back into tranquility and away from the beast that lies within. He turned to see his Clansmen and the rest of the Orcs flaunting their weapons in victory as they exclaimed great praises to the Spirits and even praised themselves for withstanding such a battle. While many of the Coalition were in great spirits of joy; the celebration  lingered above many whose spirits were extinguished and had succumbed to the blade.

 

…

 

After the battle, many who had fought looted the corpses of the field and argued over who deserved what boasting they had more kills than the other. Falum disregarded those yelling deciding not to concern himself with klomps over material things, because such a thing did not matter to him. These things may grant you more money or more value in life, but they do not remain forever. Anything Falum had ever done in his life was with his own two hands and the basics he was provided with. The Orc walked about the field finding his own clansmen chuckling to himself as he reminisced on the days he used to take on Ologs with his own two fists.

 

The journey back to the Lur Den was long and exhausting while the Coalition stationed their numbers preparing for the next assault. Falum upon arriving back to the Den alongside his Clansmen dropped the gates and exhaled deeply. As each of them withdrew their armor and weapons bruises and fresh scars adorned each of the Lur’s bodies from the battle. Each of them withdrew into their blargs receiving whatever rest they could gain before the victory feast. Falum upon entering the Wargoth chambers seats himself along his bed of tanned and exotic leathers picking up his journal that lies upon the desk before him.

 

Falum’Lur begins to scribe into the journal leaving his revelations of War before the feast:

 

“We will alwayz remayn in ah conztant stayt uf klomp whether it be inturnal or exturnal. I has lost clanzmen all da zame az the oppozitiun but we continue attributing in onlee da flat of otherz. It iz common of the othur dezcendantz tu blah on prozperity throu peaze, but striving for zuch a way of life will onlee deduze Man and Woman alike tu submizzion under a greater hand. Onlee on da field of wagh is when thoze of ztrong Zpirits present their strengths before the Realm. Az for the weak-spirited, they muzt gruk the truth of strength or will be brokun and collekted among the Spirit-drained corpzes.”

 

Spoiler

(Common Speak)

“We will always remain in a constant state of battle whether it be internal or external. I have lost clansmen all the same as the opposing forces but we continue attributing in only the death of others. It is common of the other descendants to speak on prosperity through peace, but striving for such a way of life will only deduce Man and Woman alike to submission under a greater hand. Only on the field of war is when those of strong Spirits present their strengths before the Realm. As for the weak-spirited, they must learn the truth of strength or will be broken and collected among the Spirit-drained corpses.”

[Moby_Derp 163]

Gukdan would take his few last steps up a steep hill, surveying the crimson field of death taking up his visage. He would sigh at the amount of corpses strewn across the battlefield. "Enrohk grows stronger each day..." He'd shrug, seating himself onto the soft grass, before beginning to chant away to himself...

[Jentos 9425]

A thin, tall orc-like figure leaned upon one of the many pillars of the Frostbeard hold. His skin, rugged and gray. A long, disgusting toungue hanging at the side of his mouth, most of his form shrouded in a cloak, smelling of horseshit and vodka, the lower portion of his body covered in drying mud.

"WysssssseK." He groaned, raising a wineskin to his mouth, transparent liquid dripping down his gullet.

[OzYmandi 647]

Gothâr sat atop a mountain in the Red Desert and weeped for his dead brothers, even though the same that died had disgraced him, he shed a tear for his kin.

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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