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[PK] Devotion at it’s finest


HIGH_FIRE
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Devotion at it’s finest

 

https://gyazo.com/1e4c49faae94ab0e117836f469728891

 

A crazed ageing man would watch in the distance as the capital of the Iron Horde was abandoned, he slowly took a look at his shrine and began uttering a prayer of devotion to Enrohk, such was a quiet prayer, unlike many he had spoken. Following this his mind would begin to form a vision- red mist image of Enrohk behind him As he turned he wouldn’t look shocked, simply calm and even happy for the sight, for his deteriorating and damaged brain had done this several times to him throughout his life, tricking him with images of the one he held most. She would then begin bellowing a message to him in a gravelled, loud voice in the only language the shaman could fluently understand anymore.

 

“Ghung lat adh’izish, lat ahm nar zhomo’izub” (If you abandon, you are not my shaman)

 

The man would open his mouth as if to say something but the mists would dissipate into a complete nothingness, whatever this hallucination needed had been spoken simply and in a way Sigurd would understand. He would reach for the Ulvefolkk helmet he hadn’t worn in many years, memories of his old clan came over him, the various times they had been displaced, the home they found in the Iron Horde and their attempts to bring back their culture. Once more he would begin thinking back to the raids on the old Empire with the orcs, burning down Ebonwood and pillaging Arichsdorf. The final thoughts were of Borok, the one friend he truly felt he had after his clan was lost, a man who had taught him and taken him, a dead man now. Quickly after these memories flooded him, the man would throw the old, yet well kept helm away.

 

Hours passed before he eventually saw an approaching legion of mori, far more than man could even anticipate handling let alone surviving, but this wasn’t his land to protect, it was the land of the one he had devoted his life to and that was not something he would abandon ever. He would once more speak a prayer, this time he was far louder, almost roaring it, for he had asked for a blessing. In what would be the final moments before the attack on Enrohk’s shrine was imminent, he would take a bottle and drink it before picking up his axes. The man would for the last time be indulging in pure bloodlust and rage that came with giving your soul to Enrohk. 

 

Sigurd would then rush towards the mori with his axes with the energy of a wolf hunting deer. How the battle went, most definitely not well for the man but he went out a man who had kept his devotion to Enrohk, with nothing else on his mind.

 

Spoiler

Sigurd has died, honestly a very easy choice, I considered him leaving to the new but it was never in his characteer to abandoned his shrine like that.

Thank you to a few people
@Robin01_boyfor creating the Ulveflokk a while back with him, a very fun experience and I enjoyed playing Sigurd

 

@Haraldfor being a hilarious father to Sigurd

 

@DrunkPapaBearfor giving us land and being a legend teaching my witch doctor and just giving sigurd good rp despite him being batshit insane

 

@Aehkajand @lemonkefor being good students despite me getting busy with all manner of other things, just send me a dm and we can discuss where teaching will go from here

 

Then a bunch of thank yous to anyone I interacted with included any of the people who were a part of the Ulveflokk back then

 

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A student dwelled somewhere, continuing to craft tools for the spirits. One must wonder how her teacher's death shall influence her. Nevertheless, she mourned his death; another one who leaves her as the curse continued to course in such a sorrowful cycle.

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Frode, or by now The Savior would blink, looking around for his son Sigurd... his mind would pause for a bit as his red automaton eyes would stand still only lighting up his visage slightly.. Yet soon there after a wrinkly grin would appear on the figure's face as he'd hold out his polar bear arms shouting "I'M ONCE MORE JARL!!" he'd lash out in dance, clearly one of celebration rather than sorrow.. after all the figure knew he would see his son again.. Or at least thats what he believed..

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A burned figure laments the loss of another shaman, adding it to the scores of countless others who have fallen in his centuries. His mind looks toward the future, a means of rebuilding what was lost.  

 

 

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