DrunkPapaBear

"Her immortal soul lives on alongside our father Krug. May Stargûsh'Strôh welcome our fallen sistah." The redskinned shaman offered some of his blood to the flames as he muttered a prayer to the gatekeeper.

Falling. Falling through the cold darkness of the in-between, his soul warped and twisted. "Should have smoked some more rex widow." He thought to himself as he fell for what seemed like an eternity. He fell and fell, until finally the hard ground welcomed him. The shaman opened his eyes and stood up. The vast forest of Freygoth was all around him. Trees rising to the clouds, blocking most of the sunlight from reaching the ground. "Izû bugd lât, bub'hôsh Ilzgûl! Skaat hôn izûbu golm! Skaat pukhl shâ lâtz nûkhud glât!" (We call you, great spirit! Come see our offering! Come speak with your next tool!) The roar of the elder uruk echoed on the tall-trees, his words of the elder tongue soon answered. "Gaam-urûkhim, lât mirz shâtup izûbu tau, baduzg ghaash ûgh grîsh ah izûbu drû!" (Filthy orc, you who destroyed our forest, showed fire and blood to our trees!) The trees parted, forming an arch. The shaman crossed his arms as he waited, his right foot stumping on the forest's ground rythmically. From the arch, a towering beast showed itself. The head of a bear, crowned with antlers, and the body of bull. "Amat lât skaat, shômo ah-grîsh ûgh ghaash? Fûgu izû yonk?!" (Why have you come, shaman of blood and flame? To insult us more?!) "Lâtz tau âhm shatûpûk, vikelan-dakûruz-gaam thrâkûr ghaash ah lâtz uzg. Izû golm ah ghûlb gûnash." (Your forest is destroyed, the lesser being, filthy-vikelans, brought fire to your realm. We offer to heal it.) The lesser immortal stopped in his tracks, his maw exhaling hot air towards the soul of the witch doctor. Drool dripping unto the forest's floor. "Amat kaan lâtz laam, gûlnash? Amat kaan lât mukh lât ghaash izûbu tau ûgh bar shâ-kû?" (Why trust your words, serpent? Why trust you when you burned our forest and our grass for decades?) "Izû baduzgûr Kinûl-gôth ah gaam-matûrz ah-shâ-kû. Izû thrâkur grîsh ûgh nûl ah-lâtz bugud, grîsh-golm ah-Ilzgûlz. Lât zaug izûbu ghashan zamal lâtz-tau shâ-slai." (We showed the power of Kinûl to the filthy mortals for a century. We offered blood and pain in your name, blood offerings to the spirits. You have our word that we will heal your forest.) The spirit roared, his voice filling the forest of the spirit realm. He brought his opened maw closer to Kaal-Lûk's soul. The shaman could feel the warmth of his breath and the scent of rotten flesh from its belly. "Lâtz ghashan?! Lâtz ghashan âhm snôrk! Gaam-urûkhim, tau-shatupûk! Lâtz nûrglam tug lûm-klam. Zamal izûbu tau, baduzg izûbu gôth ah-matûrz. Lât brus âsh staun. Gnâsh ûgh izû mû throqu lâtz slaiûm." (Your word?! Your worth is worthless! Filthy orc, forest destroyer! Only your actions will speak. Heal our forest, show our power to the mortals. You have four years. Fail and we will devour your soul.) The shaman dipped his head to the spirit as vines grew from the soil, rushing towards him. They twirled around his legs, chest and arms as the bull-bear grinned in amusement. The vines crushed the uruk, entered through his eyes, mouth and nose as he let out a scream covered by the plants. The ground opened up, swallowing the uruk. His soul was kicked out of the spirit realm, launched back into his mortal flesh. Kaal-Lûk gnarled as he reached to his face, where the vines had strangled him. He then looked at his armored hand as the same vines crawled out of his gauntlet and twirled around his fingers, hand and forearm. A tusked grin appeared on his face as he stood up and prepared to fullfil the end of his bargain with the immortals [Pact of Freygoth with one of her many nameless lessers]

Are you tired of playing human noble #47 or drinking tea in the elven taverns? You want some action, some shamanpilled and epic rp? This post is for you! We are looking for people to play golems and homunculi, send me a dm on discord : DrunkPapaBear

Ûk-matûm, grîsh-lûk. Khlaar izûb mog, khlaar izûb ghashânûk. Gaam-shômo Bûksh matûrz ghaamp, ulu ûk-lûp izû Ilzgûlz. Ulu ushd izû ah-izûbu gôth, ûk-golm grîsh ûgh slaiûm. Shatûp ulu! The redskin woke from his slumber, only the walls of the Underkrug were there to hear his roar. Shatûp ulu! The words of the spirit echoed in his mind as he grabbed his pen and a piece of paper. [!] A short missive written in golden letters is pinned in Lurak and sent to the shamans of the Lodge who still live out of the honorbound lands. Brothers, sisters, students and teachers. It has been years since our last gathering and many things have changed since then. With the death of the child-eater Xan-gaam, a power-vaccum has appeared in the mortal realm. We shômos have the duty to stand against all that is buurz and so we shall gather and plan. We have to act before others do our job for us. We, as elder shômo, call for a Moot of the shômo-Lodge. Gather, we offer safe passage to all shômos. Come serve the lodge, its Motsham Madoc of Lur and the spirits he represents. Signed Kaal-Lûk the Blind

The redskin smiles the tusked smile as he prepares for a party before the next siege. The vikelans gave us enough provisions to feast bruddahs! It will be hard to chew on their fear-filled meat, but they will taste delicious!

The goblins posted in the sewers and walls of Vikela after the last raid soon brought a copy of the missive to the elder. The redskin stopped his smithing and couldn't help but chuckle at the words written. He passed the missive to another, younger, uruk. "So much similarity between the Astreas, Vanaris agh other filth we purged on Almaris. They try to control their citizens bruddah. We as honorbound ahm to free them from tyranny." The shaman then returned to his work, more weapons were needed for the genocide to be successful. "Izû shatûp Ubuntu." The elder chanted over and over again as the hammer hit steel.

WAGH WAGH WAGH! KRUG KRUG KRUG!

[!] This missive is spread on the boards of Orcgrimmar. I, Ukmatûm, yeller of Raguk, claims the title of Yazgurtan of the Horde. To the vassals and bruddahs who did not pay their taxes, I am coming for you. If any oppose to such, klomp me. Signed Ukmatûm of clan Raguk, yeller of the pantheon, travelling merchant, Yazgurtan of the Horde.

The redskin shared some words at the shrine with the Qalasheen, Kwee and Lurs, before having to leave for work. As he returned from his salesman job, he passed by the shrine, cutting his pinky finger and leaving it near the remains of the false idol. A gift to Gazigazh and to the sacred land the uruk now walked.

A redskin smiled as he witnessed the destruction of the acursed shrine built on orkish land. The uruk tapped his horse and made his way towards the Qalasheen camp, hoping to share drugs and drinks with the honorable warriors.

The Raguk yeller was sharpening his greataxe when the missive reached him. "Cannub trust the words of lesser beings. Should never have been trusted to follow the path of the spirits." The blind uruk set on to rally more warriors and end the filth of the west once and for all. "Dishonnor ahm to be met with grîsh. Izû skaat ah-lât gaam-golug Atemu."

The Machine of Eternal Drudgery: an icon of the Naakh-za-Barash. The large cog represents Leyd, whereas the smaller cogs represent Gentharuz and Gazigash respectively. Gazigazh-khlaar. Khlaargrîsh. The thunderous voice of the yeller filled the cavern. Hear Gazigazh. Hear the blood. A thousand broken voices answered. Ghaashgrîsh norknûl. Ghaasgrîsh thrâk gaam. The words of old blah echoed on the cold walls of stone. Hear Gentharuz. Hear the flames. A thousand chants filled the cave. Leydlûk skaat. Leydlûk nork. The flames of the firepit danced on the walls. Hear Leyd. Hear the wrath. The voices of a thousand ancestral spirits chanted. The lutauman stood away from the fire pit, his ichor dripping into the flames. The painted walls of the cave showed moving images of a settlement in the desert. Large towers raised from the ground, spitting black smog into the air of the south. The echoes of the spirit realm turned quiet as the orkish blood boiled in the fire. [!] Letters are sent across Aevos, carrying the seal of an ancient clan. To my grîsh, I call you back to the honorbound lands. Return for we have been summoned by the pantheon. Gentharuz called for the flames to rise out of the sands. Gazigazh called for a tidal wave of blood to wash away the filth. Leyd called for the submission of lesser being, for his strength to flow through us. The cogs of industry will be fueled with the desert. Return to the Horde. Return to Raguk. Signed Ûkmatum, Blood of Kharak “Plaguebringer” Raguk, Yeller of clan Raguk.

"Grîsh hûl, grîsh hôn." The chant of old blah echoed in Borok's mind. "Kaal Akaal hôn izûbu grîsh, izûbu golm ah-nûl." Words flowing with every blade that hit his form, with every wound created on his shell. "Izû slai, izû mat, izû slai urkzû." From darkness came whispers, soon turning to hissing voices. "Already? We expected you to last a few more years." Blood flowed from the redskin's neck. "This shell is destroyed." A mace hit him in the back of the head, ringing bells in his mind. "Guess we will have to start from scratch." "Ah.. ate.. latz.. sistah.." He did not manage to finish his sentence and drowned in his own blood. Life vanished from Ar-Borok's form for a second time. Darkness welcomed him once more. Until light returned. A faint golden light, seen through glass. The glass was shattered. Liquid flowed on the cold stone, followed by flesh. From the north rose a brown uruk, making his way back to the south.

The old Redskin grinned a tusked smile as he reads his daily pages of orkish drama. He ventured to find Drus, wishing to fix the dishonorable part of a fight between Falum and him. "Kranklûk needs eyes to klomp."

The redskinned uruk now wants to get on a boat and sing.

Name : Ukmatûm of clan Raguk race : Uruk Shaman class : Witch doctor Teacher : Krothuul'Ram

The Akaal let out an angered grunt as he looked over the missive. For him, a whitewash will always be a whitewash, even if a bruddah speak otherwise.

The redskinned uruk smiled the tusked smile as he saw the missive. "Hosh. Second wagh done, on with the next."

Orcs

[!] missives are spread in Orcgrimmar by goblin courriers wearing the colors of clan Akaal. To Grommash, Rex of the Horde. To Apek and Minto, Targoth and Dominus of the Horde. We urûkhim have bled for the wars of worms. We urûkhim have fought in a war without honor for years now. A war that does not concern us, a war that brings us out of our ancestral land. For what? We rally and follow the orders of lesser beings, follow their stupidity in diplomacy and battle. Enough! This war does not concern us, we have no duty to defend the land of filths. We gain no honor by rallying to fight the battle of mortals. No more honorbound blood will flow for the degeneracy of men. I, Ar-Borok, Kukaal of clan Akaal calls for the fourth Klamor of Orcgrimmar. Let us speak under the eyes of the spirits, let them guide our next steps. Urûkhim grîsh ôk-hûl, urûkhim grîsh ôk-hôn. Kaal Akaal hôn izûbu golm. Signed by Ar-Borok, Kukaal of clan Akaal, Destroyer of Elysium, Druglord of the south, Champion of Ogrol, The Immortal.

An old uruk enjoys his favorite paper by the firepit of the capital, eager to hear more about the Qualasheen that will soon settle the honorbound lands.

[!] Missives are placed on the board of the Iron Horde's capital. Izû slai, izû mat, izû slai urzkû. A shell lost to the Moris, back on Almaris. Reborn, sent back by Krug to complete his mission. Blood and flame guide our path, rot and pain calls our truth. We claim back what was ours : Our name, Ar-Borok of clan Akaal. Our title, Kukaal of Mog. Our path, mat buurz, mat golug, mat shâra. We summon forth the elders of Akaal. Skaat back to the desert kranklûk. Skaat maûk void-gaam, Xan's snagas, Azdromoth's grazadh ûgh naga Buurzlûks. Signed Ar-Borok of clan Akaal, Elder of the Horde, Kukaal of Mog, Destroyer of Elysium, Druglord of the south, the Immortal, Ogrol's champion, Carrier of the North's wrath.

Incredible

THE SILVER-MOG ACCORD 12th of the The Deep Cold, 147 SA Both parties, The Silver State of Haelun’or and The Warband of Mog agreed to sign this treaty under the following terms: I. The Silver State of Haelun’or and The Warband of Mog agree to fight as allies against the Cove of Nevaehlen and any potential allies they may bring. II. The Silver State of Haelun’or agrees to compensate The Warband of Mog a total of three thousand minas upon their successful participation, with a deposit of five hundred minas paid upfront. III. Should the Warband of Mog’s forces meet or exceed two-thousand in number, the deposit will be considered a bonus to the three thousand payment, in addition to four crates of leather and five crates of Daemonsteel. IV. The Silver State of Haelun’or will supply the necessary armaments for both parties during the conflict. V. The Accord will last for the duration of the total conflict. VI. Amendments may be made if agreed by both parties. Kybal’Akaal, “The Ram”, Azh-ob Zgur’thruk-al, Piz-ob Leyd, Groth-Uruk, zaabr-ob karn rar-ob Urin, A-Horde. Gormôhk, Gâmum ûgh Kaal-Gôth, Voice of the Spirits, Druglord of the South, Motsham of the Horde Grubnakh the elf Targoth,Swampgoth, all around hosh urûkim Kolvar Uradir Asulir of Haelun’or, Supreme Commander of The Sillumir