Plummius_

THE GATHERING OF LAK For too long, the Uruk of Lak have been scattered. Since the last coop of the swamps in the land of Aevos, Lak has been wounded as a clan. Many Swampgoths have risen, and many have fallen. Until the last among them betrayed Laklul and fell as a Buurz, broken and forgotten. Now I call upon you, Laks, and all faithful followers of Laklul. Join us in the Horde. Together we will build a new swamp within the Deadlands. There we shall pray to the Great Spirit of Laklul, and from rot and ruin we will rise again. The clan must be reforged. The swamp must return. LUP’LAKLUL. Blufrug’Lak Brakaz’lak Grunfrug’lak

The lak would look at the missive sitting atop a frog statue with a sigh he smiled "finaly" - "ah krughai branch mi can join"

akul stuck her spear on the ground in rythem "wi zhuld pripare fur WAGHHH"

Looks epic as heck, but mayhaps more enchanted areas? It's mostly forests? Unless you don't tell us everything. Tell us everything.

Imagine being a new player diving into some spooky stuff and this thing shows up.

I'll be honest it's okay that it's written good but I don't think the idea of merging necromancers with mystics is a good idea because in this rewrite necros basically lose all their actual power and just convert to ghost busting.. Thats gonna extinct the magic and well loses the meaning of being a necromancer. I want to wear a black shirt with a skull on it.

Please bring travel carts again. Also cool wyoming terrain

The desert’s sands move [New lesser spirit + pact] Rα'αɾႦσɠ Spirit of the sands The deserts of Aevos are truly unforgiving, walking among the dunes are a challenge for any of the living, the two shamans walked in hope of finding Ramakhet, spirit of the desert. They kept walking, their feet burning on the hot sands, their muscles failing as they urged for water; the two returned with yet another fail to their sanctuary. As they settled in, sitting on the cold floor covered by an old roof that provided shelter from the scorching heat writing yet another chapter of their searching. The sandweaver, disappointed, spoke “let us spirit walk, ask him for guidance” - “maybe he will answer” the prophet Sandsworn nodded with a sigh, hopeless himself he agreed to try and thus they began. The two shamans took a moment to connect with the spirit, mists seeping from their golden armor as their souls were sucked into the realm of what they thought was Ramakhet, looking around the plane was filled with endless sand dunes and not a plant or a living creature in sight. Looking up they saw no sun yet the heat was present, they looked below and saw no shadow. Not before long the two felt the sand rumbling, their feet sinking into it ever so slightly with every move. As for the dunes they began to move around, piles of sand flying everywhere as the windless plane carried no grain, the feeling was heavy, something was about to happen. The sandsword worried looked at her leader and life-mate her voice bore no echo in this realm “now what..” her tone lowered, the sandworn sprung to action yelling to the spirit, his mouth marked with the blessing of the desert “We are of the desert, our people abandoned you, we come to seek your help! We come to seek the spirits of the desert!” the dunes rumbled about as one larger than the other was seen in the distance “there!” the sandweaver called out, pointing at the huge pile of sand hurtling towards them. The prophet fell on his knees repeating his plea “We come for the spirit! We come to speak!” the dunes now quirt in an instant, not a grain of sand dared move as the spirit listened, a voice could be heard from below speaking in old blah “I am the spirit of the sand itself, the very shifting dunes of the desert, I am its core and its shaper.” The two shamans, surprised at the response, began to say “we seek your help, we are your voice, ramakhet’s voice!” the spirit took a moment to think before it answered “why should i help you? You are after my greater.” they nodded, the sand rumbling with each piercing word Ra’arbog spoke. “Our people banned the spirits, we do not agree to it, we are your conduit, your will!” the prophet said with determination in his eyes, the sandwaver dared not speak now “hmm? You are a son of the desert are you not?” the spirit perked his question, non dared before walking in his realm. The two shamans did not have enough time to answer before the dunes began to shift again, moving them with a swift motion across the plane long from where they started. Before them now were three anomalies that seemed like choices, the two looked at each other before gazing at the sight confused. In Front of them there was an oasis, full of life fauna and flora. Shades from palm trees aiding the creatures that reside there. To their left stood a man who seemed like a warrior, wielding a sword that seemed worn from countless battles, his armor was shining gold and trimmed with leather. And on their right a rather sad sight, a small fennec fox dying on the scorching sands, grasping for help. Without a second thought the Sandweaver walked towards the dying fennec, she leaned over it trying to shade what she could, with a sad tone she turned to the sandsworn “i wish i could do more to help him, heal him..” looking forward she saw many more, saddened she wished to stay with the critter not leaving his side to die alone. The sandsworn walked towards the oasis, he observed the life around with a careful eye, trying to take some of the water to help the warrior and the fennec yet to no avail, the water stood still. “I'm sorry” he said, looking around looking for a solution. The spirit had many thoughts ‘why did he go to the oasis, does he wish to hide from the truth of the desert?’ its thought changed as he sought to help the man and the fox, looking now at the sandweaver he spoke up with a pleased tone “you sister, see the life of the desert, seek community in this harsh reality” Ra’arbog then turned his attention to the sandsworn “you brother, seek to lead and preach of the truth of this reality.” the dune then uncovered, a giant Scarab beetle was standing in front of the two, a golden sun on the back of his shell and the marking of the sands on his legs. “You have proven yourselves to me, go! Preach the truth of the desert, you are now my champions” as he touched each of them upon their head a shining glow of gold came onto them as their souls were pushed into their mortal bodies. Sealing the pact.

MC Name: Firemonk_ (plummius's alt) Discord: Plummius Image: Description of Image: A burning skull on a gray banner with purple elements and writing of "Black sepulchre". on th sides there are 2 more much smaller banners that have the script "Khorvad's chosen" with the same colors as the big one Dimensions: the big part 2 wide 3 long and the small banners 2 tall 1 wide

The ghoul looked annoyed at the kid now, yet not saying much he'd just sigh. "wub a poor kid"

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓻𝓪𝓶 𝙈𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝘽𝙤𝙧, 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙄𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙣. 𝙈𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙔𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙄𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙧𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙪 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙. 𝘼𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙨 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙨'𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨, 𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙞 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙣-𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙣 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝘽𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙄𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙣! I promise all dweds under my banner, I will lead with honor! I will lead with justice and we will be one with Urguan again! 𝙆𝙝𝙧𝙪𝙢 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙮𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙠𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙢 𝙆𝙝𝙧𝙪𝙢 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙙𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙

AGY GOT FIRED FROM LOTC??

[!] The young uruk would look at the missive with otter confusion "wub dah zkah doz he want? He needs zhomoz?" Trying to read the text again to understand anything "why he did nub zay why he needz ah horde ob zhomoz In dah mizzive..? Zkahin weirdo." She sighed taking a moment to think now.. She'd take a note and write to Thalandir "where ahm latz, mi ken kome"

Bobr

EXTREMLY COOL +1 +1 +1

The awakening of the winter! [Lesser Spirit of Urin] Dau'zza. A winter's realm stretches far and wide; on the horizon, all that can be seen is an endless tundra of ice, snow, and unforgiving cold. The sky remains perpetually cloudy and gray, from which a relentless snowstorm falls without end. Jagged peaks of ice and scattered shards punctuate the desolate expanse of the realm. This frozen realm belonged to a spirit as harsh and unyielding as the tundra itself. She took the form of a woman, her skin glimmering with a frozen, bluish hue and her eyes glowing white with ancient power. Jagged ice shards jutted from her shoulders and torso, forming a natural armor, while a veil of delicate, crystalline ice swirled around her legs, trailing like the ghost of a storm. She was the embodiment of winter’s beauty and cruelty, an eternal warden of this endless, snow-laden wasteland. This spirit embodied the harsh, unyielding nature of her winter domain. Cold and almost devoid of emotion, she reflected the unforgiving reality of the tundra she ruled. Truth was her only path, as unwavering and unrelenting as the frozen expanse itself. Her voice carried the raw power of the ice, shattering and cracking like the echo of glaciers colliding and reforming in the endless cold. This is the lesser of Urin spirit of weather. She is now the spirit of winter, cold and dying and her name would echo the realm she possesses [Akûl'Lur] [plummius]

A pact of trial and metal! The three Uruks sat in the library, gathered around a hookah, thick tendrils of smoke curling through the air. Gharak Yar's pan flute played a soft, eerie tune, filling the room with a haunting melody that seemed to echo from another world. The blue shaman, Gharak, inhaled deeply and began to chant in the old tongue. Her words flowed like a river, pulling them closer and closer to the spirit realm. As the world around them warped, their surroundings dissolved, and the trio found themselves thrust into the labyrinthine domain of Lukkar, the lesser spirit of metal. The maze loomed ominously, its towering walls shimmering with an otherworldly glow. Gharak's landing was chaotic—she fell into a tree, scrambling to catch as many branches as she could, slowing her descent. Akûl Lur struck the ground hard, groaning as she clutched her bruised lower back. "Agghh... iz et alweyz diz rough?" she grunted. Meanwhile, Rotmendur'kur, the pale uruk, crashed into a tree with a sickening thud, branches cutting into his flesh, leaving lines of blood. "Zkaah..." Gharak groaned as she climbed down. Her bruised skin bore testament to the spirit realm's harshness. "Hrmm... zpiritz ahm uzually more welcomin'," she muttered warily, scanning the area. Rotmendur inspected his wounds and the strange resilience of his skin. "Nub cloo," he rasped, moving toward a shallow pond in the clearing. The water shimmered unnaturally, and he called the others over. "Der'z drawinz in deh watur," he murmured, gesturing to the rune carved into the pond's stone bottom. Akûl crouched by the pond, studying the symbol with keen eyes. "Peep at dah linez... meybi diz ahm dah path out... or tu dah zpirit!" she speculated, excitement creeping into her voice. The trio decided to head north, following the direction of a fleeing flock of birds. As they advanced, the maze revealed its dangers. Gharak narrowly avoided falling into a spike-lined pit, Rotmendur skillfully navigating across it using vines. Akûl trailed cautiously, her every step deliberate. Yet the maze's traps were relentless. When Rotmendur accidentally triggered a pressure plate, a hail of arrows shot past, narrowly missing him. "ZKAH!" Gharak said "Diz ahm nub uzual... zpiritz kan bi dangeruz, but dey nub actively seek tu harm uz... uzualleh." "Meybi dey protekt somethin'," Akûl suggested, her eyes narrowing as they ventured deeper into the labyrinth. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing heavier with each step. Suddenly, Gharak triggered a near-invisible wire. She froze, but too late—an ominous rumbling echoed from behind them. "ZKAH! RUN!" Gharak bellowed, bolting as a massive boulder rolled toward them. Akûl and Rotmendur sprinted in blind panic, barely rounding a corner in time to escape. The boulder crashed into a wall with a deafening thud, leaving them breathless but alive. "HHHhhff... Zorreh about daht," Gharak panted. "Deze trapz... diz maze... skah designed by a zick mind!" "Wi keep goin," Rotmendur urged, his determination unwavering. Further ahead, Akûl sensed something amiss. Wet, slithering noises echoed faintly. Suddenly, the floor beneath Gharak transformed into a fleshy mass riddled with sharp teeth. She thrashed to escape but was quickly engulfed. "Go ahead widout uz!" she yelled. "Mi ahm returnin tu Lurak!" With those final words, Gharak vanished from the spirit realm, her form dissolving like mist. Rotmendur followed moments later, his willpower unable to sustain him. Only Akûl remained, her resolve driving her forward through a narrow corridor. At its end, she found a stunning room—a stark contrast to the maze's grimness. The room was tiled in intricate mosaics, with three ornate gates standing tall before her. She chose the left gate, drawn by an unshakable sense of destiny. Beyond the gate, a lush meadow stretched out, its fragrance intoxicating. At the center stood an altar, inscribed with runes, and atop it, a suit of goblin-sized armor glinted in the ethereal light. A booming voice resonated from the suit. "Hal'latun, Akûl Lurob." "Ahm latz dah zpirit ob metal?" she demanded, staring intently at the armor. "Kulthark nartul,” it replied solemnly, stepping forward with jittery but purposeful movements. "Za izub ogh, Lukkar'ob ogh." Steeling herself, Akûl spoke with pride. "Mi hab pazzed latz trialz agh ztood zteady az latz element. Mi whil devote mi lyfe tu latz path ob iron n metal." The suit glowed faintly, radiating warmth as the spirit acknowledged her. "Bruslat lapus-ob hun, narufa agh nardarükürz.” [You have heart... metal... strong.] The armor’s hand extended toward her, emitting a radiant blue light that filled Akûl with power. She felt the essence of metal course through her being, binding her to Lukkar's domain pacting with her and granting her the path of metal. "Mi won't fail latz," she vowed, her voice steady. As the light subsided, Akûl found herself back in the library. Gharak and Rotmendur were already there, drenched in sweat, their eyes wide with lingering fear. Akûl clenched her fists, a newfound strength surging through her veins. She had faced the trials and emerged stronger—a true disciple of the spirit of metal.

Your favorite plum here, What would be the first step of action to change urguan for the better? If your mind.

As the wind conduit looked at the arrival, azfrai'lur raised a brow "anodah kloud lezzer, but dere iz one olredy, dah wonders dah wind karriez..."

Azfrai, conduit of the wind would nodd with a welcoming smile towards the goblin. The shaman spoke "mi whil zhow latz dah powah agh beauti ob Fiarza"

Fûthmoz [Lesser wind spirit to Fiarza, spirit of clouds and songs] Appearance/behaviour: - - - - - - - - - - - - An air elemental like figure taking any shape he wills with the use of clouds. Wind spirals around him constantly and would usually take the shape of a large bird like creature or a humanoid with long hair and beard when showing himself. His movements are constant like the air flowing around him and in his realm. His demeanour is mostly calm but shifts quickly depending the situation. Realm: - - - - - - - - - - Fûthmoz spirit realm would be a cloudy white area in the bright cloudy sky, no sun would be in the realm and it would have tornadoes around connecting the clouds of above and below. Only grey floating mountain tops could be seen above a ''floor'' of clouds. Its appearance would change quickly due to the wind swirling around in it, carrying feathers and leaves from pacts, gifts and sacrifices. By Azfrai’Lur, conduit of the wind [Plummius]

+1 PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO PORO

thats just stealing poros from league of legends... the lore is and they reproduce is literally in game of league..

At the top of a mountain.. the pale uruk finished reading the paper, Azfrai simply let go of it.. letting the winds carry it somewhere else, at peace "finally.. zome zpoken truth"