DrunkPapaBear

Some peeps arguing here have not read the post eh, I encourage you to look through it again :) Lowering ologs strength to that of an uruk (with exception of rage) in exchange for the possibility of more character paths is a great deal. Olog roleplayers will be able to do way more than eat rocks and murder peeps. Thanks to Pana for putting in the work and making the orcs more interesting, cant wait for the next rewrites 🌝

Maher shaman stocks rising

[!] A letter is sent to the sandsworn 1000 minas for the siphoning gem. Ghorza hôn lât gôth kranklûk IGN : DrunkPapaBear Persona : Kaal Sent april 5 2026 19h40 EST

Shamanism is the only magic that gives you complete freedom in storytelling Be it with haruspexy or spirit walks

A small green goblin came to interrupt Kaal, Bon and Ghuun in their talk. It left a few editions of the Kaktus Weekli on the table and ran out of the tavern. So soon? Zkah yub! Kaal scanned the piece of paper, grunting and nodding at the words written. Bub'hosh! The true wagh comes for us all...

A citizen ob Kurai Kuni demanding da tongue of da imp-emperor... how fun. Kaal placed the missive in his archives under mortalkin-drama

Kaal received this new edition of the Kaktus Weekli with a large tusked smile. Finalley anudah edition! Probabley delayed because ob the imps… bring us da next quick gobbo! He threw a piece of meat at the goblin, the courrier running away to find the next edition.

The horned elder of Akaal placed the missive in a large book. It joined all of Torosh words published during his Rexdom. Latz time as Rex ahm done bruddah, but lat ahm still ah kub. We’ll wait for latz bub’hosh deeds to come. We’ll wait for latz death agh collect latz bones, add them to da crypt. Krug hôn lâtz gôth, bub’hôsh kranklûk.

Ban romance rp

Glorious WAGH! Eternal WAGH! The uruk sharpened his axe, ready to save the puppets from their puppeteer.

A taste of rot and filth on our tongue, brought by this desire of the norlander King to turn his citizens into snagas. The uruk spat a thick glob on the ground, quite angered by this return of slavery a century after the Horde abolished it.

An old uruk placed the missive in his archives, adding a small note. Spineless, Honorless, Betrayers. The piece of paper was added to the many missives about this new war. A reminder for the next century or so.

An old uruk cackled for some time. He then pinned another piece of paper on any and all letters of this Joshua. It reads : Ibleezian Propaganda

You should make an orc

WAAAGH

PACT OF WAR ETERNAL PACT OF ENROHK Alone in the depts of Ghorazad, the horned uruk stood in front of the flames. His right hand moved to his bare chest, holding his sacrificial bone blade. A vertical cut was made in the center, the blood already dripping on the ashes surrounding the firepit. As the uruk attached the bloodied blade on his belt again, he opened his maw to let out a guttural chant. Freygoth, Izû nâk-bolk lât rad! Lâtz goth âhm dakûruz, izû af-lât-lût! From the wound on his chest, the uruk pushed his fingers in his flesh. From it, he pulled vines and leaves and thorns, casting them all into the flames. Izû narzgab nûrzum, nûl ûgh grîzh! Lât nâk-paash flôk za ah-izû! The remnants of the shaman’s pact turned to ashes, leaving the witch doctor on his knees alone in the cave. His eyeless head faced the flames, letting their warmth ease the pain of losing the power he once held. Green was thrown into the firepit, his last bundle of Rex Widow carried over from Almaris. The smog soon filled the cave and with it the wicked tongue of Old Blah returned. Khlaar! Khlaar! Izû nargzab GOTH! Goth ah-shâtup gaam-shâras, empire-brûf! Khlaar ûgh hôn izûbu golm ah-grîzh! The uruk grabbed an arm, a leg, head and torso, trophies taken following the orkish victory in Ghorazad. One by one he let the flame consume the rotten flesh of the lessers, an offering to the immortals. The fire turned dark red as the tainted meat was added, the light blending with the uruk’s skin. The Witch Doctor returned to his knees, bowing slightly in front of the burning corpses. Whispers escaped his maw, the words of old blah dividing flesh and soul until his shell was left alone with the scent of cooked meat. His immortal soul traveled far in the dark void of the In-Between without air or light. He fell and fell in this void for what seemed like hours, or maybe days? He fell until finally he reached his destination, his soul colliding with the realm of War. The golden sands of the desert we stained with blood, the cries of dying warriors echoed over the sea of corpses in front of Kaal-Lûk. The uruk moved through the battlefield, he recovered two war axes from those who wouldn’t need them anymore. ENROHK! Khlaar izûbu bugd! Hôn izûbu durbûrz! Izû skaat tul ah knâsh ah lâtz-goth! One by one, corpse of fallen elves, men, orcs and dwarves rose from the battlefield. They picked up arms and advanced towards the uruk. One by one, the soul of the elder orc cut down the corpses, dark blood flowing from their husks. The shaman’s body was covered with cuts and wounds, his own blood mixing with the corrupted ichor of undeath. More and more returned to life and soon the horned orc was surrounded, his axes dripping with black blood. Soon the battle slowed, the corpses stopped coming at Kaal-Lûk, leaving him panting and bleeding. He looked around, wondering why they stopped fighting. Soon his question was answered. Amirz âhm lât urûkhim? Lât amirz shatûp izûb mauk shâ-gat. Amirz âhm lât ah-skaat tul ûgh garmog goth?! The voice boomed like thunder over the battlefield carrying a scent of blood and death. It made the shaman freeze, his bones shaking under his fleshy shell. This was it, the reason he ripped off the pact made with Freygoth over a century ago. It was time. The uruk raised a waraxe to the sky and chanted in the tongue of the spirits. Izû skaat ûgh gadhaal lûpurz! Izû âhm kaal-lûk, lûk ah-grîzh ûgh nûl. Izû bolk lâtz bub’hôsh goth, gothuz-Ilzgûl. Izû nargazb lâtz gôth ah baduzg dakûruz shâras Ilzgûl-durbûz! From the blood of a thousand corpses, a towering beast emerged. The tusks of a boar and horns of a ram covered the head of the Spirit. Two red flames served him of eyes, which stared down at the Witch Doctor. Its sharpened teeth were as long as the uruk’s forearm, a forked tongue moved between them. Izg in-Sigurd, lâtz Hônûrk. Izg nargzab âsh golmâthum. Izg nargzab lâtz krampûrz. Gadhaal zamal ûgh lât brus izub gôth. The shaman closed his eyes, lowering the weapon to his side. His mouth opened yet no words escaped. Kaal-Lûk inhaled deeply, the cogs of his mind spinning. He finally spoke the words : Izû ub-mauk ah-lâtz bugud. Izû gadhaal ah-gunâsh lât. Khlark izû gothurûz, flôk-izû ah-gôth ah-shatûp gaam-shâras. With those words the pact was sealed. The sea of corpse rushed at Kaal-Lûk, crushing him under their numbers. The uruk felt steel and bones pierce his immortal soul, empowering it with the wrath of the war-spirit. The shaman roared in pain, his flesh torn, bitten and cut… Then he woke up alone, screaming. The walls of the cave echoed his cries. The small of burned flesh filled his nostrils. It was done.

An uruk touched by Gazigazh whispers the words of the missive that lay nearby. He reminds himself of Kaptain Fishbref, of the Sons of Nagg and their savagery. His eyeless head nods to the memories and a decision is taken. The shaman flicked his hands to the walls, spraying a dark blood on the cavern’s stone. Lûp grîzh, lûp nûl! Izû bugd lâtz goth Ilzgûlz, skaat norl izûbu golm ah-slai! The uruk sat down and began to meditate, his soul traveling through the planes…

A shaman cheered for the orkish victors. He then moved on to the imperial corpses, gathering flesh and hair for the making of VOODOO DOLLS.

An uruk veteran to many wars picked up his weapons once more. Krug give we da strength to cleanse rot, may Ibleez agh her puppetts burn by our blessed light.

An horned uruk of clan Akaal sharpen his blades and prepare his bag of ingredients. Too much words spoken, not enough blood shed.

Chants of old blah echoed around the city as a witch dictir brew hexes for the wagh.

From Targoth to Rex, ambition boils in this kub’s grizh… May Krug guide him on the path written.

The redskin sent another missive, quite amused by this. [!] Kubbie, as elder of the Horde and shômo, it is my duty to make sure our Mothsham does not vanish into the sands after taking the mantle from one guiding us on the path written. Again, it is your right to gather support and challenge the Motsham. When enough shômos recognize your claim, call for a moot. Kaal-Lûk

A redskin pondered as a goblin read him the missive. Soon he made the smaller orc write an answer. To Zabub, poor kubbie, lat have been away from the urukhim for too long, maybe lat have forgotten our ways. A Mak’Gora would work, if Ghoraza was Targoth ah-Horde. Sadly for lat mine lil angry bruddah, Ghoraza ahm our Mothsham. If lat do not like the ways the shômos view the spirits, it ahm latz right as farseer, to call for ah moot. If lat do nub like the way our Motsham rules the lodge, it ahm latz right to gather recognition by latz fellow shômos. When latz name ahm known by some, when they support latz claim, then lat will have earned the right to challenge our honorable elder. until then, may Krug bring lat back on the path of honor. Kaal-Lûk, elder of the Horde