herculean_wud

i sign

Leydluk welcomed the aged Raguk with open arms and received him at the great table. There, many familiar faces sat, the fighting of the day having ceased to make way for a night of feasting, "Broshan, brother." Said the thrice-Rex as he poured him a tankard of grog and set before him a bowl of steaming ambrosia, straight from the Grubgoth's pot, "Welcome to eternity."

THE KRUGHAI

“Glory to Krugmar. Glory to the Krug-hai!”

REX

The Supreme Leader of the War Nation and Krughai alike.

DOMINUS

The Rex’s Second in Command and Chief of Diplomacy

TARGOTH (Morning_Wud, Wolfkite1)

Esteemed warriors, proven in battle and amongst themselves, tasked by the Rex to lead the legions of Krugmar both on the field and in training.

KESHIG

Veteran uruks and seasoned warriors. Those of the Keshig are noted as among the highest calibre of warriors - both in terms of skill and honour. They also form a protective vanguard for the Rex during diplomatic meetings and on the field.

BROTHER-IN-ARMS

The standard unit of the Krughai - fierce and stalwart warriors who would give their lives without a second thought for the continuation of the orkish race. 

PUG

Disgraced uruks or a returning whitewash - branded as such for breaches of conduct, dishonour, disrespect, endangerment of another uruk’s life or cowardice. Pugs are expected to wear a pink hat for a duration specified by a Targoth as well as fulfilling gruelling punishments.

A GOBLIN STANDS BEFORE THE URUKS ON THE PLATFORM OVERLOOKING THE FIRE PIT AND CRIES:

“Brothers and sisters!

The time has once more come for the Scaddernak to shed his old skin and to usher in the new. So too shall the uruks rise with a new vigour and a new pride, with which we shall vanquish the foes that stand before us.

At the end of this Cactus Week your mettle will be tested. The might of the uruk will be displayed. Those who are worthy will have the honour of standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers as a legionnaire in the Armies of Krug.

Rise Krugmar! Rise the Krughai!”

SATURDAY 3PM EST - ARENA KRUGMAR FOR TRAINING, RP, PVP AND FUN

FISHBREF’S KREW

The High Sea Scallywags

(Depiction of one of Fishbref’s Krew, an old sailor press ganged into serving.)

Those who live on the coast are too familiar and no doubt weary of piracy -- an activity that had all but been eradicated by the diligent patrols of the Orenian navy, save for some of the more notorious crews that roamed the seas and harried misfortuned villages.

Sailors and merchantmen alike had seen a new crew join the fray, and these rumblings travelled far and wide. They were just as eager to take a slice of this most lucrative of trades. The global economy was weak -- labour was cheap, resources abundant, goods produced cheaply in sweatshops, minas difficult to come by except for those of the landed classes, and remittance formed the basis of most peoples’ scant wealth. Meanwhile, parasitic landlords skimmed off the wealth of their constituents in the form of heavy taxes and got fat from their revelry, whilst the common folk were left by the wayside.

No more, said the good Captain Fishbref’Raguk! No more would his kin, and those of all races who shared his ethos be subjected to a hand-to-mouth existence. 

They too would grow fat on their profits, and the rich would suffer.

__________________________________________

F I S H B R E A T H ‘ S   

C R E W E

S.A. 31,  2nd of the Grand Harvest

COMETH YE WHO SEEK REVELRIE

COMETH YE WHO THE RICH HATH WRONG’D

COMETH YE WHO ART HUNGRIE

AND TAKETH YE WHAT TO YOU ONCE BELONG’D.

Seek the Uruk named Fishbreath.

__________________________________________

Haygel'Yar approves.

MC Name:

         Morning_Wud

Character's Name:

         Bakewell

Character's Age:

         21

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

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Musin

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

The Musin are a race of large mice-like rodents who were once enslaved by their larger Ratiki overlords. Eventually, circumstance allowed one mouse -- Musin, from whom the mouse men take their name -- to ascend to heights unheard of among his kin, becoming a Warchief and bringing his brethren up the social ladder. During the Battle of the Red Vale, the opportunity presented itself for the Warchief to escape and to bring his kin to safety. Murphy's Law was not, however, in their favour and they were apprehended by Ratiki Warchief who did battle with the small Musin army. Many perished, including Musin himself, but many also escaped and made their way for lands far flung. Soon, they came upon the continent of Almaris where they eked out a living for themselves, until the arrival of the Giant.

The Giant's arrival marked an important milestone for the Musin -- he was an illusive figure, now a central part of Musin worship, who brought the mouse folk into the fold of civilisation, imparting upon them the knowledge of literacy, of agriculture, of how to talk properly and of how to dress. Therefore, Musin culture mirrors human culture in an overly-romanticised and almost caricatured fashion. One habit he was unable to break from them was the impulse of thievery -- too prevalent had it been in the Empire of the Ratiki that it was now certainly engrained in them for good. 

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

Musin fall between 1ft8in and 2ft6in in height, and share the array of colours commonly found among non-sentient mice. They often wear clothes out of repurposed material -- like old potato sacks for tunics. Pacifists by nature due to their weak bodies, they may try to avoid arming themselves but it is not uncommon to see Musin wearing crude armaments or bearing makeshift weapons, like thimbles for helmets, solitary scissor blades for sword and coins for shields. 

Bakewell is himself a Musin of 2ft2in of around 25 pounds with a coat of a tawny shade on the lighter side. He wears a green tunic fashioned from an old handkerchief. 

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

         No

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

         Yes

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

cringe and hate player fun pilled

its harmless and creates an interesting dynamic as a long lost but stable homeland that humans long for, as well as a place for where human cultures or families can claim partial origin.

besides i have not seen this overuse of aeldin apart from for characters who are already coming from noble family so hardly being used to ennoble them / give them relevance. 

apart from some notable exceptions 

e.g. an old character of mine was a marauder who was chain ganged in aeldin for theft before arriving upon xyz map to escape the law

ok

THE BEGUILED BRONZE

The attentives watchers and wanderers of the Goi would have perhaps spotted an urn where it had previously not belonged. There, within the Grubgoth’s kitchen, on a middling shelf it shone -- an item out of place in a kitchen, especially. To those with a keener eye and knowledge of orkish cultures, it would become apparent that the strange glyphs painted on its front were of Spluttertongue -- a sociolect of the Old Blah spoken and written by the Clan Raguk’s higher caste. Black paint along its brazen body showed orks locked in the ire of battle, their tusks depicted starkly as splotches of white.

_____________________

_____________________

This was no ordinary urn. Indeed, it kept the ashes of an orkish warrior deep within like any other, but it also carried peculiar baggage -- a litany of tall tales, rumours and legends; accusations of it having brought bad fortune, as well as good, of it having been cursed by an orkish warlock and deliberately planted within polite society to wreak havoc and bring bad omens. The truth was far less conspiratorial, however.

It had washed up on the shore of Almaris and was found by a fisherman, who sold it to a tavern-keeper for a keg of good ale. It did not remain among the tavernkeepr’s possessions for long -- he swore that gnomes lived within it, for whenever he left his kitchen, he’d return to find his ingredients had been wasted on the creation of magnificent feasts, instead of sawdust fortified pies that were cheap to make and doubled his profits. He sold it quickly to a Haenestian gentryman -- a regular of his -- who had an interest in exotic artefacts. This one was not among his greatest, and remained in his cellar for decades until his timely passing At this point it was hastily auctioned off to a Hulphonite tradesman -- hastily being the operative word, since the auctioneer swore that it whispered to him as he slept not-so-soundly in his bed.

This Hulphonite’s curiosity took him far beyond the others. One night, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery -- believing it to be a sleight of science, or a charlatans trick -- he attempted to pry open the lid. But despite how hard he tried he could not get it to open more than a crack. This crack, too small for even an ant to crawl through, unleashed upon the trader and his family a curse of proportions spoken of only in the epics of old. It came slowly at first -- business seemed to slow and new customers no longer came by. It was the season he said, by the summer -- he said -- people would be flocking to buy his goods from near and far. But soon so too did his regulars fail to bring their patronage. No longer able to fulfill his debts, the collectors came and stripped his shop bare -- all apart from that urn -- and he was left destitute.

Now with scarcely a coin to rub together his wife abandoned him and his family made a pariah out of him. He was forced to collect scrap and sell it to seedy dealers, who were quick to exploit him. It was a living no one was worthy of. His luck took a final turn for the worst when he was set upon by orkish bandits, who relieved him of his life. And thus the urn. Here it passed from hand to hand -- as currency in a wager; as a weapon in a drunken brawl; as an item of interest with which to barter for a new leather coif, until eventually there upon that middling shelf in the Grubgoth’s kitchen it assumed its final place of rest. It was finally where it belonged, and perhaps it had one final boon… if an uruk would care to seek it out.

__________________________________________

Message Morning_Wud to interact

Kaptin Fishbref sharpened his cutlass in preparation for peace or war -- it didn't matter to him which. 

unequivocally based

Picture this -- the sun has still to take his seat at the highest point in the sky. He is benevolent yet, casting soothing plumes of heat down upon your skin, instead of doling out the midday browbeating that so often kills Orenian peasants out in the provinces.

The sand moves gently beneath your feet. The water laps at your toes. On each arm is an Elven maid, and within your hand is a hollowed coconut -- only the finest rum there within, and a slice of lime wedged on the edge. You take a sip, swill the rum around your palette and sigh -- that slice of lime, you think, is emblematic of this perfect slice of heaven.

Now stop picturing it. 

With a violent wretch, the good Captain awoke, face down in the sand.

“Land ho,” He groaned, reattaching his wooden leg that -- either in the maelstrom, or by the hand of his goblin first mate trying to get at the green that was stashed safely inside -- had become untethered. He dragged himself to his feet and took the first few steps of many towards Krugmar. Towards home.

based and minecraft roleplay pilled

"Ekstremely Based." Says Leydluk from the Stargush'Stroh as he ladled himself a bowl of hot ambrosia from the Grubgoth's pot. 

A GENEALOGY OF CLAN RAGUK’S SIGNIFICANT LINEAGES

|| Spluttertongue: OTOGAIMAG AKH RAGUK ||

LINE OF MALGUNUZ

[ x ] No known recognised offspring

LINE OF NAGG

[ ♂ ] Glottgut’Raguk - Deceased

• [ ♂ ] Klatus’Raguk - Alive

• [ ♂ ] Groggnar’Raguk - Deceased

[ ♂ ] Brainboila’Raguk - Deceased

[ ♂ ] Skalpboila’Raguk - Deceased

• [ ♀ ] Nakita’Lur - Alive, Non-biological

[ ♂ ] Eyeboila’Raguk - Deceased

Alongside much other unrecognised offspring.

LINE OF KHARAK

[ ♂ ] Gijaak’Raguk - Alive

• [ ♂ ] Gahnaak’Raguk - Alive

[ x ] No known other offspring

LINE OF TURKURZ

[ ♂ ] Paniik’Raguk - Alive

[ ♂ ] Hazurk’Raguk - Deceased

[ ♂ ] Brazurk’Raguk - Alive

LINE OF LEYDLUK

[ ♂ ] Megaflat’Raguk - Alive

[ ♂ ] Krukleyd’Raguk - Deceased

[ ♂ ] Morgoth’Raguk - Deceased

[ ♂ ] Goldgrabba’Raguk - Alive

• [ ♂ ] Kwikfinga’Raguk - Alive

[ ♂ ] Kuntkrimpa’Raguk - Alive

[ ♂ ] Zkrew-luz’Raguk – Alive

Alongside much other unrecognised offspring.

lotc has been an interesting experience – lots of good memories, lots of friends, (lots of enemies) and i can basically owe my ability to write well to minecraft roleplay lmfao.

never posted a leaving post in the past for my other departures but i intend on making this departure permanent so here we are.

server is stale  and boring and the staff just seem deadset on continuing to implement rules that stifle creativity, freedom and enjoyment for the sake of preserving the fee fees of a few minecrafters? like have we forgotten this is a game... who cares if yo city gets gassed; its happened to orks a thousand times and i wouldnt change a thing bc genuinely even though we lost (or were wrongfully jewed – literally and figuratively ;^) – out of opportunities) its been fun.

plus im banned and i have more self respect than to please minecraft bureaucrat egos for the umpteenth time.

Best memory of the server was during 1bows rexdom, orks versus snow elf siege and being set upon by 50 or so mounted dwarves / snelves – for a noob it was just awe inspiring.

Anyway, its been good guys. See you hopefully never again – it’ll just speak measures of my fortitude if you do see me again lol.

AL-KHALIFA KARUGHMARI

الخلافة في كروغمار

“In the name of Allah and the Holy Prophet Krug.” ー Gugrad Al-Raguki ibn Mahmoudou ibn Abdullah ibn Malik

Many moons ago, Gugrad Al-Raguki - son of a Qualasheen merchant and a Raguk ork wench - went into the desert. Through the shifting sands of the desert, the rustle of palm leaves and the whisper of the cool night wind, the words of Almighty Allah spoke to him eternal truths of the world. From this knowledge did the half-ork forge his path: to follow the Almighty Creator Allah, his angels and the Holy Prophet Krug.

EMIR

Principal officer of the Al-Khalifa Karughmari. A provisional rank to lead orks enlightened by Allah’s truths before the formation of the Caliphate.

____________________

Emir Gugrad Al-Raguki ibn Mahmoudou ibn Abdullah ibn Malik, c. 1760

____________________

BEY

Lieutenants of the Emir.

MUJAHIDEEN

The rank-in-file of the Al-Khalifa Karughmari.

MAMLUK

Non-ork auxiliaries or soldier-slaves.

((OOC: Not directly affiliated with Krugmar))

If you wanna join, my discord in da signature ?

F R O M   A  W O N K

T O   T H E

P E O P L E   O F   H E L E N A

GELDMEISTER PUBLISHING HOUSE

8th of Godfrey’s Triumph, 1757

TO THE MOST WORSHIPFUL PEOPLE OF HELENA,

I would like, firstly, to preface this humble letter by thanking the fair city of Helena for accepting my kind within Her safe and sturdy walls and against her nurturing bosom. 

My name is Pete and I am proudly of Wonkish stock. From a tadpole, within the ponds and wetlands of Brandybrook did I grow, and upon their flies and upon their honey was I nurtured. It is to them that I owe my ability to write, read and appreciate literature. However, when I cast my eyes upon the vast walls of Helena, I knew that she had great things to offer me. And so it is here that I find myself.

My request to you, the people of Helena, is most humble. I hope that one amongst your fair and just stock would sponsor me, and take me as an apprentice for one of the offices of state, so that I may learn the craft of administration and repay Our fair city in full.

With love, gratitude and admiration for the Empire,

Patchwork Pete, a wonk.

MC Name: Corporatocracy

Character's Name: Patchwork Pete

Character's Age: 32

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

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Wonk

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Wonks are a race of humanoid amphibians who migrated to Arcas from Atlas before the ice wall rose and separated them from the rest of their kin. There exist two types of wonk: frogs and toads. Frog Wonks are taller than their toad counterparts, able to reach heights of 5ft – they are much slimmer and have smooth and slimy skin. Toads are stockier and shorter (no taller than 4’7’’) than their frog wonk counterparts and possess dry, bumpy skin. Where Frog Wonks take lighter earth skin tones, Toad Wonks take darker earth skin tones. 

In terms of physiology, Wonk bodies are similar to a descendent human’s in terms of strength and function. They cannot hop like a frog, though they do have a tongue that can extend to a blocks length and has the strength of a finger. Additionally, their hands and feet appear much like a normal frogs. They can live for around 120 years, with some living older. Wonks must submerge themselves in water to stay alive, and as they age the frequency for which they must submerge themselves increases. When a Wonk is 5-49 years of age they must submerge themselves every 5 years, 50-74 every 3 years, 75-99 every 2 years, and 100-119 every year. In their extreme old age (120+ years) they must remain submerged at all times. If a Wonk does not submerge they dry out and die.

Wonk blood possesses abnormal characteristics: in warm climates it is a bright red colour and when consumed by descendants administers a mild high. In cold climates, it assumes a blue colour and incurs nausea if consumed. A further abnormality of Wonks is that they possess no biological gender – all wonks are able to lay eggs, though they may adopt feminine or masculine traits. They cannot FTB. Eggs are laid in ponds and hatch into tadpoles until they grow into a fully matured adult Wonk aged 5. They assume the characteristics of their parent. 

When the Wonks first arrived in Arcas their culture was influenced heavily by orkish culture – as they were amongst the first people to chance upon the Wonks. Now, with the arrival of the descendants thousands of years later, these previously tribal Wonks have been brought into the fold of civilisation and have adapted their culture to the cultures that surround them. These are reformed Wonks. There do still exist tribal wonks – however these are ET playable only. Finally, Wonks have a lesser soul – these means they are incapable of learning some magics.

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

         No

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

         No

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 letter - written poorly and in a demonstrable hand - having passed through the fingers of goblins, orks, washerwomen, jezabels, labourers, gong-farmers, knights and state officials finally finds itself at the door of the offices of the A.I.(D).S and the H.O.E. It reads as follows:

---

IMPORT impORTANT

PLEEZ READ

Adresd to emprer wotz his face an dyook godrfik : )

---

“uG,

My naym iz GoldGЯabba and I am a skrap kollekta,

I wud lik pasaj passij passaj into bof ov yor landz so I kan kollekt skrap.

As a sho ov fankz agh gud faif me an my boyz will also kollekt, bring in an bury d flattend ov bof sides. 

Yorz Faifully,

GOLDGRABBA’RAGUK AN HIS BOYZ.”

@ARCHITECUS @Narthok

hey guys.

lets pass the time of lotc being down by posting pictures of our warn points courtesy of chairperson telanir of tythusLTD.

this one really struck a cord with me.

something about that “idiot” at the end that really made me want to rethink my behaviour on d forums!

THE KRUGMARIC DEBATE

AND KRUGMARIC DIALECTIC

DATE: 29th NOVEMBER 5PM EST

Location: San’Azgak Klomp Pit

Fizzard’Raguk, ‘Orks in debate’ c. 1743 

Within recent years, especially since the Debate of Night and Day, there has been a heightened interest in questioning - amongst the more scholarly uruks who are that way inclined - the purpose of uruk-kind and matters of theology. This has come to a head in a form of debating which is distinctly orkish. This broadly follows the ‘Krugmaric Dialectic’ as devised by Gahk-Eyes’Raguk:

FIRST MOTION: DOES GROG SEVER OR BOLSTER ONE'S CONNECTION TO THE SPIRITS?

The debate will begin with the cohort dividing into their respective sides (for or against), each side delivering an opening statement, a back and forth of debating and then a KLOMP to see who the spirits favour most...

“BRUDDAS!”

Cried he, Gahk-Eyez the Yeller, from upon his crate. He was surely by now a well-known face within the Uzg.

“Doom lingers upon the horizon. Magicks foul pour out from the darkest depths of the Nether in great oceans of sin, vice and evil to claw at the veil of night; to tear down the heavens; to bring forth our revered dead as a vanguard to the legions of nubflats.”

He waved his arms in wild fashion, before allowing them to drift by his side. He took a breath - a pause - to punctuate the importance of his point.

“BUT IDLE WE CANNOT BE...”

From such a small goblin, it was surprising that his voice could carry such conviction, such a youthful yet determined vibrance that verberated between the pillars and among the people.

“Vice plagues our kin. The common sins of grog, alchemical quartz and deviancy of every sordid colour clings to us like fetor clings to a corpse; it is as if a bag of bricks, a necrotic limb. And we must earnestly amputate it. For it is better to cut off the necrotic limb than to allow it to poison the body - the vessel of one’s soul. In similar fashion must we abandon our ways of vice - for vice breeds only weakness - unify Our kin as we always have been, and as Krug commanded, and temper the purity of Our kin like a smith tempers steel, in preparation for the doom which shall invariably follow.”

He watched the silent crowd with all three eyes…

“LET THIS BE THE FIRST BLAST OF THE TRUMPET AGAINST THE MONSTROUS PHENOMENA OF VICE...”

“HARK!”

Earlier that evening, an odd goblinic figure had shuffled into the Uzg. His back was crooked, his head unusually large; wisps of hair trailed down from the sides of his head and his eyes - all three of them - glowed with an intense vigour. And now there he stood, upon a crate, in front of a small night-time audience.

“THE END TIMES ARE NIGH, BROTHERS!”

He threw his arms up in big and wild gestures, to punctuate his doomsday harkening,

“And You! Blasphemers, tricksters, fools, disbelievers as you are… are destined only to doom! For all throughout these lands, foul magicks are at play. Like purple djinns they dance through the sky and threaten to tear at the very fabric which holds up the heavens. And when they do, nubflat and ghosts will descend upon the mortal realm, but so too shall the spirits in all their might and glory, and so too shall Krug to wage an all but familiar war, and reign as Rex over all orks, as he did thousands of years ago...”

He paused, but only to fill his lungs with the temperate, evening air of the savannah before continuing with the same conflagrant vigour,

“But the spirits themselves will suffer… they too will be consumed and rended by the foul magicks that threaten us. All but the Pantheon - Gazigash, Leyd and Gentharuz. For millennia ago, they themselves fought a bloody war. But from it came a pact to last for eternity. United they stand to face the evil foe, and assume hegemony behind the mortal Throne of Krug when the time desires…”

And then his tone turned to poison. He spat and cursed and bore his tusks like a viper,

“...But you! O ye fools and blasphemers, o ye who do not accept my teachings and the fellowship of the Pantheon - you too will succumb. And you will not receive the sympathy of the Pantheon whom you have not accepted as your masters in the spirit realm. You will be turned away and left to the devices of the evil that threatens us! Lest ye convert and be brought into the fold…” 

He stepped down from his crate, beside which a rusted bucket stood alone. Within it was thick, red blood - since congealed somewhat. Zealously the goblin thrust his hand into the bucket and began flicking it into the crowd,

“All who seek guidance, seek the name Gahk-eyez!”

And with that, and the undoubted furore of hecklers and orks of a different spiritual conviction, he made off deeper into the Goi, off towards Raguk road where he would find his kin.