A Motsham's Bounty

[_Jandy_ 3519]

 

The Motsham kicked the rubble of the desecrated shrine as he paced back and forth, Fiil’Yar watching him.

“I’ll flat who did diz.” barked out the uruk “Thiz iz an azzault on a spirit.”

In time the shrine would be fully repaired and a missive would go out which reads as follows:

 

Motsham Nazark’Gorkil offers 10 Thousand Minas for the life of the person who tarnished the shrine of Phaedrus so long as there is proof or admission that the person has truly committed this crime. This is an attack upon a spirit themself and it will not be tolerated. Woe is ye - to any who violate the spirits we praise.

If the guilty person wishes to come forward upon seeing this their life may be spared though punishment is still promised.

[Gallic 1066]

Dominus Fiil’Yar supports this bounty and is very glad to have something to do other than war.

[PrinceJose270 1211]

Gusiam Jusmia “The hunt is on, though not for the need of coin, but for the justice of those whom dare wrong the spirits. May whoever did such best go to surrender themselves, Before they cross there paths with me.”Gusiam said, already set to hunt those who dared to defile a shrine.

[Cowkillerbob 1]

Oroc Yunkathu “While mi culd nub kare less aboot da shiniez, mi will flat da zkaher whu did dis. Nubazh shuld dizrespekt da Spiritz in zuch a nub’hozh way.”

 

 

[LPT 771]

Zarug groans at the missive as he goes to meet his elder “Mi kan nub believe deer are urukz amongzt uz whu believe dat diz twiggie ahm agh real zpirit.” “Duh twig tried tu van znagaz and made duh race peep weak”

 

Zarug slashed himself with a knife in the left bicep as he meditates “Jevex agh Krug. Help mi enlighten mi Eldur und Shuw hiym hiz falze zhrine aghm ah dizgrace... Nazark ahm mi bruddah ahn mi eldur but he ahm wrong about diz.”

[Lhindir_ 3691]

An azdrazi bounty hunter sets out. 

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

A ringing and clang of metal can be heard within a clearing, nestled comfortably in the thick forests of Tauob Bûbhosh Hoital. Within the villa painted a smooth bronze color with red clay shingles. Phaedrus would be seen, crafting as always, a rack of finished weapons waiting outside for those who wish to partake in the hunt.

 

He pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing as he looks off into the distance, before returning to his work again as he mutters to himself.

“Interesting... Anonymity isn’t a luxury an Uruk typically enjoys. Hard to gain honor that way. I wonder if they’re actually strong enough to own slaves.”

He walks over to a barrel of water and quenches the metal, steam billowing up from it as the only noise made for a brief moment, is a hiss.

[Banned 347]

A pale elf draped in sun bleached fabrics appears to be waiting for something within the crux of a warped oak tree, its gnarled branches dangling down all around her. Its bark is rough and thick, appearing quite weathered in nature after so many generations of growth. The hue of each individual leaf adorning this gnarled oak is a rich green, like that of finely-cut emeralds, all of which rustle about the Elf as a brief breeze caresses the canopy. The horizon ahead is painted only with the fine strokes of towering stalks, arches of hills, and the occasional cobbled tower - each caressing the distant skyline.. A small figure rises to the top of a distant hill, drawing closer and closer with each fleeting moment, until finally it came to a stop beneath the tree. The pale elf moved, reaching down to grip onto the coarse tree-bark, her descended the many branches of the tree.
A twilight sky draped over the world, the shadow of the forest looming high above both Elf and new arrival. This new arrival, illuminated briefly by the faintest coruscations of light breaking through the canopy above, appears to be a scrawny Gobbo from the Heartland of the Rexdom; this message-bearer of sanguine tinted flesh and deep-golden eyes provides the Elf with a simple parchment before turning away and departing.
At the last second, however, he stops. “Oh, agh.. Rip dem azundah!”spoke the Goblin, a wild grin coming to paint itself across the entirety of his countenance, continuing to remain even as he departed the forest. The Elf stood there, gaze tracing over the ink pressed against the length of the parchment.. And then, she was gone. In the distance, atop one of the arches painted out in the distant skyline, the pale elf can be seen returning Eastward, in the very same direction of San’Azgak.

[TheNanMan2000 473]

Murak default dances on the corpse of the scullion who did this