The Zealots March On

[Boomzerang 515]

 

The Zealots March On

Among the dusty roads of Atlas wandered a hobgoblin, coughing as dust from riders’ trails forced itself into his lungs. Having been evicted from whence he had called home, he now spent his day paving the roads of Atlas impatiently. Drûtram desired not what he had received - the loss of his city on multiple occasions, to humans no less. He spat at the ground, cursing Renatus, its inhabitants, and their ancestors before them.

He would, as was inevitable, happen across a messenger of Krugmar in his travels.
“Rex Gurukk? ‘e ain’t in power no mores. Stepped down, ‘e did. Lak ain’t gots no Wargoth no more.”
With a knowing nod, the mongrel set off back on the road. Arriving at Cloud Temple, he continued southwards, past the roads of Belvitz, as a few of the tavern’s patrons perked a brow at the sight of such a descendant near their settlement. Continuing to dip past Holm, after hours of trekking, he finally arrived at his destination - north of Santegia, in the great swamps of Atlas.

 

 

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This was not an environment he had grown used to - despite the swampy conditions of what was once his clan hall, he had grown far more accustomed to the dry, cool airs of Krugmar. Trudging through unknown plants, fungi, and scaring off a number of smaller beasts, he continued into the watery landscape, drawing in great breaths of the dank air.

The orc had not often been drawn to herbalism, or alchemy for that matter. But the colours around him - blues, violets, and reds - the likes of which he’d never seen before drew him forward like a moth to flame.In this trance, he acted not as himself, but as the swamps wished him to. Soon after, he found himself gnawing on the crimson caps of a handful of mushrooms.

The next hours were a blur - stumbling throughout vines hanging, leaning on trees, maddened visions of greatness and whispering voices seemingly of the Spirits themselves, crimson fluid expelling itself from his maw. And then - darkness. For almost three days, the orc lay in a coma, leaving the beasts of the lands to do as they wish with him. As he rose to sitting upright, head throbbing, he noted a number of scars dotting his body - a particularly bad one forming behind the torn fabric of his trousers. But during this time, it would seem his mind was not as inactive as his body.

He began at once scribbling hundreds of notes, demanding to use every aviary present - pigeons littered the skies, bringing parchment to each corner of the world, all with a single message.

“I, Drûtram’Lak, proclaim myself Swampgoth of Clan Lak.”

 

And so, he set off throughout the roads yet again. He knew, when the time came, his brothers would know to find him.
For if the spirits stood with him, who could stand against him?

 

 

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Frûm Ulmakh-izishu

 

 

[Novastral 582]

Hi. Could you please not ask people to +1 your thread in our discord please?

[OzYmandi 647]

Yazgurtan Drâz’Gorkil smiles, nodding to the declaration “Hozh klan wib a hozh Goth.”

 

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Grubgoth Fatkunt’Raguk cooks.

[Boomzerang 515]

10 minutes ago, Novastral said:

Hi. Could you please not ask people to +1 your thread in our discord please?

please do not TROLL on my ROLEPLAY POST

consider yourself #BLOCKED