Cheezzy_Garlik

As the sun sets on the city of the Urukim the Wargoth, Grishlûk’Raguk, makes his way back to his secluded hut in the middle of the desert from atop his massive Myrzym. Once he arrives back home, he removes his armor. Revealing his heavily tattooed and scarred body. The scent of cactus green, and the irony haze of blood filled his nostrils as he entered his sleeping chamber. As he lay in his bed, surrounded by his Concubines, he dozed off into sleep. Soon the Raguks’ eyes opened, yet he was not in his bed. He lay there in a pond of blood. He looks around in confusion, The sky a crimson red as he identifies his surroundings. Swimming to the nearby shore to figure out where he was. The scent of death lingered in where he landed on shore. The surrounding land around him bore dozens of towering bone white limbs, with leaves that dripped of blood. A grayish fog hangs around the Raguk’s waist, hiding his lower half. He knew where he was, The realm of Gazigash. However, this place was not familiar to the Witch Doctor. “I did not bring myself here…” he said to himself in a low tone “So who did?” The Raguk questions the emptiness of the forest he strode through. As he made his way to find any familiar features to locate where he was. Though a low song began to play in his ears, he paid it no mind as music isn't a new thing when it comes to the spirit realm, as some lesser spirit was fishing for his attention, however he was adamant to ignore it. He kept moving through the Forest of gore, he grew more sporadic and hasty as he was unable to find any exit, let alone familiar features. Soon the lullaby played in his head again, it grew louder and louder. It gets so loud the witch doctor is forced to his knees, covering his ears he roars in pain. Unable to hear his own roar through the deafening lullaby. His head beats as the lullaby begins darkening his vision “Sleeep…Sleeep!” a voice says to him, though Grishlûk is unable to see who or where its coming from as he begins to lose consciousness. He gives in to the lullaby and falls on his stomach, passing out. An indiscernible amount of time passes as the Raguk slowly regains his consciousness. A bright white light burns his face as his vision returns to him. He hisses as the sky burns his already burnt face. He tries to raise his hand to cover his face but he finds himself bound by black roots. These roots trap him in the ground as deep as his gut. “Gaah! What is this! Who dares trap me, I am Grishlûk’Raguk! Emissary of the Blood Queen, Champion of the Gore Warden!” He roars “I demand you release me from this prison before the wrath of Leyd is unleashed upon you!” Laughing echoes in the forest around him, coming from no specific direction. He looks to see anyone “You….you dare to command me? I should devour you like the pathetic dog you are, yelping for your master as you fight helplessly.” The voice taunts, its voice smooth but wicked, akin to a cobra speaking to its prey. “Who are you! Release me from your grip or I shall burn this forest to the ground!” He roars as the roots and vines trapping him tighten around him, causing him to gasp for air. A heartbeat passes, the Witch Doctor blinks and a flower, the size of an Olog appears on the tree before him, growing off of it like a horrific tumor. It bears petals of bright crimson with speckles of white, giant thorns decorating the tree's trunk, like a misshapen rose. A giant toothy grin covers the inside of the flower. Massive fangs leaking bile and red tinted saliva stare at the Raguk. As Grishlûk looks at the carnivorous plant, a feral, uncontrollable thirst for flesh and blood overcomes him. “Yes….” the flower laughs maniacally “you know who i am Witch Doctor. I am Lûg’Zhotl, The Bleeding Flower, It is my hunger you feel. My hunger for the false worshippers!” The flower spits, bile and gore splattering as it speaks. “I know what you speak…Oh great Bleeding Flower. Why do you curse me with this affliction! Why must I hunger!” Grishlûk groans, his stomach feeling as if he had never eaten once in his entire life. “Because Red Skin, you will be my voice, my fist, my weapon against these false worshippers. You will spill their blood and slake my unending hunger.” one of the vines reaches up from the pit that the Raguk, slowly wrapping itself around the Uruks throat, almost unable to contain its own hunger “How do you wish for me to do that oh great spirit?” Grishlûk coughs out, struggling to breath as the vine tightens around his throat, robbing him of his air. “You are a great smith, Blooded-one. You will know what to do!” The flower spits angrily, growing tired of this conversation with a mere mortal. In the amount of time Grishlûuks racing heart can beat once, he is thrown beneath the pit of roots and vines and darkness consumes his senses once more. [ Lûg’Zhotl “The Bleeding Flower”: Lesser Spirit of Unending carnivorous hunger. Lesser of Gazigash] He awakens in his bed, he shoots up, His many wives awakening and moving back as the Goth throws himself out of his massive bed. He puts on his armor and many belts. He grabs his staff, looking it over for a moment, and then leaving his hut into the rising sun over the vast, barren desert.

This post would have been much more efficient if it was instead telling ST why we should have guns.

"A gathering ub da zhomos, bout noggin tik wiz glitz up off ah razzes agh du sumfing" The Raguk says as he reads the note "Da ilzguls ham nub 'appy abowt da nub'ozh zhomos mukkin abowt, mmmhmm."

A Gristled, old Dwarf reads the declaration of a new Grand King on the wall of a quiet tavern, he wraps a dusty red golem hand around a tankard of ale. As his emerald green eyes read the lines “Anotheh Stahbreaka? Maybeh it’s time ah r’turned ‘ome to see mah kindred”. The Ireheart pays for his beer, and leaves the tavern, wiping the breadcrumbs and dust off of his old worn badger pelt.

“Diz like soopa epik. Wazh dere wallz wiff dere grukkaz. Turn da skiez black wiff fete DOOM!” Said Grishlûk’Raguk. The aging shaman from deep within the bowels of his clan hall, as he worked away on a secret project.

Grishlûk’Raguk dabbed up his new crimson brother. The armor of Leydlûk clamoring against the large uruk as he did.

I would never play a based esotheric redskin-pilled gigachad orc.

Worshipping spirits with extra steps. make more lesser spirits, make an ork while your at it ; )

Grishlûk’Raguk sits on a barstool, next to DA GREAT KAPTIN FISHBREF!!! and reads the whitewash notice alone with him. “Ha, mi grukz sum wytwazhes gunna bi all pissy.”

“Dat point syztem wuz dumma dan a olog wiff uh toomur” Says Grishlûk’Raguk

“Datz ah dum name fur ah Raguk” -Said Grishlûk’Raguk , Son of Nagg, Son of Blood, Chosen of Leydlûk, Wargoth of Clan Raguk

Damn daz Krazy -Grishluk’Raguk

Grishlûk’Raguk Stared down at the missive, chewing on a Thundakrug brownie from his recliner within his house in Haelu’nor. He lifted his reading specs to make sure that his name wasn’t listed, then he folded it up and stuck it in the rest of the missives. The Uruk slowly growing a beer gut. “Eh, dey may stink like zhit, but maybe we don’t turn dere grizh into booz, wen Mi alreddi makin grapez uv Gazigash.”

Mid

I’d like to mention again, that I was rebanned for a month + appeal after an already 1 month ban for saying “I will only log on to spite the server”. The mod admin said it was to keep the server safe from me. I consider that bs. I’d like a change of admin but it won’t happen cus the person who oversees that is…the admins

JUST ******* LEAVE! ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!!

Grishlûk’Raguk did in fact not listen to the manic blabbering from a fool, from the top of the city and continued his meditation in the deep bowels of the Orcish Citadel.

GO THE **** OUTSIDE PLEASE, but put on sunscreen

Was there ever a time when Admin team wasn’t just full of people with hate boners and overdeveloped god complexes that wanted to flex how powerful they were by putting their hairy ass belly in your face and tried to make you lick their sweaty ass balls?

Only 15 words?!?! Guess no more war chants : /

You’ve been playing for 11 years? And haven’t been groomed once? That’s gotta be a record somewhere

build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build build

The Days grew long and tiresome for the Crimson goth of the Raguk Clan. Grishlûk’Raguk was once without title, was once a simple Uruk in search of meaning, of a purpose. Once he had grown to his full strength as a Witch Doctor, the Greater Spirit of Blood and Bone had taken a liking to him, choosing this orc to be her Champion, her greatest of zealots to follow out her every will and spread her name across the far reaches of every land! “Grishlûk, your constant worship and sacrifices have pleased me, however it is not enough my lovely child. Take these boons, and with it spread my name to each person in Almaris. Grishlûk, my Chosen, Strengthen my hall, and fill my chalice!” With this, The Blood Mother sent her champion back to the mortal plane. His purpose was clear, and his determination absolute. The great spirit had blessed the goth with a multitude of boons that day, the first was his Longsword, a blade that once held high regard amongst the many smiths across Almaris, now had a place among the tongue of the many shamans of The Iron Uzg. For whenever it was held by Grishlûk, The blade began to excrete a never ending stream of blood, to coat the blade as he used it to slaughter those who stood to oppose the Great Gazigash. His second was a staff, what was once a normal walking stick had contorted and twisted, knotting and corrupting itself. It charred itself, turning as black as charcoal. A decrepit hand made of the knotted wood of the staff grew from the head of the wood. Within the palm of this “hand” was a small ball of blood red fire that would never extinguish. Seemingly fueling this fire was the constant pumping of the visible blood veins that twisted in and out of the accursed staff. The final boon that Gazigash had granted upon her Chosen was an enhancement to his bloodlust, causing him to not just constantly crave the heat of battle, but the very stench, taste, and feeling of blood. He needed it, like he needed to breathe. Through the coming Decades, Grishlûk had disappeared, after succumbing to his first bout of his enhanced bloodlust, he almost killed his closest Ally and fellow spirit Worshiper. This horrified the Raguk, who fled the Citadel of Krugmar, he was ashamed of himself and vowed to never return until he could control his hunger for Blood. It took decades, and longer to learn to keep his bloodlust on check. Once he had mastered his savagery, he returned to the goi, in which he had come across a great beast, with wings as large as a house and eyes made of fire! The Raguk let his bloodlust take control of him! His eyes erupted in white flame. He single handedly fell the beast, Savagely butchering it with his Bloodletters blade, not stopping until every ounce of the creatures life essence had left its mangled corpse. The old Orc Hu-Din had witnessed this battle, and dubbed the Goth, Grishlûk “The Violent”. From that day on, word would spread of the Goth of Clan Raguk’s Savagery and relentlessness during the heat of battle. It has spread so far that even the great Spirit of War, Bloodlust and Rage ENROHK had heard of this Orc. One night as the Raguk slept within the bowels of his Clan Hall, Enrohk entered his dreams, pulling his body out of his sleep and into the Ash wasteland and war torn hellscape of Enrohk’s realm. “Grishlûk, Wargoth of Clan Raguk? You are the one they deem “The Violent”?” The towering giant of a greater spirit asked the Red orc “Dat mi iz o’ Ilzgûl ub Wagh, wub du lat wish uv mi?” Grishlûk responded “You will spread my name, crush your enemies in my name!” The spirit demanded However Grishlûk did not budge “Nub! Mi allegianze iz tu Gazigash, mi iz ‘er Chozen agh mi will kontinue on mi paff in ‘er name!” This was an insult to the great spirit of war, a spit in the face. Enrohk gave no response other than banishing the goth from his realm and leaving his dreams. Grishlûk thought nothing more of this interaction, however as the days passed, he found it harder to control his bloodlust, he founds that the veins on his body turned black, and the tusks in his maw changed as if they had a mind of their own, twisting into some sort of giant lion's fangs. Eventually Grishlûk’s Bloodlust was a part of his hourly life, every minute he fought his urge to not just kill, but to destroy and burn and maim whatever was in sight. He could no longer sleep, as every time he closed his eyes, he saw The Uzg in flames. His kin slaughtered and their charred bodies hung from rooftops and stuck to pikes. The skies turned black as bright red lightning ruptured through the clouds. At the center of this nightmare was Grishlûk, however his once blood red skinned had turned black, and his eyes turned red. In his right hand he held the torch that would burn the world, and in his left he held the severed head of Rex Ar-Borok’Akaal!

A towering Wargoth, with skin as red as blood strides through the Jungles and forests surrounding the Orcish Citadel and Elven City. He strokes the head of his mighty War Elephant as he remarks to himself “ ”Diz iz reeli starting tu gitz annoyin, wunz mi ziege enginez iz komplete, dere walls will crumble like old dog zhit…in da wind” The goth takes his charred, blackened staff and holds the flame of it to the sky. “Gazigazh, Lo’ Gazigazh. Grîzh tu hûn Grîzh tu hôn”

hehe this is exactly what i wanted time to spin a web