Rannulf crossed over the bridge he had crossed so long ago, back into the War Uzg, his home that he had abandoned. He had missed his home, his true home of Krugmar, and he had ran to the sea and thought of swimming back, but he realized it was hopeless, he was too weak. He meant to change that.
So to make him stronger, he hunted, for years on end, he hunted the undead with a passion, remembering his fallen comrades who had been flatted by them. Pigs, cows, chickens, whatever he could find he ate, he got stronger, faster, older, wiser. He became better. But with his newfound wisdom, he realized that he could never get back to Krugmar reasonably. It was gone.
And here he was, back in his "home" hoping to find some of his old friends, or at least their graves. He had no idea what had gone on while he was gone, who was in charge, or even if the War Uzg was gone. Rannulf had absolulty no plan, except that he would still hunt, trying to be stronger, trying to get strong enough to get back home.
((Well, for those of you who remember me, I have been inactive for a very long time due to personal issues and a lack of time. But now, I am returned! I will still have a lack of time however, and I won't be able to be as involved with the community as I used to have been. I will be pretty much inactive again throughout August, as I will be on vacation. So, to make up for the times I am gone, Rannulf will be on hunts. I hope I can successfully adapt back into the Ork community, so, Ug to you all!))