The Rise Of True Carnage

[VonAulus 2082]

The will of the ancestors behind them, the will of the spirits before them, the will of Krug within them, an unwavering force of true carnage surges from within. Divided, downtrodden, destitute, dishonored, the brood of Krug soldier onwards. Defeated, dying, distressed, opressed, the uruks head hangs low. In an unlikely place, new life sprouts. 

 

 

 

[VonAulus 2082]

Trough the will of the orcs themselves, life sprouts again in an unlikely place. Trees fall to the orcen axe and the blood of sheep runs through their wool as it is hastily shaven. A new type of orc shows themselves. And orc that is willing to work for the good of all orcs, and orc willing to kill not just to feed his family, but for his neighbors as well. The passion to fight, ingrained so far down in the very DNA of their race, passed on from brother to brother, father to son, elder to kub, has returned to this noble race. Everyday they grow, turning greener, hardening on the outside, readying for the storm to come. 

 

[VonAulus 2082]

Where the one grows, its children do as well. The seeds of the orcs have been planted in this new land. Their plants will grow over the indigenous life forms. The orcs will drive out the undesirable, unusable, nonsustaining plant life. The axes continue to swing and the faces continue to bleed as the more and more gather. A horde is forming from where just one cactus was spread to. Their numbers growing and thorns becoming more potent, only a matter of time before the orcs need to spread. Do not forget the ancestors or spirits, it is in them that the orc finds the will to klomp, it is in them that were the orc finds the will to disperse. 

 

[VonAulus 2082]

Grool remembers back to when he was a kub. He remembers the stories as well as the beatings, except now, he is the one who spreads those on to the younger orcs. The stories of the honored battles and great chieftains, the backstabbing traitors and scum cowards, but one story stands out in his mind over the rest. He remembers the story of the chieftain Nub'osh. The words his mother spoke to him echo through his head as if it were yesterday.

 

"In my travels to Krugmar, I saw two orcs fight, with gleaming iron swords, to the death over a petty dispute. I stopped to speak to a shaman-in-training, who explained to me that one orc had not shown him the respect he deserved and had thus challenged him to a duel to the death. This baffled me; but the shaman-in-training went on to recount the legend of Nub'osh. He tells of the orc, who lived many generations past; but his name had been immortalized. Nub'osh was the chieftain of a very prosperous orc tribe. He was loved by the members of his tribe, and envied by those of other tribes. Legends of his deeds had spread among the tribes of Krugmar; he was depicted a god walking amongst mere mortals. He considered himself to be both the wealthiest and most fortunate of orcs, favoured by the gods; that his legend would live forever. One day, the elder shaman of a poor tribe visited Nub'osh - this was not uncommon - to see the tribe of the god-like chieftain. Nub'osh showed the shaman his tribe, his beautiful farms and livestock, and finally,his collection of gold artifacts. Nub'osh interrupted the tour to ask the shaman who he believed to be the most fortunate orc. Expecting his name, he was astonished at how quickly the shaman responded, "Kragor". 

"Why do you say that?", Nub'osh asked, or rather, "Why lat be blahin' dat?"; trying to hide his anger, in respect.

"Kragor was a peasant who worked in the mill, over his life, for fifty thousand days; took up arms to defend our tribe; and died doing so.", he replied. 

"A peasant, you say?", Nub'osh could no longer hold his anger,"Then, tell me, shaman; how fortunate do you take me to be, if not as fortunate as a peasant?" 

"While the wealthy orc is better able to content his desires, and to bear up against a sudden buffet of calamity, I cannot say. Call him however, until he die, not fortunate but happy."

With this, the shaman was expelled from the village, and given a single loaf of bread and cut of meat to make his trip back. And as the tribes that were at present powerful, were weak in the olden time, and as the formerly great tribes fell to his own, becoming insignificant; such a fate befell his own tribe. Nub'osh, however, did not take up arms like his brethren, convinced his army was unbeatable. And while no army is, or ever was, invincible, he had foolishly believed otherwise. Nub'osh was dragged by his hair from his chambers to the town centre, where dozens of orcs took their turn spitting and urinating on him. He was burned alive, as he cried the shaman's name,to be eaten. His brother, Bub'osh, however, had fought most valiantly, even when all hope was lost; and was rewarded as such. His body honoured by the invaders, his soul blessed by Krug, and his name immortalized."

All credit to Alex Pan

 

Grool knew the orcs needed to be more like Kragor, and less like Nub'osh. 

[VonAulus 2082]

For the orcs, a building, a camp, a nation, is built with more sweat then actual rock. The foundation is blood and sweat, both salty to the taste, both products of war as well. A fool could guess that the orcs take pride in their sweat, in their blood, in their work. If you walk into the desert and see a hut constructed, no matter how small, how insignificant, some orc's raw will power dragged those trees and those rocks there to build that hut. That orc will defend that hut till he is flat, all of his brothers are flat, and all his children are flat. When an orc war chieftain can harness that pure stubbornness, that pure will power, he will rise above his brothers, but also with his brothers, to accomplish great things, greater then any single orc. 

 

It is rumored that if enough orcs believe something, it will come true in some way or another. This is supported by the shamans, where even if no magic itself is used, they put it into the head of the orcs they have been blessed. Whatever orc has the ability to persuade another orc's raw will power behind his own cause will rise among his brothers to lead. Much like the humans, orcish society is based on faith in another orc, in their honor. 

 

Honor, the word on the tip of the tongue of every orc, the word mentioned in every story told to the kubs, the word ingrained into the orcs since birth. It is every orc's goal to gain more honor, normally from prowess on the battlefield. There is no greater honor is orcish society then to die on the battlefield sword deep among the enemy ranks. Stories will be told about your honorable death for generations to come to all of your descendants. Every orc wants to be remembered. 

 

Misconceptions about honor are held by those not accustomed to orcish society. An orc will not lose honor for losing an honor klomp. The honor is in calling the bluff, having enough confidence in your own prowess to fight another orc, sometimes to the death. To die defending your honor is very desirable in orcish society. Of course, the winner is still alive and can brag about him defeating the fallen orc, but your kubs will have a good example to go by when they themselves are defending their honor. 

 

[RossssM 61]

Genuinely very interesting Grool! Keep it up.

[Catarrh 720]

Excellent post. Very cool building.

[VonAulus 2082]

Feet pound on the wet earth , causing the inhabitants to fall, trampled, broken. Uprooted plants, skew, across the ground, satchels full of the fuel needed to sustain the metabolism of an orcish horde are piled onto the beasts or burden. Why grow when you can take? Why sow when you can nap, waiting for the time to strike, waiting for the premature harvest. Maybe the farmer will be there to fight you for his crops, then it fills another hunger that is deep inside the orc.

 

[VonAulus 2082]

Excellent post. Very cool building.

 

Genuinely very interesting Grool! Keep it up.

 

 

((Thankyou))

[VonAulus 2082]

Grool, saddened by his own actions, spends his days feeling sorrow for his lost friend, the great Crow lord. He wants to make amends, but does not know how to. He wishes he would just have a chance to say sorry.

 

((This is to apologize to Cracker for letting him be defiled by someones foot kicking him from the channel. I am truly sorry.))

[VonAulus 2082]

The pitter patter of bare feet on the rugs of the great throne room can be heard only a few feet away. A handful of barefooted orcs pad up to the throne in horned armor. The points freshly sharpened, not a speck of blood or dirt on the freshly polished plates. They looked menacing as they approached the King and his advisers. 

 

 

A deal was struck and headbutts exchanged. Let us see how long it lasts.

[VonAulus 2082]

Krug, according to the Motsham, had sent them a gift. This gift was a slave, but the infidels, only an elven hour after the peace treaty was signed, had stolen it. The infidels had over stepped the treaty. The orcs rallied to go and retrieve the slave of religious significance from the heretics.

 

Again, against the will of Krug himself, another deal was struck, another slave being returned in place of the lost one and an alliance formed. Only the orcs and the infidels can attest to that though. There was not a spy listening in, Grool had checked. 

[VonAulus 2082]

Grool looks around, things have changed. He plods back into Salvus, now called Gronkston, and barely recognizes the place. The great towers of the orcs stretch to the skies, so close to the stargush you could fall and be flat. Time have changed, alliances shifted, it is time for the carnage to continue. 

 

The bloodlust swells up inside the orcish race, calling them forward, edging them on towards war. When set in motion, the green tide is close to impossible to halt. The tide must feast on waves of blood, with each strengthening the growing wave, set to crash into the shore. The shore can do nothing but run, hide, cower in fear. It is the way of Krug to klomp, so klomp is what they must do.

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.