DrunkPapaBear

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

The old redskin released a grunt of approval as he noticed the Horde didnt sign this missive. He then returned to the caves to continue working on the stone olog.

Lûp-Thrall! Blood agh honor to him and the Great Horde! Lûp-Thrall, Rexôb ah-Horde! The horned shaman chanted over and over as he danced in the darkness of the Underkrug.

An old redskin smiled a tusked smile as his goblin messenger read him the missive. A single tear dropped from the elder’s blind eyes. Why lat crying bruddah Kaal? Asked the goblin, curiosity in his voice Because bruddah, this ahm ah glorious day. Ivarielle agh Azdromoth’s realm ahm nub-more. This truly makes us happy.

Props to Gaius for this. Its a real issue we need to fix and the easiest way to do so is by starting with how you view the server. The goal of lotc is to have fun, who cares if you win, loose, die or loose all your rp items. Will it really matter in a week, a month or a year? Caring too much about these things will only make you sad and angry. By playing an orc, its hard for me to understand how some peeps feel so bad while playing lotc, but here’s my advice anyway : Just have fun! Why else would you log on every day? If lotc is not enjoyable for you, maybe its time for a break, maybe its time for you to change the kind of rp you’re doing. Don’t like wars? No one is forcing you to participate. You got killed in rp? No one is forcing you to pk. Lost all your cool shit to bandits? Who cares its not even real and you can always get more. People are toxic to you? Ignore them lmao they’re people hiding behind a screen ragebaiting you and by reacting this way you’re only giving them satisfaction. You’re the only thing stopping yourself from having fun on lotc.

Krug wills it. This ahm the way. The redskin smiled a tusked smile as the third Great Horde grew with each passing year.

The blind redskin knelt down, pulling a rotten fruit off the road. He then strayed away from the path and pulling grass off the dirt. The shaman continued to collect ingredients from the wild of the desert. He walked until his pouch was full. Then he returned home to the capital and began to brew hexes. Izû bugd lâtz goth, Ogrol. Skaat khlaar izûbu mog ûgh baduzg nûl ah gaam-Hyspia-shâraz. Nork ulub-slayum, nork-shâra-goth. Izû bugd grîsh, izû lûp ah shâtup-Hyspia.

Grîsh bugd grîsh The Hordespeaker is dead, backstabbed by mortal worms. By Eternal Krug's will, his death will not go unpunished. The Klamor is called and will begin when the sun passes over the sands. All who carry the blood are summoned.

Kaal was disturbed in his spirit-walk, a goblin-courrier pulling at his cloak. Grommash iz flat, Hyspian wormziez. The soul of the redskin was slammed back into his mortal flesh with the force of a canonball. His blind eyes stared down at the gobbo as his hands closed to fists. Lat blah truth? The goblin nodded, his eyes avoiding the unsettling gaze of the elder. What do we do? Klamor. The sands will be soaked with the grîsh of lessers, filthy zkahing WORMS! The courrier ran out of the caves, calling for the next Klamor.

The elder redskin placed the wares he did not manage to sell back in his chests when a curious shift was felt. The walls and floor of his house shook, dust filled the air as the trinklets, goblets and plates in his kitchen moved slightly. Kaal turned around, his blind eyes scanning the room. Who ahm here? The air felt thick, almost resisting the uruk in his own home. The shaman gnarled as golden flames crawled out of his armor, soon forming three orbs that floated around him. Three eyes opened in the three balls of fire. Skâtch, bub'hôsh Ilzgûl, izû bugd lâtz goth. Hôn nâ-izû. (Skâtch, great spirit, we call your power. See for us) The eyes moved around the room, searching for the disturbance. One stopped moving near the uruk's smoker and began to glow a red light. The elder moved towards it as the other two eyes crawled back under the plates of his armor. The uruk raised his hand towards the fireorb as it floated towards the ceiling. Under it was a book, face down. The uruk grabbed it and turned it around to analyse it. The redskin's jaw dropped as he released a grunt. Then he went poof, the kitchen of his house as empty as when he was away on his travels. The golden eye on the ceiling vanishing as quickly as the shaman. The uruk gnarled as he came back to his senses. The smell of leaves, vines and trees filling his nostrils as he stood up. The three eyes crawled back out of his armor and began to float around the uruk, providing a light as strong as a torch for the shaman. "Whub da zkah." He spoke to himself, placing the blunt he carried back in his pockets. The Raguk then began to walk, his feet breaking branches and fern as he moved deeper into the forest. Birds he did not know chanted through the trees, rain fell down from the leaves on his armor. The uruk roared to the jungle over and over again as he advanced. "Izû bugd lât, Ilzgûl! Khlaar izûbu mog!" (We call you, spirit! Hear our voice!) No one answered the shaman's call, yet he began to hear strange sounds. Whispers of a tongue he did not know, scratchings on the bark of the trees. Something, or someone, was following him. The horned orc stopped in his track, his three eyes of flame twirling around him. "Show yourself mortals, we know you are following us." The sound of an arrow flying through the air echoed in the jungle. It was soon followed by the sound of the projectile breaking against Kaal's chestplate, as if it was shot against a wall of thick stone. The redskin gnarled and grabbed the helm from his belt, placing it on his horned head. He then raised his hands. "We do not seek conflict. We were pulled into this jungle and seek help." The ferns around the redskin moved, branches breaking all around the son of Krug. He was surrounded. From behind the trees and dropping down from the vines, dozens of beings appeared. Some stood on two legs, reaching 6 feet in height, while most of the reptilian creatures remained standing on their four limbs. The skin of these creatures, was not hidden under armor of leather, fur and bones at least, was covered in scales. Their heads were that of a serpent, glowing yellow eyes with vertical slits staring at the uruk. The ones who stood brandished spears of stone and crude hammers, all pointed towards the orc. The others crawled on the trees around, their claws digging into the bark. No one moved for what seemed like an eternity, until finally one of the reptilian dressed in a black armor of fur hissed words of an unknown tongue to his warriors. They all jumped forward as arrows were shot from the heights of the trees once again. "ENOUGH!" The uruk roared, the words booming into the forest like thunder. A circle of fire appeared all around him as the arrows broke themselves on his enchanted armor again. The flames brought fear to the serpent-warriors as they stopped their charge, raising their arms in front of their faces to protect themselves. They crawled away from the shaman as he pulled a fat piece of cooked meat out of his bag. "We come in peace and mean you no harm." The Raguk then threw the piece of meat towards what appeared to be their chieftain. It landed at the reptile's feet and he seemed to back down, until the smell of the well cooked meat reached him. The leader crouched down to grab the offering, he brought it to his nose, then tasted the food. The chieftain raised his clawed hand into a fist, his forked tongue hissing words to his warband. The warriors seemed to relax, their grip on the spears and bows loosened. The circle of fire around Kaal began to die down, the flames returning into the soil. "That's better." The uruk stepped towards the chieftain as he grabbed more meat from his bag. He then motionned to the jungle as he spoke slowly. "Where are we? What is this place?" The serpents gripped their spears harder as the redskin approached their leader, yet they did not attack. A smaller being, dressed in a weird coat covered in leaves began to speak, his voice carried the hissing of a serpent as his forked tongue licked at the air. "Thiss iss the land of Kultiklan. Who are you to dissturb our jungless?" "We are called Kaal of the Horde. We come from a land covered in sands, far away from here." The reptilian who had spoken turned to his chieftain, translating the uruk's words in his own tongue. He then listened to the leader speak, before turning back to blind uruk. "What iss Ssand?" "Its like dirt, but golden and hot. It could make your scales shine like the sun." The uruk was surprised by the reptile's question. "Do you not have deserts here?" The reptile translated the uruk's words to his chieft, whose nostrils opened wider at the mention of shining scales. "Can you sshow uss ssand?" The translator asked after listening to the words of his chief. The armored uruk simply nodded and pulled a small pouch out of his ingredient stachel. He then threw it towards the lizard chieftain. The serpent catched it, soon untying the laces. He emptied the grains of sand into his hand, staring at them in awe. He soon turned to his translator, hissing words of the unknown tongue. The smaller reptile turned towards the shaman and quickly spoke. "If you bring back more sand, you are free to go." "You have our word, we'll bring you a bag full of it." As soon as these words were translated to the chieftain, he released a guttural cry and rushed away from the uruk. His warriors followed, climbing the trees and running away through the ferns and vines of the jungle. Kaal was once again left alone. The shaman felt a pull as the three eyes crawled bag under his armor. His head began to spin and he fell down. BONK! The elder hit his head on his kitchen counter. He stood up and looked around the empty room of his house. "Whub da zkah."

The old Raguk stared down the bloodpit as he remembered the events of the day before. A victory for the urûkhim, but a costly one. Lûp-Gazigazh, bhûl izubu golm ahgrîsh. The redskin cut his palm and spilled the honorbound blood into the pit of gore. The memories of those fallen dripping with his ichor. Stargûsh’Stroh welcomes lat all bruddahs. He then returned to the firepit to feast and celebrate the memory of the dead.

The faithful goblin courrier brings a bunch of missives to the yellah of Raguk, deep in his caves, one of which being this one. The poor gobbo wakes the blund shaman from his slumber and passes him the missive. The elder quickly writes an answer, passes it to the goblin, then return to the sender. To Varn the whitewash As you surely know, when you decided to leave the fold to live alongside lesser beings, you left behind every honorbound rights of the true urûkhim. As you surely know, when you began to call the Greater Immortal Spirit Kanon by the name he used to trick Horenkin a milenia ago, you decided to become as insignificant as the worms who fell for lbleez gifts. You words are empty as a twigg’s skull. Know your place gaam-golûrk. Signed Kaal-Raguk, yellah of Raguk, elder shaman of the Lodge, Goth of the Horde, druglord of the South

The uruk wiped the blood off his eyes after managing to read the missive. Whub da zkah?

How low have the Jusmias fallen, to defend the servants of Ibleez. Krug help our Rexkhan conquer these worms once we’re done with the kubbies. The blind uruk continued to sharpen his axe, hoping he’d wet it with impure blood in tomorrow’s slaughter.

Hmmmmrph The blind uruk shrugged at the new informations presented. Kaal grabbed his axe from the hands of the goblin-workers. "Another war, another feast. Been a while since we cooked squeelurz."

"As our father Krug intended, all descendants united under his banner. Lûp-Ilzgûlz!"

Kaal smiles a tusked smile as a second great horde rises during his lifetime. "Lûp-Ilzgûlz! This Khanate will bring honor agh might to the urûkhim!"

[!] A letter is sent to Lembic the gnome, written in golden letters. My name is Kaal of clan Raguk, we have met before and I was teacher to Xob Wobson in the artes of shomôism. I did not get to meet with my students for decades and was saddened to hear of the loss of his mortal flesh. I offer my services and knowledge to you, as I already plan on visiting Xob’s immortal soul in Stargûsh’Strôh. See you around, Kaal-Raguk

"Flat latself too whoever lat ahm. 1750!" A fresh goblin courrier brought the bid to Yera, seems like the last one was punished because of Maethor's bid.

"Flat latself bruddah. 1650." The bid was sent by an exhausted goblin courrier.

1500 minas. The uruk dropped another bid via goblin messenger.

1500 minas. Kaal-Lûk gave his bid to a goblin courrier.