TheMessenger

A desert dwarf sat in his room, his hands trembling as he read the parchment. His face contorted into a grimace, “No… more…” he snarled to himself. He crumpled the missive in grief, pulling a small box from beneath his bedframe…

Farin Sandskin held a long gaze out to the horizon, the pang of sorrow in his heart at the loss of another son of Gloin. He took a deep but shaky breath, “Rest now, Garedyn. The weight of this mortal world no longer keeps you from Dungrimm’s hall.”

MC Name:

         _TheHerald_

Character's Name:

         Malgut the Merc

Character's Age:

         20

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Olog

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Ologs are the largest subrace of orc, and descendants as a whole. Able to reach a height of 8-10 feet tall, these giants are notoriously stupid, having the mind and mental capacity of a human child. This mindset makes them rather dependent on other orcs. Not to say that an olog couldn't survive in the alone in the wild if needed, but in a society they are going to be directed their whole life. Ologs are slow learners, and the dumber ologs need information reminded to them almost constantly, presumably much to their caretakers annoyance. The olog mind is rather animalistic, and though they have the same emotional range as any other race, instincts take over their minds, focusing on needs such as food and the satisfaction of the orcish curse of bloodlust.

 With metaphorically iron stomachs ologs are capable of eating practically anything, and they will, even eating rocks and swords just for the amusement. The unhealthy amount of food being shoved down their throat means most ologs put on a ton of weight, with 500-600 pounds being the a healthy olog. Ologs get much fatter though, even managing to reach over 900 pounds. In addition to being slow in mind, ologs are slow physically as well, and even their incredible strength doesn't always make up for their sluggish movements in battle. even the leanest of ologs cap out at a running spead of a mere 8mph.

 The strongest descendant race, ologs are capable of lifting twice that of an Uruk, being able to lift 400lbs with the same ease as an Uruk would lifting 200lbs. This strength has been proven useful in both construction and in war where they find the most use in orcish society. Though on an average day, ologs can be found lumbering around the city eating, sleeping and bashing heads with other orcs as well as each other.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

A young Olog, towering at 10' even. The olog's pale white skin was riddled with bruises and stretch marks, with a small amount of fat over well defined musculature. The hulking orc is dressed only in baggy brown pants, a belt with a boar skull as a belt buckle, and leather straps around the wrists, ankles, and torso. A single strip of hair rests on the side of the olog's head in a crude undercut.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         I do not.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         I do.

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         I am aware.

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand.

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         I have not.

Rudorr’Ungri nodded along as the missive was being read and translated for his simple mind. He heaved himself to his feet, “Mi promiz, Popo, da Lur bruddahz am undah mi pro-tek-zhun.” He proceeded to search the city for any green skinned uruks.

Rudorr’Ungri chuckles as he prepares for a Glutroz stew, “Da Maw gunna hav da bub’hozhezt ub feaztz!”

Lesh had been traveling through the harsh desert of Aevos for several miles by now. The chains attached to the manacles around his ankles made for odd tracks as he stumbled across dune and stone. 
He had nought to drink for days, and the weariness was starting to set in along with the pounding heat of the sun. The orc’s mind had all but faded in that moment, only focused on treading onward. The new city of Krugmar was ahead, and there he would find freedom.

Just keep going, he told himself, Just over this next dune. As he did what his own inner conscious had told him, he saw something in the distance.

Not a city, no that wasn’t the shape. A tree! Where there was a tree, there must be water! Shade! Salvation! 
The  emboldened Uruk practically leapt towards this promise of safety, never minding the voice in the back of his head telling him it was merely a mirage.

If he had any water left in his body, he would have cried tears of joy upon seeing that the tree he saw was as real as he was. Beneath the tree was a small pool of water, no more than a puddle, really, feeding the tree’s roots. Yet still he drank and he drank deeply. When he had his fill, he rested beneath the tree, its roots cradling him beneath its umbrella like canopy.

Beneath the shade of the tree he felt compelled to sleep, with its roots feeling like they grasped him ever so tenderly. He slept, and he dreamed.

In his dream he saw an oasis, within the oasis, a woman, composed of all that is natural and beautiful. She looked on at the pool of water before her gaze focused on Lesh. In those intense eyes, he awoke, with but a single word engraved in his memory.

Freygoth.

MC Name:

         _TheHerald_

Character's Name:

         Lesh the Chained

Character's Age:

         50

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         Uruk

Transformed form:

         Epiphyte

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

An epiphyte is the result of a descendant being claimed by a Fae plant and their body physically consumed and recreated with the same material as their plant.

through this process, the descendant is transformed into a demifae and is bonded with their fae plant until their final death. 
The two’s souls are intertwined, creating a bond between the two that is impossible to break or fully ignore. The needs of the plant are a constant in the epiphytes mind, before all else. This bond is so strong in the epiphyte that it even overtakes the epiphytes potential hatred for its current condition. 
Another trait of this bond can be seen in how the plant’s injuries are mirrored by the epiphyte, with gashes in the plant’s body manifesting as shallow cuts on the epiphyte, and should the plant die, the epiphyte will be overcome with a deep pain and strong sense of despair. 
One of the most noticeable traits of the epiphyte is their new biology, with their body being completely remade with the fibers of its fae plant.
This new body produces certain traits for the epiphyte. They are capable of being healed by Druid magics and inherit the enviromental resilience of their plant, such as a cactus epiphyte being more tolerant of a desert environment, but nothing beyond that.  They are also capable of regrowing injuries, with the time taken to regrow depending on the severity of the wound, ranging from a narrative hour to an OOC week, with anything counting as a major wound or above requiring immediate medical treatment to heal. 
Should the fae plant be killed, or there be a map change the Epiphyte is capable of producing and planting a seed to regrow the plant  
An unfortunate downside of this new fae-like nature is that they gain several weaknesses, including Aurum, Azhl, Thahnium, and fire. They are unaffected by the healing aspects of holy magic, such as that of paladins. They are also very susceptible to voidal magic, which is capable of corrupting them. This corruption can be as small as feeling nauseous when in the presence of a cast spell, to becoming a savage husk of themselves after a close encounter with a voidal tear. 
A unique trait of the epiphyte is a cycle of rebirth that they go through every 10-50 years (10-50 OOC weeks) compared to the changes of seasons. The start of this cycle is akin to spring, starting within the first transformation and immediately after each rebirth. At this stage, the Epiphyte is rather young and youthful, though never childlike. Their memories are slow to return, if at all, as their brief youthful state is a fresh start for the plantlike descendant. 
The second stage is the primary state of an epiphyte, akin to summer. In this stage, the epiphyte is in its prime, having moved passed the trauma of rebirth. 
after this, there naturally comes to an autumn period. As the rebirth of the epiphyte approaches, the epiphyte’s body starts to age, with wrinkles forming, autumn colors manifesting, and the epiphyte growing weary. 
The final period of the rebirth is that of winter. In this period, foliage grows brown, decays, and possibly sheds. The epiphyte’s body grows ragged, and ages rapidly. Emotional flux is common as this period reaches its end, ranging from foreboding despair to acceptance. From here, the body decays, a new one is created by the fae plant and the cycle restarts. 
Dryophytes, referred to commonly as dryads, are epiphytes formed from the bonding of a descendant to a tree, having bark skin, wooden body, tree leaves for hair, sap-like blood, etc.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

Lesh is a dryophyte epiphyte, bonded to a fae tree resembling a discolored dragonblood tree, with dark brown bark and forest green leaves for hair, he also has solid amber eyes, and dark grey colored teeth. He also has several small branches around his head and back bearing leaves in a long mane, as well as larger ones on his forehead somewhat resembling horns at an earlier period than most orcs would fully manifest horns at the age of around 220.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         Nope.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yep.

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         I am aware.

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand.

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         I have not.

Here, I Remain

To my kin of flesh and blood. I am Barradin Stonebeard, stone-kin creation of Ulfar Starbeaker. I present you with a message of safety, and a promise for eternity. By the will of my father I have been granted freedom of mind and escape from bondage. In my free will I have chosen to remain in these deep roads as their vigilant guardian. I also present an eternal promise to restore Tal’Yrro to the proud stronghold it once was. No Morí shall follow you to your new home, this I assure. 
to my family, I ask that you do not mourn my absence, and know that should you ever return to these tunnels,

Here I shall remain.

A certain dwarf laughs his heartiest reading this.

A desert dwarf read the missive with a brow raised and a rather amused expression on his face “Did it take you this long to figure it out?” He muttered sarcastically. He returned to his business, looking over various boats for somewhat shady business.

A large burned Olog put the paper to his face, giving various grunts before finally concluding, “Mi kannub read.”

One Honorable Dwarf

Malagor, the Black Hand, Honorary orc of the Iron’Uzg, had been tracking the Mori for weeks, months, years.

 He was sick, sick of never being there when the Mori had attacked the orcs, his adopted people, the greatest people he had lived with for those forty years. He still held memories, those sick memories of his time in Urguan, his time as Oinn Silverbeard, son of Okri Oathsworn. Was he truly worthy of the orcish loyalty? Was he truly an orc? Or was he just a dwarf, running away from home in some form of rebellion for his father and his people?

He harshly pushed those memories to the back of his mind, they were of no consequence now. He was not Oinn, he was Malagor, he haltingly assured himself. He served his Rex faithfully for all these years, never holding doubt in his mind that this path was a righteous one.

In recent days, he followed a trail left by the Mori; they were gathering in big numbers. He came upon a party of cloaked Mori. In a quick action he dropped to his stomach, away from their evil eyes.

The leader’s gaze flicked in Malagors direction, who offered several prayers to many spirits not to be seen. The mori’s gaze returned to its original position, edging his soldiers onwards.

This was it, thought Malagor, this is what all his work would be leading up to, all his time away from his home to finally find the Mori's true goal. He followed them at a distance, his eyes blazing brightly in his own excitement.

As they continued, the path became ever familiar. An odd thought in Malagor’s head, but he focused his mind on the here and now, continuing to follow them.

It was then that he noticed the fire in the distance.

It came to him at first with the smell of smoke, then the blaze. He finally knew why he recognized the path the Mori were following. This was the path to the Goi.

He watched in wide eyed horror as he saw his home, his city, his people in a blaze that mirrored the eyes in his skull.

He fell to his knees, the mori no longer a concern in his Anguish.

He fell on his hands as well, digging into the trampled dirt beneath him.
He failed. He failed his people. He had done just what he hoped to avoid. He had not been there when his people needed him. All his work in these past 3 years had been for nothing.

In his anguish, he failed to notice the mori behind him, some stragglers who happened upon an easy kill.

In that instant, his anguish was gone. He was no longer before the burning city of the Iron’Uzg, but the grand gates of a city, beautiful in all ways. The city of Stargush’stroh. The gates opened before him, the spirits of Orc and Honorary welcoming their bruddah in with open arms.

A tear fell from his face, not of anguish for his loss, but of joy, for he saw he was worthy, worthy of the people he had lived and served and believed with. He was home.

A certain desert dwarf stood in front of a  pyre as he read the missive, a wave of both anger and relief sweeping over him, “Let the mountain kin deal with mountain business.” he recited to himself as he released the paper, letting it fall into the pyre and burn to ash.

MC Name:

         _TheHerald_

Character's Name:

         Barradin Stonebeard

Character's Age:

         --

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Golem

Creator's MC Name:

         XxEnderking

Creator's RP Name:

         Ulfar

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

The golems are long standing beings constructed from stone by the dwarves thousands of years in the past. Created through the use of runes and sigils, these stony creatures have long acted as the servants of all descendants, but their creators (the dwarves) especially.
Their appearance is always in the general shape of descendants, two arms, two legs and a head, but other than that it is up to the golemancer who created them. Despite being famously created from stone, there are other materials that are allowed in golem creation, such as wood and crystal. However, metal is unusable in golem creation, as are materials of similar density and properties, as the golem's core, which is the very thing that gives these creatures life, cannot properly provide power to these materials, leaving the entire golem completely immobile.

The most important aspect of golem creation is the core of the golem. It functions as the golem's mind and soul. The core the very being of the golem, housing its memories and key to its survival. The core is always installed in a main part of the body, such as the torso or head. They are incapable of being placed in the golem's limbs, as that would result in an uneven power distribution. The core is always rather fragile, created from an alloy of weak metals such as Aurum. The shape of the core always has six sides, with important sigils placed on each of said sides.

The golem's core has two states, called red and blue, based on old golem's designs where the core caused a light glow of blue or red. The blue state is the natural state of an undamaged core, where a golem functions as intended, completely incapable of harming itself or its impera and completely obedient. In the case that a golem's core is damaged, they transition to the red state. The red state is a break in the pattern, and can be displayed in various ways. One way, would be a full on rampage, causing as much destruction and death as possible, including their impera. Another way that it can be displayed is through purposefully misinterpreting orders to attempt to kill their impera. This form of red is still required to follow orders, but as previously stated, often does so in hidden attempts to kill their master.

Another of the most important aspects of golem creation is the sigils that give them function. There are a number of sigils that are required for the golems to properly (not to repeat words) function. There are the sigils along the core of the golem, those of hearing, memory, language, power and activation. Every other sigil is carved externally, through a medium, and placed in an empty slot on the golem. Some sigils are required, such as the sigils of sight and speech, usually applied to the head as eyes and mouth respectively. touch sigils are usually applied to the hands. However, with these sigils, they can only feel through them at the location they are applied. Certain types of golems have limitations as to how many sigils they are capable of using, and have certain requirements of certain sigils to determine their type.

Despite several advancements in their designs and natures, golems are incapable of anything other than monotone speech. They cannot add inflection or tone to their voice, maintaining the same monotone drone, and add pauses rather roughly throughout their speech.
Golems are, by their very nature, servants. They are near incapable of independent thought or action, only acting on their master's, referred to as an impera, orders. Over the years, and many advancements in golem creation, the golems are capable of growing and adapting their behavior based on their previous environment, in what could be considered a very basic form of a personality. For instance, a golem that previously created for and serving in war now working under an impera who assigned them to wait tables at a tavern, would do its tasks through rather violent means. In this way, golems can be rather creative, performing actions through various methods that were often based on their previous circumstances. However, that is the limit of their creativity. Golems are not capable of creating anything new, and can only replicate actions or objects. A golem can learn how to smith a sword, but cannot do much with the sword, incapable of giving it detail without being taught said detail.

A golem is completely incapable of acting independently. Their very purpose is to fulfill orders of an impera. Without frequent orders, or a living impera, the golem's primary directive is to find a new impera to give them orders they are capable of fulfilling. There are a few limitations as to what orders a golem can follow through with, however. Namely, golems are incapable of harming themselves or their impera, and do have a sense of self preservation. A golem can, and will, outright refuse an order if they know it results directly in their demise.

The Thanhite golem (this golem's particular design) is the standard form of golem. All golems, aside from soulbound, are considered Thanhite golems. They can be from 5-8 ft tall, have the strength of an average orc, and the speed of a slow human. They are capable of housing three auxiliary cores.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

An towering 8 ft. tall, 4 ft. wide stone golem in the shape of a bald, shirtless dwarf. It' beard is carefully carved and designed, forming a curled mustache and three braided locks, it's face chiseled to form that of a somewhat older looking dwarf petrified in a somewhat toothy scowl. It's eyes glow dimly with a golden light, appearing almost holy. Clothing is carved in its design in the form of A large belt, kilt, heavy boots and rune accented bracers.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         Nope.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yep.

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         I am aware.

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand.

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         Nope.

MC Name:

         _TheHerald_

Character's Name:

         Rudorr the Starved

Character's Age:

         23

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Olog

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Ologs are the largest subrace of orc, and descendants as a whole. Able to reach a height of 8-10 feet tall, these giants are notoriously stupid, having the mind and mental capacity of a human child. This mindset makes them rather dependent on other orcs. Not to say that an olog couldn't survive in the alone in the wild if needed, but in a society they are going to be directed their whole life. Ologs are slow learners, and the dumber ologs need information reminded to them almost constantly, presumably much to their caretakers annoyance. The olog mind is rather animalistic, and though they have the same emotional range as any other race, instincts take over their minds, focusing on needs such as food and the satisfaction of the orcish curse of bloodlust.

 With metaphorically iron stomachs ologs are capable of eating practically anything, and they will, even eating rocks and swords just for the amusement. The unhealthy amount of food being shoved down their throat means most ologs put on a ton of weight, with 500-600 pounds being the a healthy olog. Ologs get much fatter though, even managing to reach over 900 pounds. In addition to being slow in mind, ologs are slow physically as well, and even their incredible strength doesn't always make up for their sluggish movements in battle. even the leanest of ologs cap out at a running spead of a mere 8mph.

 The strongest descendant race, ologs are capable of lifting twice that of an Uruk, being able to lift 400lbs with the same ease as an Uruk would lifting 200lbs. This strength has been proven useful in both construction and in war where they find the most use in orcish society. Though on an average day, ologs can be found lumbering around the city eating, sleeping and bashing heads with other orcs as well as each other.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

A lanky pale white bull olog, standing at 9'8, it's proportions quite thin and boney for an olog. It's ribs show through it's skin, it's gut sucked in. It's nails are long and teeth sharp, arms lankey. A long Glasgow grin  scar runs across it's sunken cheeks. It's eyes are pale and near shut in the light, but with a permanent hunger in them.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         I do not.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         I do.

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         I am aware.

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand.

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         I have not.

On the back of the missive read a small text stating, 'Please someone pay something, we're desperate to rid ourselves of this lass!'

Fundin Orckin, the reborn self of Bori Orckin sat in the green collective's cave, scattered pieces of ripped paper all around him. He stood up, hands in tight fists at his side. He was silent for a good long minute before letting out a bloodcurdling roar, plowing his fists into the stone walls again and again, still howling with fury. His eyes seemed to almost glow with red rage, he started slamming his head against the wall until the sap that was once blood poured down his face. He crawled out of the cave almost nothing but a savage beast. He spent hours like this before finally regaining his composure. He returned to the tree, tears streaming down his face. His eyes became affixed to the sword at his side, he pulled it from its sheath. He stared at the steel blade, before looking upwards at the stone ceiling, he leaned up against the tree, turning the blade towards his chest, "Curse ye Norleh!" He screamed, his face then went solemn, staring in front of him, "See ye soon Pa, Ma..." He muttered, pulling the blade towards himself. The blade pierced the tree, and the body of the dwarf lay limp. He did not know what fate would hold for this so called "halfbreed sinner's" soul, but he knew that he would eventually see all those he lost, once again. a single tear ran down his cheek as he let out a final breath. Bori, Fundin, whatever name this dworc now held, had finally and truly died.

MC Name:

         _TheHerald_

Character's Name:

         Durogg

Character's Age:

         158

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Olog

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Ologs are the largest subrace of orc, and descendants as a whole. Able to reach a height of 8-10 feet tall, these giants are notoriously stupid, having the mind and mental capacity of a human child. This mindset makes them rather dependent on other orcs. Not to say that an olog couldn't survive in the alone in the wild if needed, but in a society they are going to be directed their whole life. Ologs are slow learners, and the dumber ologs need information reminded to them almost constantly, presumably much to their caretakers annoyance. The olog mind is rather animalistic, and though they have the same emotional range as any other race, instincts take over their minds, focusing on needs such as food and the satisfaction of the orcish curse of bloodlust.

 With metaphorically iron stomachs ologs are capable of eating practically anything, and they will, even eating rocks and swords just for the amusement. The unhealthy amount of food being shoved down their throat means most ologs put on a ton of weight, with 500-600 pounds being the a healthy olog. Ologs get much fatter though, even managing to reach over 900 pounds. In addition to being slow in mind, ologs are slow physically as well, and even their incredible strength doesn't always make up for their sluggish movements in battle. even the leanest of ologs cap out at a running spead of a mere 8mph.

 The strongest descendant race, ologs are capable of lifting twice that of an Uruk, being able to lift 400lbs with the same ease as an Uruk would lifting 200lbs. This strength has been proven useful in both construction and in war where they find the most use in orcish society. Though on an average day, ologs can be found lumbering around the city eating, sleeping and bashing heads with other orcs as well as each other.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

A Pale blue-grey male Olog standing at 9'2, with pale gray eyes dressed in light Steel armor and a ragged cloth cowl. He is mostly bald, even lacking eyebrows, with the only hair on his head being a long black topknot. He is very well built, but with a significant pot-belly almost fully covered in a steel plate. He has multiple pairs of tusks that don't seem to comfortably sit in his jaw. 

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         I Have none

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         I do

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I Understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

A blue skinned hobgoblin sat at a table, reading the parchment with a skull set at the bottom of the page. He turned his eyes to the skull, "Wub lat gruk?" He asked it. After a brief pause, he cackled, patting the skull, "Yub, yub. dey reeli azkin' fur it,now."

[!]

A young dwarven lad would be seen in the city delivering a letter to Urguan, written in spindly handwriting.

It read,

To my dear friends in Urguan:

Hello! It feels like quite a while. This letter is to my dearest friends in the dwarven realm, where I can never show my face again.

My messenger here's named Sigurd, my cousin's son. Nice lad; helps around the house. The Family has gladly taken me in, let me stay with them for a while, at the least. I suppose I should get to the point, huh?

I believe I'm dying. I find myself relying on my father's cane quite a bit, my leafage is browning. Even as I write this letter, I can't stop my hand from shaking. Perhaps it's the repercussions of Mao's transformation. If so, I probably deserve whatever it is. Perhaps it is the supposed reincarnation or rebirth... whatever it's called. I don't know if it requires being below that Gods-forsaken tree. If so, it can stay as far away from me as possible. If not, perhaps we'll meet again, in some fashion.

Either way, this will be farewell. I give my well wishes and hope this bloody war can be over soon. Maybe then, I'll have some form of peace.

With love, Bori Orckin.

The rest of the paper was left with some stained ink and general wet spots.

In the distant hills, in a distant cottage, a dwarven epiphyte sits solemn. He heaves a sigh, taking a sip of tea. He offers his messenger a seat, listening to his tale. His eyes drifted down to the table when he was finished, "The Price o' war, ain' I'? Ah 'ope wit' death came peace, frien'. An' Ah 'ope ye know wha' ye've lef' be'ind" he raised his cup to the sky, setting it down.

Orik Silverfist begins to wonder at the credibility of this newspaper.

Fili Steelpick wonders how in the names of the Brathmordakin this is physically possible.

In the distant  hills somewhere, Bori Orckin is dying from laughter.

Bori Orckin, a young dwarf who's lived in Kal'Darakaan for some twenty years, looked upon the city for the final time. Gripping his walking stick tightly. tears starting to form in his eyes. He let out a slow breath, looking away from the great city for the final time. His boots trod along the stone path, for the final time. The halfbreed took a moment upon exiting the gate to offer a prayer to the brathmordakin, not for the last time. the dwarf trailed along, with the only trace of him left residing in a near empty home in a small part of the city. He was not seen by dwarven eyes for some time afterwards. He would return to his life before he joined the dwarves, moving around small settlements, taking odd jobs to get by. He wouldn't forget the fond memories, but he knew he could never really return. Letters were occasionally sent to close friends, but his eyes never set upon dwarven lands again.

[!]

A note weighed down by a wooden carving of a raven would be found in both The Braided Beard and the legion hall. scrawled on them in wiry handwriting would be the words

"Consider this my formal resignation. Life in Urguan has become intolerable. War has turned decent folk into haggard old fools who would have no problem with chopping a brother's hand off if he were to poke you. Terminate my employment all you like. My house can be sold, I won't need it anymore. My axe left on my bedside can be kept as a memento, if you wish, I don't care. Urguan, who I believed were noble dwarves blindly waste resources and precious lives on a crumbling human nation. Answer me this: Are your losses worth it? Will you continue to think so when you crush Oren only to face Azdromoth's wrath? Was that not the point of the legion's activity? You lot have lost all sense. Apparently, it takes the eyes of a halfbreed to see the Grand Kingdom's own decline. I hope you lads are happy with your chosen path, because I know where it ends.

Resolutely, Bori 'Orckin' Balinsson."

Farin Sandskin vividly remembered the words carved into the various shrines to the Brathmordakin as he sharpened his sword, dagger, and various javelins. "We will see which heathen shall burn..." He muttered, a zealous fire blazing in his eyes.

Farin Sandskin looks upon the heresy, disgusted in so many ways. Burning the parchment, he brandished a dagger gifted to him, looking into the blade, "If these dwed do not respect the gifts Yemekar gave them, they do not deserve such things." He spoke lowly, a zeal not seen before blazing in his eyes.