Idroogen
-
Posts
3 -
Joined
-
Last visited
Reputation
11 Good
-
Celurduz stared at the leaftlet, his grip so tight that the inked paper had begun to tear apart. "THOSE RED SCRIBBLES DO NOT SEEM TO BEAR DELIGHTFUL NEWS!!! ALAS, IF ONLY I COULD READ!!!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the dark empty caves he called home, he then shrugged his shoulders, balled up the papery messanger and threw it behind his back, littering the cold stone floor, for he had some iron to smelt.
-
The Kazin’Kul Klan From Hatred it was born and by it was driven. The origin of the Klan it’s uncertain, for its members certainly are not renowned for their feats of lorekeeping. What is known though is that it came to be through the efforts of an Orc, Drumm, who managed to rally around himself a mighty band of Uruks. Cripples, bastards, freaks, misfits, those were the kind of individuals who bolstered the ranks of the warhost. Casted out by their communities, worn out by the hunger and the constant struggle for survival, they had wandered the wastes, salvaging anything they could salvage and looting anything they could loot, their minds filled by thoughts of revenge against those by whom they had been wronged, those who had turned their backs on them. But the barren wastes could only provide for the necessities of a few, of the fittest, and the only law enforced being the doctrine that might is right. But in that constant struggle for survival an Orc managed not only to survive, but to thrive. He rallied his brethren, showed them that by uniting they could overthrow the tyranny of nature, escaping from the imminent grasp of hunger. He captivated them with dreams of redemption, of revenge, and they all did fall for his beguiling words. Soon after he unleashed his host on those lands, laying waste on those very communities who had once casted them out, and from the smoldering ashes the Kazin’Kul Klan was born. [This is still a WIP, so i will edit it in the near future]
-
You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” The figure sits on the cushion, his slander tall body barely fitting inside the shabby tent. he stares at the hag, an akward silence dominating the scene whilst he tries to find the right words in his head, then after a while, he moves his head forward and open his mouth "I am Celurduz, this is the name i've been given,by whomst i do not know. When still a newborn i was left at the door of a poor blacksmith, in the basket i was found in, a simple sheet of paper with a name written on it, Celurduz. my childhood was harsh, my adoptive father used to send me and my brothers in the nearby bog in search of bog iron that he could use in his craft. But that was no task for some young boys like us, i still remember the face of my younger brother Turusk as he sunk in the black murky water of that hellish swamp. traumatized by what we had witnessed and tired of that life of hardship, we gathered what we could and fled, never to see eachothers again, i ended up finding my way to the Kazin'Kul camp, and I now serve as the blacksmith of the group. it's hardwork let me tell you, but at least it keeps my mind busy from the demons that still haunt me in my dreams."
