Metamancy 1774 Share Posted July 28, 2025 He looked down upon his trembling, scarred hands. Hands that had built, broken, killed, healed. Now, they only trembled. An axe, chipped but faithful, was strapped to his back. A hammer, heavier now than it had ever been, was clipped to his belt. He unclipped it. Muscles aged by labor, wear and struggle bulged with ancient strength. The earth clamored as that hammer was slammed into it. How ironic. Uzgk’Grizh - The Blood of the Earth. A name to honor life, to give meaning to the gift of creation. But now all he could see was Blood. He staggered back. Blood flashed before his eyes. The world turned to hues of red and purple as the ancestors roared inside of him. Voices from ages long ago, angry, proud, mournful. He had been their vessel. Their hammer. But he had grown so, so tired. He had only ever wanted peace. Peace to rest. Peace to build a quiet life. Peace to live without having to prove himself. And yet, through each labored breath, he realized how long he had been lying to himself. For a time, he had believed he had found it. He had stood beneath the stars and felt whole again. He had heard laughter. Shared meals. Seen love, life, and friendship. He had knelt in silence, praying to whatever being may have been out there for a place to call home. But the world had not changed. And he realized now, that neither had he. The hammer slipped from his hand, falling to the ground with a dull thud. An aurum dagger was unclipped from that same belt. His brutish reflection glimmered off its edge. It was only a face he barely recognized. It was the face of a monster. Eyes hollowed out, devoid of soul through too many compromises. Lips that had forgotten how to smile without guilt. His hands shook as that dagger was raised. He recalled a few names. No, many names. Grommash. Grugmak. The ones he had failed. The ones he had buried in the ground. The ones who waited for some version of him he could never be. He sank to his knees. The winds howled - a cold breeze - and the trees did not answer. No god, no spirit, no voice but his own. And he was silent there. Beneath the pale sky, in a clearing no one would find, that dagger dropped to the floor. At last, it was his blood that was spilled. And with a final, shuddered breath, He let go. And he was finally at peace. There was no grave. No epitaph. No letters. Only silence. And a hammer, half-buried into the earth, left where what could only be a man had once begged the world to be kind. And over that body, thorns would grow. OOC: Spoiler This is it. Thorn/Uzgk’s PK post. I really just didn’t find the joy in playing him anymore, and realized that he probably didn’t find the joy in living, either. I loved playing this character, truly. I loved engaging with the orc community, then turning into a monk and writing an entire philosophy post for fun. But every story needs an end, and this felt fitting for him. Thanks to everyone who played with Thorn/Uzgk and enjoyed his company. He was one of, if not the first character I played where I felt I really had fun and belonged somewhere on LOTC. Goodbye, Thorn! I hope you reunite with Grommash and Grugmak in the stargush’stroh and find the peace you couldn’t have in life. :) Sorry for the short post, I felt like anything too long and fancy wouldn’t be right for him. 14 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
spaazmatism 1023 Share Posted July 28, 2025 aw ): i liked that guy. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Javert 9628 Share Posted July 28, 2025 "BRUDDAH!" roared a familiar voice as Uzgk entered Stargush. Twas Grugmak, who upon Uzgk's entry, promptly tackled the newcoming Orc in a great embrace "Took lat long enough!" Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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