AfroJoeTheOlogBro

And Thus We Go The Sons and Daughter of Krug had been laboring hard to prepare their ship, fitting it with rations of food, booze, and green to get them to the new lands that had been scouted out. It was during such preparations to put the finishing touches is when the sky split apart, the arid blue turning into a seething rage of flame and death as rocks from the heavens came to smite the city of San'Azgahk. Led by The Rex, the Orcs of Krugmar fled their home, taking their last bit of belongings that had yet to be packed within the ship. They climbed into the large long boat that had been built, and with the determination steeled against what was to come, they left Arcas, in search of their new home.

Approve it or Flat

THE GREAT MOVE A missive would go out across the nation of Krugmar and perhaps even farther out into the world, signed by the tell tale sign of the Rex. A smiling toalak with its' tongue sticking out. "Welp. Weve all seen it at this point. The world shakes and cries out against us, probably angry we flatted that zkahin Aengul. Just now I saw the skies above New Reza burst into a celestial storm the likes of which I have not seen in my 90 years upon this Uzg. We orcs may not always be the smartest, but we arent dumb. Pack your zkahin shite and start headin to the boats. We aint stickin around to get crushed beneath our home! We head to the mighty boat made by the Yazgurtan Korzkub'Lur. We head to new lands. LUP'KRUG! LUP'ILZ'GUL!" The missive itself would be scribed with a thick red berry paste, giving the note a tasty sent, despite the dire news.

The Rex of Krugmar frowns as he hears the news of some tragedy happening far away from his home, having just seen the smoke from it not too long ago "Firzt duh Dwed, agh now duh Humiez ahm bein azzaulted by duh Uzg itzelf. Terrible tidinz indeed. Wi muzt all prepare ourzelvez for duh werzt az wi begin tuh depart"

The goblin Rex of Krugmar snorts upon hearing of this new pestilence, shaking his head "Perhapz with mi mojo, mi kuld azizt in fyndin uh kure. Mi ahm zure Kinul ahm happi tuh peep uh new peztilenze, but wi kan nub be bringin diz zkah tuh our new hoyme"

The Goblin Rex of Krugmar chuckled to himself, resting in this throne as he reminisced the dying scream of the greatest kill he would ever be apart of in his life time. The sound of Gazardial's failure rung in his mind. "Mi muzt give rulg tuh mi kin, ezpezialli Drekur.....without mi bruddahz, agh all dezendentz, diz viktori wuld nub be pozzible, LUP ZKAHIN KRUG YUH ZKI BLIGHTUHZ!........Mi muzt gyve rulg tuh duh Kin of Brev azh lazt tik buhfore dae leave, tuh rulg them for duh wepun dere anzeztuh left tuh uz."

The Rex of Krugmar takes the missive, sitting in his throne as he reads over it ”Zoundz hozh tuh mi! Dere ahm much tuh dizkuzz”

The Rex of Krugmar sits in his throne, reading over the missive, with only one thing to say ”OI! Mi ahm uh hozh ork!”

Calling of the Moot Deep within the Talus Grove, far along a gentle river, and upon a solitary hill, sat a lone figure. This small, wooden creature, wrought of root and vine, hung from the branches of its Slumber Tree, looking out over the vast expanse of the domain it had laid claim to. The Seedling, stout in demeanor and indomitable in spirit, was known to its few friends as Fangorn. This seedling, among the first of many to awaken, felt a longing, a call; though it had seen none other like it before, it felt loneliness. Loss... Sorrow. And it was in this sorrowful mourning that wild instinct tugged upon the crystalline heart of this lone seedling, and in its sadness, it would obey its instincts… And call out. A sound, akin to a hunting horn, would escape from its lips as it shouted deep into the moonlit sky, raging against the darkness of despair. It did not expect an answer; how could it? It was the only one of its kind, or so it had thought... Across the continent, within the dark and shaded woods south of Helena, a trio of howls would shriek out in response to the seedling’s call. Sawing, wheezing mimicries of common sounds echoing across the rolling plains and thick woods of Arcas. Predatory forms, perched high on the tree tops, would answer the call of a newfound brother, different they may be. Kindred in spirit, purpose, and kine to the same forces, those seedlings of a darker persuasion would raise their heads high to the moon, in hopeful sorrow. And as the frightful howls pierced the air, a gentle hum would emerge from the Norlandic Northmarches; a cacophony of birdsong, sung in harmony with the choir of life and beauty. Within a lone glade of the frigid north, a newer seedling would sit, basking in the soft glow and embrace of moonlight’s gentle kiss. This seedling’s voice, mixed with the drones and howls emerging from across the continent, would serve to create a beautiful, haunting song; The Balance, represented by the voices of those who would maintain it. All from different walks of life, these seedlings would feel a longing; it was time… For a moot.

The Rise of an Unlikely Rex It had been a late evening for the Swampgoth of Clan Lak as he sat, resting at the top of his tower-like home, smoking some Illatian Haze to ease his aching body. Basking in the light of Luara and breathing in deeply of the brisk night air, a barn owl cast its shadow over the moonlit rooftop, letting out a loud hoot as it landed next tot he goblin, a note tied to its leg. Murdok untied the note gently, cooing to the owl as he scratched beneath its beak before unfurling the letter. Upon the parchment was but one simple message, from the Rex of the Eternal Uzg, Ugrad’Lur. ”The Spirits have called on me. It is my time to go and follow their will” The goblin read the note once....twice....thrice......and sat dumbfounded all the same. His mind drew back to the time of his old Swampgoth, Kolaz’Lak, and how the blue uruk had left the Rexdom as well. Another good leader had been called away by the Spirits. Murdok’Lak took the letter, tucking it gently into the massive turtle shell that adorns his back, and began climbing down his tower, heading out to call to the Goth Council to spread the news. It did not take long for the council to gather after hearing about Ugrad’s absence. Debating began amongst the kubs of Krug as they sought an answer to who should become the new Rex. According to the many Goths, Murdok himself held qualities of an honorable orc fit for leadership, much to the goblin’s surprise. Though despite his own trembling confidence, he steadied himself, going out to the city’s horn to call forth the brothers and sisters of the Uzg to gather from their homes. Once a sizable group began to amass, Murdok climbed up to the top of his tower to shout his words over the crowd. ”Mani of latz gruk mi az Murdok’Lak, Zwampgoth of Klan Lak, amongzt othuh tingz. Mi haz gathuhed latz, Kubz of Krug, tuh blah dat duh Ilz’gul have kalled out tuh bruddah Ugrad, kalling him tuh travel uh different path. Agh zo, diz leavz uz with nub Rex. Duh Goth Kounzil gathuhed, agh wi blahed. Wub wi dezided iz dat mi, Murdok’Lak, zhall be duh new Rex. Mi iz nub but uh gobbo, but mi zhall muztuh all of mi honuh tuh uphold mi kin, az Krug wuld have mi dew az Rex. If dere ahm dizagreenze wit diz dezizion, blah az duh Kodez demand. If nub, mi peepz forwud tuh leadin uz intuh hozh tikz. Mi firzt akt az Rex iz tuh return tuh Krug duh honuh of bein duh title of our nazion. WI ZHALL FOREVUH BI KRUGMAR! LUP’KRUG!” The gathered orcs looked amongst each other, letting out a cry of Lup’Krug before beginning to discuss amongst themselves of this news. Murdok would head back inside his tower, gathering many sheets of parchment and a bowl of berries, smashing the berries into a red paste. Smearing the paste onto his fingers, he began scribing upon the parchment with his illiterate writing. ”THROM’KA! Tuh duh nazion leaduh dat diz reachez, Mi ahm Murdok’Lak, duh new Rex of Krugmar. Mi grukz dat dere ahm much tuh bi dun in diz Uzg, with Inferi at our blargz agh unzertain tikz ahead, but mi wuld like tuh arrange meetz with duh mani leaduhz of duh nazionz in diz Uzg, zo dat mi kan blah agh gruk of latz. Agh perhapz lat kan gruk of mi azwell! Pleeze zkribe bak tuh mi at latz konvienze, agh wi zhall blah wub dere iz tuh be blahed. Hopin for hozh relazionz. May Ubluhar zend deze lettuhz well!” Once he finished scribing enough letters to send out to the many nations, he would stamp each one with a smiling toalak’s face, its tongue sticking out. Then, coralling together his spawns of toalaks the he had nurtured and raised, he would tie around their necks one of the missives, sending them out into Arcas.

I love this. Keep up to good work Dutch my boi

The Swampgoth would scowl at the familiar hourglass symbol as he read the parchment, running his free hand across the scar a bolt of lightning left on his muscled frame. ”Zo.....organizin....are wi.....Mi will be peepin klozli. Mi remembuhz...mi alwaiz remembuhz.”