Inferno_Ougi 1454 Share Posted February 14, 2022 (edited) Spoiler TO A RAGUK, THE PANTHEON MUST BE FEARED TO FORGET IS FOLLY LOK LEYD LOK GAZIGAZH LOK GENTHARUZ LOK THE NAAKH-ZA-BARASH _________________________________________________________________________________ Grunt sat deep within the cave of Mokh-Leyd, his knees locked to the ground with his head bowed before three shrines and a fire. One, metal twisted in the misshapen form of cogs and machinery, black with soot. In the center, the largest shrine menaced with skulls and chains hanging from its wings. The last stood painted with blood, and tightly hung around it was various pieces of flesh, entrails, and gore. Bones of varying shapes and sizes protruded from the shrine. To the Raguk, they loomed over him, whispering words of judgement and giving visions of punishment. The Pantheon was not satisfied, no, not with the disappearance of their most loyal follower. There was a void in his heart, for none feared The Naakh-Za-Barash as much as Grunt. For after deeming his father unworthy, it took him--- or so Grunt believes. Thus, he engaged in constant prayer, out of both fear and genuine reverence for the spirits. This time was no exception, but it was interrupted when a rat scurried into the cavern, carrying paper in its mouth. Out of anger he grabbed the rat, and nearly squeezed it to death mistaking it for an intruder of this holy space. But his blood cooled upon reading the letter. Letting the rat go, he stood up, and looked about the cavern room. He looked to the pool of blood in the corner, that had once almost overflown. Now, it was only a foot deep. "THE RONK OB THORAL IS DRYING. THE NAAKH-ZA-BARASH MUST BE SATISFIED!" With a smile, Grunt marched to Providence, and gathered with the best of the Orenians, Ferrymen, and Blackvale alike. There, he met up with Kalruk, a Gorkil that had been converted to a Grizh-Kin, a Raguk, after being baptised in the Ronk ob Thoral. They rode to Sedan, where Grunt held himself in disciplined excitement rarely seen in uruk-kind. He heard the shouting and talking of the humans, dwarves, and even orcs standing behind the walls, steeling themselves for the battle to come. _________________________________________________________________________________ The battle was long and fierce, his armor being dented and marred with scarring--- yet unbroken by the end of it. It was a good battle, and he reveled in every moment of it, having switched his battle axe for a Haense-crafted warhammer he had looted mid-battle. Closing his eyes, he could vividly remember the moment he smashed a Haenseti's skull in with that very weapon. His bowstring was twisted, nearly snapping, having been used to loose many a arrow. Still, the Tripartite corpses that littered the battlefield had satiated his thirst for battle, and, much to his surprise, nary an Orenian was lost despite the odds. He felt uneasy, however, despite the victory. It did not come from the existence of survivors. Nay! This was only a drop in the endless sea of war! Edited February 14, 2022 by Inferno_Ougi 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
SteppeNomad 1552 Share Posted February 14, 2022 A hoplite polishes his spear and shield, not because they are bloody and battle marked, but because they will bare MORE. Glittered and glimmering while baring red for all to see 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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