herculean_wud

Fishbref took a draw from a vintage Leydlukian cigar as Grunt'Raguk (@Inferno_Ougi) -- proud seed of Leydluk himself -- delivered the news. At once he ordered the mobilisation of his troops.

DRAWING BLOOD FROM STONE

KAMÂRAKOB NAAKH-ZA-BARASH

_______________

“Ye who lay vanquished at my feet,

Take not pity on thyself,

Nor on the resolve of thy station.

Rise like proud beasts to Nature’s call;

For is it not more honourable to serve

Than to wallow like pigs in the mud?”

Leyd, to Gazigash and Gentharuz

_______________

I

Thus came the chorus of heaves and hoes: a hundred dirtied bodies squirming over each other, scrambling to fill their baskets with rock. It pulsated as each man came and left – their harried voices an apparition of their remaining humanity; for had they not their voices still, they would be but husks – automata rendered from flesh; mere pack animals for their masters. The foreman watched on.

“Put ya back into it, ya squirmin’ gitz!” Grunted he, the Foreman, a newblood of the Krush gang – known for its savagery. But all voices hushed and all eyes turned as the Warboyz returned with a new body for the all-consuming Machine. Gnargoth, flanked by Vrogag and Dugarod of the Krush boyz, thrust a shovel into his hands and ordered that they dig at the pleasure of the Warboss and the Spirits, and the silence once again made way for the groans of toil. He – an elf known as Neriel – began to dig.

He dug until his arms burned. But he dared not stop (for he had seen what happened to idlers – a young man in his twenties had his skull dashed across the stone for pausing to catch his breath), until gravel yielded and slivers of blue hit him in the face. Light. He scrambled to it; clawed at loose rocks and flint until his fingers bled, tossed them aside; tore what stood in his way asunder like a feral dog, until the dark cave was aflood with blue light. The Sons of Nagg looked on in awe, but Fishbref took the helm and descended the steps, the blue light cresting him as he went deeper. What greeted him shook him: the bloody hall of a Temple to his gods, in all its regalia.

“A GIFT FROM THE SPIRITS!” He cried, “A BEAUTIFUL GIFT!” And the Shaman Fizzard wrought his magic upon its central chamber, and the slaves’ throats were cut to fill it. Neriel, too, was bled - but he was spared his life for his discovery. The uruks bathed and were confirmed in their faith, for battle was nigh, and as such, so too was a feast for Gazigash.

II

Wisps of smoke rose over Lower Petra and teased out the rising sun. But the sun seemed to lack its normal lustre, as if whatever moved it to it’s morning place had foreseen the events of the day. No eerie silence gripped the men of Oren, nor the legions of the Tripartite who had stationed themselves in the town of Sedan. War had trampled through fields so close to home that jingoistic tracts had not been given the distance to be sacralised as their platitudes passed from soldier to soldier, and drifted on the wind to peasant hearths. 

The Blood Army - Frumpaak I

Life continued as it had. The washer-woman still scrubbed and the tanner still tanned; the banker still counted rounds of gold, the smith still hammered steel, and the barkeep still poured lousy pints. Men who had the day prior taken to the fields to bring in the harvest just beyond the city limits now bore arms. Many of them were green - for such was the transience of human life, and they joked and laughed and traded tall tales of bedded wenches and drunken feats performed, never having known the horrors that awaited them. Rifts would be made between them.

Among the legions of Man were the Sons of Nagg. Life, too, was transient among the Kin of Krug, perhaps moreso than tucked between the sturdy walls of grand cities, but in a way possessed a groundedness. For where man succumbed to his curse of a short life, brothers still lived who had fought in far flung lands in wars that ended hundreds of years ago. Battle was life for those following Nagg’s creed – and so they rejoiced, albeit inwardly. They gripped their arms with a discipline unusual to their race, and as the armies of Man and Dwarf clashed, fought with a vigour that had gone undisplayed for decades. 

Daubed with chrome paint, Aki the Engorged charged into the bloody fray swinging his greatclub, sending many shortfolk and Haeseni alike with wide swoops of his terrifying weapon to the grave. But, overwhelmed by the hordes of men and their swordblows, was felled and ravaged, letting loose a bloodcurdling death rattle. The Spirits had noticed the war-beast, and granted him the relief of the Stargush. 

“Witnessed.” Muttered Fishbref as he watched his dimwitted friend meet his bloody end, but nevertheless took his men forward, the brazen Hoplites of the elf who goes by Anaxagoras  that formed the auxiliaries of his band taking the front with their spears poised head-on. There – with the legions of Oren – they held the bloody square, where the gnarled Bloodwood tree grew, and looked unto doom. But by the will of the Spirits they held it, and lived to tell the tale.

GAZIGASH HAD TAKEN HER FILL

ANG GUND GRIISH

Fishbref goes to meet his men so that they could sup and make merry. The Boon of the Yellow Paint had granted Garja'Raguk - their scavenger - much luck in battle, for he returned with riches of all kinds and lustre, looted from Haeseni corpses. 

Fishbref, Attorney-at-Law, nods approvingly, signing off on a form which confirmed that his brethren were acting within the realm legality.

1 minute ago, Twodiks said:

"Ug" said Mihaly Van Aert

"Ug" Says Fishbref

THE IMAGINATION ACCORD

S.A., 61 11th of The Deep Cold

Article I – The Holy Orenian Emperor recognises the sovereignty of Clan Raguk – and its successor states – and Fishbref’Raguk as its rightful leader.

Article II – Clan Raguk recognises the sovereignty of the Holy Orenian Empire and Phillip III as its rightful Emperor.

Article III - Clan Raguk refers to both the tribe known as Raguk as well as its martial wing the Sons of Nagg warband.

Article IV – Parties to the agreement will hereon be referred to as signatories.

Article V – The signatories enter into an agreement of mutual defense in the event of aggression from foreign entities. 

Article VI – The signatories agree to provide assistance in any offensives they may embark on.

• Sch 1 – The magnitude of assistance will be decided upon through mandatory arbitration. 

THE FRAT BLARG ADDENDUM

ARTICLE VII – If Clan Raguk musters a force consisting of one-hundred (10) men, the Frat Blarg will remain in Orkish possession.

• Sch 1 - If the Frat Blarg cannot be returned due to war damage or otherwise, a replacement of like features and proportions will be allocated.

ARTICLE VIII  – If Clan Raguk musters a force consisting of more than one-hundred and fifty (15) men, the Frat Blarg will be visited by the Emperor himself.

Signed,

Warboss Fishbref the Skahing Honourable

HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Philip III, Holy Orenian Emperor, forever August, King of Renatus, Curon, Kaedrin, Salvus, and Seventis, Grand Duke of Ves, Duke of Helena, Novellen, Furnestock and Lorraine, Baron of Renzfeld, Protector of the Heartlanders, Orenian Highlanders, and Farfolk, etcetera

HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Anastasia I, Holy Orenian Emperor, forever August, Queen of Renatus, Curon, Kaedrin, Salvus, and Seventis, Grand Duchess of Ves, Duke of Helena, Novellen, Furnestock and Lorraine, Baroness of Renzfeld, Protector of the Heartlanders, Orenian Highlanders, and Farfolk, etcetera

(( dope, good shit guys

Warboss Fishbref watches from afar with much interest as the redskinned warband come into their own.

Fishbref wakes up and spreads Arichsdorf honey on his toast. 

if u could pick 

fleeper or noob ? 

Fishbref marks it in his calendar with a bright red:

x

49 minutes ago, Traveller said:

+1 

 

UNROLL THE TADPOLE <img src="> UNCLOG THE FROG <img src="> UNLOAD THE TOAD <img src="> UNINHIBIT THE RIBBIT<img src="> UNSTICK THE LICK <img src="> UNIMPRISON THE AMPHIBIAN <img src="> UNMUTE THE NEWT <img src="> PERMIT THE KERMIT <img src="> DEFOG THE POLLIWOG <img src=">

 

seriously though any lore team member how do we unironically get wonks unshelved, a rewrite?

just start playing them illegally

Fishbref, always in the pursuit of FAIR MAIDENS, has one of his warboys scribe a letter:

"DEAR MADAM,

I IS VERY INTERESTED IN YOU.

PLEASE COME TO MY LAIR (A CAVE) OUTSIDE DU LOC.

WE WILL HAVE A ROMANTIC MEAL IN MY OFFICE.

LOVE AND KISSES,

FISHBREF, ESTEEMED PROTECTOR ANS SAVIOUR OF DU LOC, WARBOSS, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, CAPTAIN, TARGOTH ETC.

P.S. BRING A SHOVEL.

Directions were attached below.

[[ cords: 767, 325 bEHIND DU LOC COME QUICK]]

Fishbref, Attorney-at-Law in Oren & Urguan, reads the treatise, interested of the implications that this would have on Urguani jurisprudence!

Fishbref welcomes the returning goblin.

o_o

Fishbref saluted his kinsman as he set sail, hoping that one day he would return.

THE FORTUNE AND MISFORTUNE

OF THE 

ORK KNOWN AS

FISHBREATH

Fishbref sat alone in his office during the little hours, slamming handle after handle of guzzoline. Below, in his hideout, his crew slept soundly, or klomped, or themselves grew drunk – but in good company – whilst he had only himself, and precisely seven portraits of his likeness. They stared on gloomily unto nothing, the very same vacancy that plagued the good Captain encapsulated by deep orange pools – two lakes of Cocytus – but only by the amateurishness of the painter (for a competent one would have made an untruth with carefully reckoned brushstrokes). His unhappiness was unfounded, or so he reasoned, for good fortune – nay, great fortune – had only come his way since he was exiled. Indeed, with the sullying of his honour by the Rex Skaatchnak, only greater fortunes had arisen. But his wealth came and went quickly, and came again, for there was not enough gold in the world that would satiate his tastes – nor was there enough garish or downright kitsch ornaments, to insulate him from his woe. Good are the Spirits! He thought. Praise be!

He drifted back to his time in the desert. He thought of how a moment of poverty had given him a greater wealth than achieved by most Kings. In that moment, he was present – and so too were the Spirits – for he felt them around him. But now, he felt a coldness within  – not the coldness of a room laid dormant for an eon, but the precise moment when a candle is snuffed; where before there was warmth, now extinguished, but a prying memory nevertheless persisted, and would tease like a wine stain on a hardwood floor. It could never truly be excised, no matter how hard one scrubbed, but it would dull… in time.

As the twilight hours made way for the morning, Fishbref descended into the cave. He traced its damp walls with a wizened finger, following what remained of faded murals, until he was halted by its limits. He gripped the bars of the snaga cage which marked the cave’s deepest point, and stared through them, engrossed with what he saw. He reached out to grab a handful of that which had so ensnared him. GRAVEL. Firm. Hard. GRAVEL. He once more saw fortune, and immediately barked for his goblin scribe to begin drafting a letter!

TO THE BOARD OF GIBSCO,

I WRITE TO YOU WITH GREAT HASTE AND URGENCY, THUS I MUST KEEP MY CORRESPONDENCE SHORT.

I HUMBLY REQUEST AN AUDIENCE WITH THE MEMBERS OF THE BOARD, AS AN UNFORESEEN OPPORTUNITY FOR OUR GREAT COMPANIES TO EXPAND HAS ARISEN.

I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE,

Warboss Fishbref da Skahing Honourable, Targoth. Cpn. Esq.

"woah" says wud

Fishbref polishes his A.R.balest-15 blissfully unaware of the Anti-Christ Azdrazi.

Fishbref laid down his blicky ... but then promptly raised it again so that he could slay a common enemy with good and fair people of Du Loc.

"Highly credible." Says Fishbref. 

THE TALE OF DIGGUS DEE

S.A., 58 - 12th of the Amber Cold

A portrait of Diggus Dee

Somewhere in an Orenian public house, in the cramped corner familiar to all such establishments, where common whores peddle their wares, actors danced and told tall tales of soldiers and romantics, and bards sang epics apt to warm even the most calcified heart’s dying embers, an Ork who looked peculiarly like Warboss Fishbref (saved for a balaclava) danced an Orkish jig and sang an Orkish song.

He went by the name Diggus Dee. So lively were his movements, and so vivid and barbaric the turn of his lyricism that all ceased in their usual recreation to watch the exotic performance. Accompanied only by the crude beating of a wardrum, and an inspiring yet simple melody played on a set of pipes, this bardic Ork told of his antics in Du Loc: of how he and his warband chanced upon the Lector named Paco, how they ‘caught him lacking’, riddled his furniture with crossbow bolts,  and finally did battle with his people.

Bloodshed was not uncommon to this unfair isle, but the Orenians - for once - were glad that it was not their blood painting the cobbles. So too were the Du Locians, for despite the clashing of swords and the clack of crossbow bolts being loosed - not a single person was injured! Whilst a miracle, it would seem that the gangland violence that had gripped the small settlement would not dissipate anytime soon… 

Just now, Jentos said:

unironically, overcoming trauma after a series of recent unfortunate events 

ill get better 

that is good - i hope u stay well and whatever bad things that are happening in ur life get better. eat good, lift heavy and keep ur chin up. 

u r like the coolest person ik on this server not even a cap

one simple question bro how are u ?

______________________________

"Beware ye of uruk kind,

And of Raguk indeed,

The rot that befell Kharak

And gender'd within the mind;

Tales of caution, cried the herald

Yet not a wretch took his heed

And bound within the vile grip

An ancient race, and land imperilled."

Raguk Song, Book of Prudence

______________________________

Fishbref looked to his kin from afar. Soon it would be time, so he thought, to march his weary men unto the Uzg as a cause that went beyond the blood boiled there within.