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ORCS: Blood and Tusks

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BLOOD AND TUSKS

⚙--⚙

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[!] A lesser under Leyd, as he peered down from the immortal plain to the mortal realm.

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A cry cascaded through Krugmar, and for a moment the situation was tense, until it came to fruition that it was one of celebration sprouting from Raguk Road. The youthful Raguk sat in his home, playing with a drumstick as his brothers scurried around the hearth, and his slave served up a tankard of grogg. He was young, 16 years of age, and had only recently arrived in the lands of Krugmar. Though, his arrival was not met without controversy nor conflict.

 

He had heard from his slave, Runtwig, that an attempt on his life had been made. The elder Nazark’Gorkil had moved to slay the snaga, under the accusation of dark shamanism, though with great efforts Runtwig had escaped. Such was an insult to his family’s name and to him, and action had to be taken. Now Skalpboila’Raguk sat in the dwelling, his blood-brothers Eyeboila and Brainboila dancing and laughing as if embers to a flame. He, however, attempted no cajolery of the spirits. Skalp simply sat upon the chair, playing with the drumstick, knowing action had to be taken.

 

***

Dawn broke, and the critters of Krugmar emerged from their crevices. Scorpions bathed in the sun’s illumination and insects swarmed the tavern. The Boila brothers too, emerged from their condo. Their search was brief, as they interrogated the denizens of the golden city. Asking that of Pretkag, Dura and even the elderly Shagarath. Finally, Skalp and his compatriots arrived at the Gorkil’s footstep. 


Nazark! Emerge from lat’s cave. We’s got blahin’ to do!” 

 

And speak they did, for what felt to the ork like many an hour. The details of the talk were hazy to the young orc, and though he listened intently, much of it was lost upon him. Nevertheless, an agreement was forged between the young and old: They were to have an honor klomp, a sacred duel of which the spirits themselves decide the victor. If Skalp was beaten, his slave’s throat would be slit, and if the elder lost the bout, a tusk and a slave would be paid to Skalp.

The stage was set.

***

 

The sun shone directly above, cementing time as noon. In the intense heat, most beings would cower beneath the cool-blue shade or in the lush oasis nearby. Despite of this, however, a crowd of uruk formed around the klomp pit, the same one Skalp had dug up with his bare hands. The combatants stood opposite eachother, silent in tongue, but with no doubt crazed in mind, discussing their battle tactics with themselves. Then, however, Skalp emerged from his oral dormance. He spoke up, laying praise to the Spirit Leyd, he who rules as the chain lord, and the spirit of physical strength. He spoke the words from Spluttertongue, the young Ragukian dialect of old blah. 

 

Lok Leyd! Hont lâttuk aldatuk; grish lattuk asgarakh u lât ner!

Lok Leyd! Hont dhurburz lattuk egek taka azugh lât ishûr!

Lok Leyd!

Lok Leyd!

Udirk lâttuk zultûr agh largrûz lattok nik ukh darg!”

 

Then, it began. Skalp was young, fast and strong; and while Nazark was not famed for his combatative prowess, he was respected for it nontheless, having nearly brought the legendary Leydluk’Raguk down to heel in their duel. Blows were thrown, blood was shed, yet the victor was clear. He stood tall as his opponent fell upon the sand. He brandished an ornamented knife. With knees bent, Skalp lowered beside Nazark’Gorkil, murmuring Dabu, brother.” and laying claimant to his first trophy. The ork stood, prideful of his achievements yet not arrogant, as he helped the elder to his feet. Soon after celebrations were had, and whilst his brothers danced and laughed once more, Skalp could not help but sit and examine the tusk he had received, pondering the future the spirits had fated for him.

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image?w=609&h=291&rev=5&ac=1&parent=1bzde4i9m5Yt4YxK0Mmo41BC0sbnLEbKhGDSLMgXE8zA

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“ANG GUND GRIISH.”

Edited by RobbingHood

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Nazark’s pride wasn’t diminished despite his loss, he was proud to stand side by side with his brother who remained loyal to Krugmar. Yet he was even more proud of their strength. Without doubt it would lead to the downfall of their enemies in due time.

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Fiil’Yar, who is no longer sure of the znaga’s guilt herself, looks nervously upon the RP post and wonders if Nazark is going to be mad at her.

 

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