Blawharag

"murdered by Orcs every time I take a Pilgrimage to the Orc Lands"

Step one to showing your respect for Krug: Stop getting murdered. Might is right and strong is not wrong. If you are weak, you are failing at revering Krug.

Step 2, as Sultan said, Krug is not a god, stop calling him one. He is revered as a mighty ancestor, but he is not a god, and we do not 'worship him'.

The best way to revere Krug is to become an Orc and do as Orcs do. Live in a code of strength and honor.

Only dwarves available to use magic is Ironguts and this was for all dwarves in.general. just watch magic users turn the sides of war ;)

I like how everyone expects magic users to be over-powered monsters that will just destroy enemies with their magic plug-in spells.

Instead of a pre-planned event for Kheshig Trials, I am instead going to hold open Kheshig Trials. That means if your character is interested in joining the Kheshig, send me a PM on the forums and we will arrange a time to hold your trials.

For those of you unaware, the Kheshig were the elite guard and special task force for the Rex. In Asulon they were mostly wiped out and now they will be re-introduced. Only the strongest warriors of the War Uzg are permitted to join, and you must prove that you are cunning, loyal, and capable in order to join.

I spoke towards this in my response to your PM, but I'll repeat it here for everyone's benefit:

Magic Users will not be able to cast effective magic until they have reached at least tier 1, everything prior to tier 1 is you still learning, and towards the later stages of your learning you might be able to "cast some magic" but it will all be useless or worse (imagine the mage apprentice that attempts to cast a fireball in the late stages of his learning, but before he has reached tier 1. Instead of a fireball, he ignites himself.)

Now, as for your roleplay, it entirely depends on your character. Your character will not be able to actually bless him until he has reached at least tier 1, at which point you will know exactly how to RP out this situation, so I've no need to describe that process here. The rest you will learn through your teachings, I have no need to describe here when you can begin attempting (and failing) to cast magic prior to tier 1 or any of those details, because you will learn all this in your learning from your teacher (in Gaash's case, me).

Well, no I understood what you were saying in the story lol. Elphaba was taken away before she could face the scorpion, meaning she never faced the scorpion, which is against the Gorkil tradition. The point of the Scorpion trial is to cull the weak, by taking the weak one away before they could face the scorpion, you are defeating the purpose of the trial.

Similarly, Alhera was poisoned, but her father had her healed. The child should not be healed. Either they kill the scorpion without being pricked, or they survive the poison on their own, getting them healed is cheating the test. You might as well squash the scorpion for you child, because if you prevent the scorpion's deadly tool from working its effect, then you essentially remove the most threatening part of the test.

So, as I said, the actions of the twin's parents have stained the families honor. The Gorkils would see the parents as cheaters with no honor. The children are perceived as weaklings whose very existence offends the entire clan. They should have died, as far as the Gorkils would be concerned. Therefore, the Gorkils would not accept them as members of the War Uzg until they prove they are strong and burdens to society.

Being a half-elf shouldn't really effect your roleplay, but rather the Gorkils distain for you as weaklings would. Once you are a member of the War Uzg, you are just considered an "Orc" and that's just that. Lex is a dwarf, the ancient enemies of the Orcs, but he is a member of the War Uzg and has even made it to the rank of Motsham, the greatest of the Shaman. He suffers no racism, because he is just considered "Orc" even though he is actually a dwarf.

If someone RPs treating you poorly, it should be because you cheated your way through the test, not because you are a half-elf. Once you prove your strength and are accepted as whole members of the War Uzg, anyone who treats you poorly is a fool, and any true Orc would carve a hole in the insulter's face to prove that they had earned their spot in the War Uzg.

If you underwent the scorpion trial, then you are probably Gorkil by birth. And if you father saved you from death, than both he and you would probably be exiled from the Gorkil clan. The Gorkils would demand you redeem your honor for this atrocity before they ever accepted you back as a member of the War Uzg, regardless of which clan you tried to join.

Witchdoctors utilize the spirits in a chaotic fashion. They operate by channeling the raw will of the spirits, with minimal shaping. Witchdoctors are unique in that they don't necessarily align with a single spirit type, rather with the general ritualistic fashion of channeling any given spirit in general. Through their rituals they can channel blessings, hexes, or even create magical potions by channeling the spirit's raw will. The only problem is, being that they are channeling the raw will, they have minimal control over the outcome of the spells. A blessing will always be a blessing, a hex always a hex, but in the case of most Witchdoctor's, that blessing could literally be anything. It could be powerful and improve the target's strength, or it could be something relatively useless, like a Hex that causes someone to sneeze periodically for a day or two. It all depends on which given spirit ended up chiming in, and what they decided was the best course of action for the particular subject. Since there are so many different spirits and each with their own opinion on the matter at hand, it is next to impossible to predict what the outcome will be. Magical potion making is usually the most effective route.

The first thing a Witchdoctor learns in regards to potion making is how to identify what potion he just made. He channels the raw will of the spirits into his concoction and the result is similar to blessing or hexing someone, only the effect is literally bottled up. The witchdoctor can, in this way, concoct an assortment of remedies, maladies, and general hosh-posh and carry them around to use as he/she sees fit. Less experienced Witchdoctors cannot even control whether their potions will be beneficial or harmful, but as they grow in experience they learn how to influence the "raw" spiritual will in bits and pieces. Different components can sometimes attract certain spirits over others and make the results more likely to reflect what the Witchdoctor desires. This is not, however, an exact science and increasing the probability of certain outcomes does not guarantee them.

As for straight blessing and hexing, the Witchdoctor can also influence these outcomes more and more as he grows in experience. Utilizing implements such as voodoo dolls, the witchdoctor might pin-point target location's in someone's body to hex or bless. For instance, a Witchdoctor could use a voodoo doll to bless an Orc's broken arm, which might lessen pain, hasten healing, fix it out right, or do something less useful, like turn the stench of rotting flesh into the smell of daisies (which, incidently, would be about as pleasant to an Orc as the stench of rotting flesh).

Well, for the most part it's up to you to decide how difficult the situation is, but that doesn't mean you are going in blind and making it up as you go. There are a number of factors which make the task more or less difficult, and even then success is not black and white. There is also the question of which spirits are you speaking to? Contacting Immortal Spirits and Elementals is fairly straight forward, where contacting Ancestors has a few extra factors which tie into difficulty:

Elementals:

For the most part, just being closer to the element in question will help you. The less direct a line you have to the element, the more difficult the communication.

Immortal Spirits:

These are most commonly contacting through rituals. The better your ritual, the better your line of communication.

Ancestors:

This is best summarized by A]The ancestor's disposition towards you and B] the "closeness" of their spirit. The former explains itself, the latter is measured by what components you have about you to assist in your communicating with the ancestor: a blood descendant, the burial place of the ancestor, something of great value to the ancestor in life, ect. ect.

In all cases, communication with the spirits is made easier by distancing oneself from their own mind's connection to the physical world and becoming more open and receptive (or "closer") to the spirits. This can be done through concentrated meditation, the use of euphoric drugs (such as smoking cactus green) or a technique invented by the Farseers in which one enters the "Spirit Realm". This essentially means your mind enters a "plane" on which all spirits can traverse and communicate far more easily (including your own). All three of these techniques can even be combined. Indeed, for most their first journey into the spirit realm requires the assistance of cactus green as well as inherently requiring meditation to begin with.

To build a little on some area's where Lex has already made responses

How do you become a shaman? Isn't it a subrace, or at least used to be one?

Shaman has actually been removed as a Subrace in reality. In the past, the "Shaman" subrace was intended to refer to skinny, lankier Orcs that would be more inclined to a magical rather than a martial art. Since, however, this made little sense in respect to the Orcish lore in general, the idea was scrapped very, very early on in aegis, but the subrace option remains simply because it has not been removed. To become a Shaman you need only learn Shamanism, no different than any other magic. It is generally recommended that you learn from a teacher, but you can also self-teach Shamanism if you wish (though it will take you twice as long to learn in this case).

How important to Orc society are shamans, typically? How important should they be?

How difficult is it to become a shaman, in general? What are their duties in the War Uzg?

How steeped in ritual is a shaman's daily life, and magic?

Is it still possible to practice shamanism, without access to magic (as applications are on hold)?

Shaman generally act as spiritual leaders for Orcs, with Shamanism being the closest thing the Orcs have to a religious institution. Shaman, therefore, play a very important role in Orcish events. Farseers will often bless warparties before battles, Lutauman enforce ancestral traditions, Elementalists watch over the lands and Witchdoctors attempt to handle more practical aspects of Orcish lifestyle in a more direct way. Farseers in particular are an important aspect for most Orcs, as the Farseers are generally the most directly visable in their handling of the spirits as they bless Orcs before their all-too-frequent battles, oftentimes making the difference between victory and defeat (or so many Orcish warriors will claim).

Becoming a Shaman is not exceedingly difficult. In certain cases of apprenticeship, some Elder Shaman are more strigent than others. Blawharag, for instance, used to require a series of tests to prove you are worthy of even being trained (though with the recent decline in Shamanism, Blawharag is abandoning this model at the request of the Ancestors). However, even beyond earning an apprenticeship, one CAN still self-teach Shamanism (I am more than willing to act as an OOC overseer, which is the requirement to self-teach, for anyone interested in self-teaching Shamanism). The magic is no more difficult to learn than any other (at least not IC, OOC depends on the individual player of course).

Shamanism has a more heavy reliance on ritual than most other Subtypes. Many of the more advanced and complicated spells require an extensive ritual in order to perform. In Lutauman, for instance, almost every spell which manipulates souls still anchored in the physical realm by bodies requires some advanced ritual or another, as it is a far more difficult process than connecting with souls in the Ancestral Plane. Farseer blessings over war parties are usually less complicated rituals reflecting sermons or war dances, while many Witchdoctor spells can be highly barbaric and ritualistic on a primal level. That is not to say that it dominates every aspect of the Shaman's lifestyle, however. Many spells can be preformed without the presence of rituals, and a Shaman need not wake up every morning and do a voodoo dance around a fire. For the most part, ritualistic practices are reserved for spells and reverence towards the spirits.

Due to the many things that the word "practice" can mean in your statement, I'll try to address them all. Existing Shaman can still practice their magic. Magic Apps are on hold, but magic is still usable. Those who were not accepted prior to the hold can practice the worship parts of Shamanism (you can still revere your Ancestors, as a religious institution). Finally we have the actual learning part of Shamanism. Unfortunately right now with the magic app hold, you cannot begin learning Shamanism as a magic until we re-release the new system. HOWEVER, due to various random and stupid delays, and the critical state that Shamanism is in, I will speak with my peers on the Magic Team about allowing me to start a learning process early, despite not have the new system released. I'll let you know how that boils over.

Alright then, so many to ask...

What type of spirits are there, that a shaman can ask for help?

How can the ones that mess with information work? Is it grabbing OOC info and giving it to a character or?

For elementalists, what spirit elements exist?

How do possetions work, and what are their limits and pros/cons?

Do shamans still have the powerful strength and fighting power as another orc?

There are three catagories of spirits that the Shaman evocate. Elemental Spirits, Immortal Spirits and Ancestral Spirits(or Souls). Without going into extreme detail, Elemental Spirits are spirits which make up the physical world around us, and are channeled by Elementalist Shaman (very closely related to the Aspects channeled by Druids). Ancestral Spirits (as mentioned, sometimes also referred to as Souls, particularly by non-Orcs) are spirits of people and living/once-living creatures and are channeled by Lutauman Shaman. Immortal Spirits are spirits which affect the way we live our lives, and are divided into two catagories, the Greater and the Lesser. The Greater spirits are spirits of Culture and affect grander schemes in the way we live our lives. There is a Spirit of War, Hunt, ect. These most closely reflect our modern day image of Gods, as each one of these Spirits is an actual "Being" that holds its own title. This is important because that means the title can be passed between one-another through various means (near the start of Asulon, the current Spirit of War overthrew the former Spirit of War). The Lesser spirits are spirits which affect people on more personal level, namely by causing shifts in our emotions. For the most part, these spirits are indistinguishable from the usual emotions one feels on a day to day basis, though usually when a spirit is the culprit, the emotions become significant enough to drive one person to alter the course of their actions. For example, an individual who just had their parents killed by an Orc is prone to attracting a spirit of Rage or Vengeance. This spirit will than drive the character's emotions towards acting out or devoting their life towards hunting down Orcs. In both cases, Farseer is the Shaman Subtype responsible for channeling the Immortal Spirits, both Greater and Lesser (generally a Farseer focuses on one or the other).

I am not sure what is meant by "mess with information" but I'll try my best guess. When a Shaman consults the spirits for information, it is literally like asking someone what they know. Lutauman and Farseers will act as our examples today. A Farseer can (and generally does) ask the Immortal spirits (usually the Greater variety) about the future. The spirits will then literally give their best guess, no better than what you or I might guess. The Spirits generally have better guesses than you or I, because they sometimes have access to information we do not, but in the end it is still just a guess. A Lutauman can ask the Ancestors for information, but that is limited two fold, by what the Ancestors know, and whether or not they care enough to tell him. An Orc Ancestor would be more than willing to tell a Lutauman all about the secret entrance to a base, but the Orc Ancestor probably does know about the secret entrance (else it would not be very secret, now would it?). An Elf ancestor might know about the Secret Entrance, but he is not likely to share that information to a Lutauman trying to lead a War Party of Orcs in to slaughter all of his decendants.

Possessions? Like what you might find in a bad horror flick by a demon? Or possessed by a ghost sort of thing? Is there any form of lore anywhere where that is actually ever thought of as having pros? On a more serious note, possession (at least by the spirits) is not generally something which just "happens". Your body is built to anchor one spirit into the Physical realm, that being your soul. Another spirit cannot physically co-exist with your soul, you body is simply incapable of holding them both here. Like trying to pour more water into an already full glass, it just won't work. If your soul were to be removed, then TECHNICALLY another spirit could then be harboured in your body (assuming it was put in before your body died and was then incapable of acting as an anchor) but that is not necessarily possible on a practical level. Depending on mitigating circumstances, for the most part it ends up taking too much Mana energy to preform without being an Aengul or Daemon of some sort. One can, however, channel the influence of a spirit to varying degrees to the point where it very much resembles possession but all of this really kind of depends on which kind of spirit we are talking about, and what you are looking for in your "possession". You need to be more specific about what you are picturing in your head before I can really be able to help you.

Like other casters, Shaman inevitably end up losing their martial prowess in exchange for magical ability. The longer you spend learning Shamanism, the more your martial ability suffers for it. At day's end, it means the Shaman is better off relying on their magic in battle over themselves. There are two "exceptions" to this rule. First being the Farseers. Farseers still suffer from the atrophy that afflicts other casters, but their magic is centered around "buffing" large groups of individuals. These "buffs" are not concentrated blessings (to compensate for the fact that they can bless entire parties) and a blessing of strength may not be a notable benefit for any individual Orc, but for the party as a whole it makes a difference. The Farseer is, however, affected by their own buff and will gain the same amount of strength (however small on the individual level) as the rest of the war party for the duration of the buff. The second exception is a more notable exception, that being Lutauman. Lutauman do not have the ranged casting ability of other magic schools, nor the support ability held by Farseers, Clerics and the like. Here is the in-depth explanation in the spoiler of how they work.

Lutauman work by channeling their ancestors, and in the case of Orcs, their Ancestors are Warriors. What this essentially means is that the Lutauman basically just is a warrior, but of a slightly different variety. For orcish Lutauman, Battle is considered reverence towards the ancestors, but more specifically duels. Duels are considered to be contests in which the Ancestors are showing favor in one side or the other. Lutauman operate by channeling their ancestor's power to improve their fighting skill. What this means is they are able to buff themselves for as long as their mana can hold out. This fighting style heavily favors duels, but is nearly useless in a large-scale battle. In a duel, a Lutauman can buff themselves to become a much stronger fighter, and

should generally defeat their opponent before they run out of energy (unless their opponent is a more experienced and powerful fighter than the Lutauman, for you must remember that even as the Lutauman grows tired, so to does the opponent for having to face an improved opponent). In a large scale battle, being good for the first (and like short) leg of the fight doesn't mean much, and after they tire themselves out the Lutauman is only about half as good as any other warrior of equivilant experience, meaning the longer a battle draws out, the more and more useless a Lutauman becomes. Now, in reality, a Lutauman without magic would be the same sort of fighter as any given orc warrior of equivilant experience, however a Lutauman is not allowed to choose to not use magic, or they lose their magic. Battle is the Orc Lutauman's way of revering his ancestors, and refusing to channel the Ancestors during a serious battle is basically like telling the Ancestors you don't care for them. Since your magic is reliant on the Ancestor's good opinion, that means you just insulted them and took a serious dive where your magical ability is concerned. In a five-tier system of experience in magic (tier one being someone who just learned magic and tier five being a "master" of the craft, like the Motshams) every serious battle you choose not to channel the Ancestors in knocks you back two tiers (the equivilant of needing two months of ICly being taught, or four months of self-teaching to recover what was lost). Note, however, I say serious battle. In the same way that when a Lutauman becomes too tired and ends up having to stop channeling his magic and fight at the ability of a warrior half his experience, a Lutauman will not incur the wrath of the ancestors if they never have to fight at more than half their ability. Meaning they don't need to channel the ancestors whenever they want to swat a fly, or kill a farmer. As far as the Orcish ancestors are concerned, that doesn't even really count as a battle. Any fighting that they wish to do beyond that half-way point must be done with the aid of the ancestors.

Now here is all that translated into mechanics, as that might make it easier to understand: imagine back when we had the skill plug-in. If a warrior of 3 elven months of experience had 50 skill in Swordsmanship, a Lutauman of the same experience would have 25 Swordsmanship, and "melee magic". He could use his "melee magic" spells until he ran out of mana, which should last him about long enough to beat one 50-swords person in a one-on-one fight if he is using all the "melee magic" at his disposal and goes all out. Once he is out of mana though, he is just a 25 swords warrior, and that's pretty damn pathetic and useless.

Lets say  a shaman wanted to talk with the Spirit of Gorkill.Could he do this?And if so how hard would it be?

Yes, technically. To build off of what Lex said, spirits that have been dead for long periods of time slowly begin to grow "distent" from the physical realm, as they have less and less ties to it (their old cave collapses, their tomb becomes lost in a sand dune, their favorite axe is destroyed, their decendants slowly possess less and less of his blood, ect.) They will never become totally unreachable, but spirits like Gorkil are at the point where a powerful Lutauman might be able to ask him some questions, but don't expect any lengthy conversations, and don't expect the answers to always be clear (they may come in the form of vague visions and the like).

When can I continue my training? It has been 6 months.

Contact me and we'll talk about your situation (forum PM would probably be the best place to start)

Orcs are fully grown at 8 years and usually can be considered adults at around 10 years.

You are backwards. They are adults (the age of sexual maturity) at 8 years, and at this time are roughly human sized. They continue to grow until they reach their maximum height later, reasonably 10 years.

Blawharag learns of this plague through word of mouth and laughs silently to himself. "Har, mushhedz. Me blah'd lat nub pizz uff da Kakti. Diz wut lat get fur nub rezpektun dem."

((For the convenience of others, the Kheshig Trials will be adjusted to a different time. Currently I plan to hold the first session on sunday, preferably around mid-day EST. I will have a specific time once I have my schedule for next week.))

EDIT: ((Time on Sunday will be 5pm EST))

Double Edit: ((Time pushed back to 6:30pm EST due to RL interference))

Blawharag meditates silently atop a mountain overlooking the desert which formerly made up the Orcish lands. He had just sent his latest batch of child-rearing candidates off to find the Orcish Warship that would take them to the new lands. He felt pride at the Ancestor's approval of his attempts to return the Whitewash to the ways of the War Uzg, though Blawharag seriously doubted any among them would survive his training.

As he meditated, the Ancestors spoke to him once more of the Kheshig.

Naroflsul Blawharag argued once more, but the Ancestor's would not hear it this time.

Alag latnarblah. Stargush urdanog. Lutauman mardanog.

There was no convincing them, the Ancestors demanded it. Blawharag did not understand why, for the Ancestors knew things he would never know, no matter how much meditation he did. If the Ancestors demanded that he train new Kheshig, it was Blawharag's duty to obey.

Dabu. Tug fukisham. Nar lul gijak-ishi Kheshig-ishi. Blawharag blah fukisham.

To that much, at least, the Ancestors agreed. With that, Blawharag set off to the Warship. There wasn't much time before the trials began and he had much preparation to do. Silently, he wondered whether the Orcs would stand up to the Trials of the Kheshig, or whether they would all come up short. Blawharag was not usually a betting man, but he felt sure that they would all fail. Maybe, if the Ancestors were merciful, at least one wouldn't prove to be entirely useless, though Blawharag doubted it.

As he arrived at the new lands he sent out runners to all the clans. "Kheshig Triulz suun. Send latz bezt." A short and simple message, but the Wargoth's would understand its significance.

"Ledz peep wut da War Uzg haz tu offur..."

((The Kheshig Trials will be held Sunday, 5:00pm EST. Any Orc of the War Uzg may participate, but there is no garauntee anyone will pass. Rules will be strict harsh, to reflect the discipline and resolve required to be a Kheshig.

~Blawharag is the rules. All rules are defined by Blawharag. If Blawharag says the rules say something, the rules say that. It doesn't matter what you read after this point, if Blawharag says something to the contrary, then you read the rules wrong and will suffer for it.

~The first person to "drop out" of any Kheshig Trial is not aloud to come back unless they, at some point, earn the title "Wargoth" or "Rex" (They need not keep the title, only earn it at some point to prove they have overcome their weakness).

~The first day does not end until someone has dropped out.

~"Dropping Out" means either A] ICly giving up, failing a task you were meant to succeed in, acting dishonorably, disobeying an order, or otherwise making Blawharag not like you and kick you out. B] Leaving the Private TS channel where the trials will be held for any reason (exception: if you D/C, not an exception: A friend or someone pulled you out).

~Due to the pace of things, and depending on attendance rates, Blawharag may end up using Teamspeak to distribute IC commands. If this is the case, all participants will be informed at the beginning of the Trials.

~Trials will be held over three sessions. The time and place of the second and third sessions will be shared in the session preceeding.

~Blawharag wins. Blawharag always wins.

Additional rules may be added, subtracted, changed, invalidated or otherwise corrupted on Blawharag's whim. Deal with it.))

MCName:

Brevias

Character Name:

Brevias

Punishment:

Warning

Reason:

A magic inquiry was submitted to Blawharag concerning a player who was RPing as Human in a Lur wolf body. The Player claimed that Shaman Brevias had preformed a ritual to transfer him into the body of a Lur wolf. When asked, Brevias admitted to the action. He was informed that this is the realm of the Lutauman subtype, not the Witchdocter subtype and that such a procedure would require roughly 3 experienced and powerful shaman to preform via an in depth ritual.

Evidence:

http://imgur.com/Qiwub,cBnAt,XJ7ak#2

Three screen shots involving the human turned lur wolf

http://gyazo.com/2ce6cef013e5a46ce384518303170c10

Brevias confirming his part in the ritual.

How you pictured Mogroka was perfect I applaud you on your work.

I know my popo well.

I want to come, but not sure if I'll have fixed my internet by then. We'll see.

I am just going to post the links to the various Shurr'Dru stories (in chronological order) so this post can serve as a Directory of sorts.

Background Information:

The Shurr'Dru (meaning "Sand Dread" in the old orcish language of True Blah) are gigantic, serpentine beasts native to the desert land of Asulon. The acts as guardians of the desert, protecting it from defilers and driving out individuals too weak to settle it. Before the first great exodus from Aegis to Asulon, a group of Orcs tried to settle the deserts of Asulon in the valley that later became Strigzgoi. The Shurr'Dru, Drae'hai, destroyed this civilization before the Orcs even knew what hit them. Years later, the War Uzg moved into the same desert, taking residence in that same valley. Now, the Shurr'Dru renew their attacks against the Orcs, only to find that these Orcs die hard and won't go down without a fight.

The Shurr'Dru Saga, in full:

~Prologue Story Here~

~Chapter 1, Drae'hai Story Here~

~Urara's Demise Story Here~

~Chapter 2, Fugru Story Here~

~Chapter 3, Ghaashblud and Buurztraga Here~

So, this is the final installment of the war between the Shurr'Dru and the Orcs in Asulon. It takes place just before our exodus. I hope you all enjoy it, grammar nazis are appreciated as always.

This chapter is about 21 pages exactly on Microsoft Word, under standard formats. 9,201 words, for a better estimate of length. That makes it, by far, the longest of any of the Shurr'Dru stories. Fugru lengths at 16 pages (6,967 words), Drae'hai numbers 17 pages (7,898 words), the Prologue at 3 pages (1,374 words), and Urara's Demise (written by Urara, with many thanks to her) at 5 pages (2,933 words). That makes the whole Shurr'Dru saga total roughly 60 pages on microsoft word! (Some of the pages listed above were not whole pages, so no my math is not off). More accurately, the saga is 28373 words!

((~Prologue Story Here~

~Chapter 1, Drae'hai Story Here~

~Urara's Demise Story Here~

~Chapter 2, Fugru Story Here~))

~~~

Some question vengeance. "What does it matter if they live or die? Why must you be the one to kill them? Vengeance is a song for fools," these critics complain. "Why pursue something so useless? It will not return what you have lost." For we that seek vengeance, we know the answer. We understand what they cannot hope to. For when you have lost everything, when you sit on the bottom of the world looking up at them that stole it all, only then do you understand. Only then do you realize: vengeance is all you have left. Your only warmth in the cold, dark night. Your only companion to fill the void. Your only solace to stand by you when the nightmares come...

Blawharag held the lock of Lothiriel's hair close to him. He had removed the lock shortly before burning Lothiriel's body, and had blessed it with her spirit. He could feel her wisdom flowing through the hair, though he would not speak to his lost momo. He would not speak to her until he had avenged her death and restored her honor. For now, at least, it was enough to know that her spirit was at peace, and it eased the edge of his anger. He had given a lock of her hair to Gragarn as well, which his brother had attached to his Bonespear. The spear was now a conduit of both Urara’s spirit (from her bones, the spear had been made) and Lothiriel’s. Blawharag intended to attach hair to Gilgamesh as well. That is, when he successfully recovered the weapon.

Gilgamesh had been stolen by a Shurr’Dru. Since that event, the Orcs have been at war with the creatures, and were suffering great losses. Strigzgoi had been attacked, it's farms destroyed. That made the only source of food hunting, and the Shurr’Dru had been careful to impede every hunting party the Orcs sent out. The result was widespread hunger among the Orcish forces. Things were going poorly indeed, but the war was far from over.

Lex had found, through long hours of meditation, a subterranean cave that he believed to be the Shurr'Dru's place of congregation. The Orcs had been preparing a fizt [Orcish term for a task-force]. This fizt was composed of the finest, most elite warriors to go and launch a frontal assault on the Shurr'Dru. If they hit home hard enough, it could turn the tides of this war and put the Shurr'Dru on the defensive. The fizt, unlike the rest of the War Nation, did not want for food. Fugru, the Shurr'Dru who had razed the crops but been too cocky to retreat after his success and died for it. The Orcs had butchered his body for meat. It was tough, tawny meat, but there was sufficient enough of it to keep the fizt well fed while they spent countless days training, preparing, readying themselves for the coming conflict. The Shurr'Dru would die hard, they knew, but these Orcs would never be more ready than they were now.

As Blawharag stood meditating with Loth's hair, Gragarn approached him from behind.

"Brother, they are ready to move out. Popo is giving his blessings now. Are you ready?"

Blawharag gave his brother a curt nod and followed him back to the waiting contingent. It was composed of the fiercest warriors in all the War Uzg. The Kheshig made up a bulk of their ranks, nearly all would be taken to this battle. There were still others though, Craotor'lur, Ned Lud'Gorkil, Pok'Ugluk, Gromgok'Gorkil and many more besides had all come, Wargoths, heroes, veterans all. Each one was worth their weight and contributed in large part.

The fizt was not intended to destroy the Shurr'Dru, but only force them onto the defensive. One decisive victory was all that would be needed to change the tide of this war. By threatening “The Nest” (which is what the Orcs had come to refer to it as) the Shurr’Dru would be force to fight the Orcs or surrender their meeting place.

Mogroka stood at the forefront of these Orcs, channeling the power of the Immortal Spirits, invoking the Spirit of the Hunt for good fortune in finding the Shurr'Dru, and the Spirit of War for strength of arms in the battle to come. Each and every Orc felt the blessings wash over them, but not one was foolish enough to think that blessings alone could win this war.

When ceremony was complete, the Orcs began to file out of Strigzgoi. No war drums would sing them off to war, the Shurr’Dru would hear the drums from anywhere in the desert and be upon them within moments. No, the Orcs needed as much time as possible if they were to make it to the caverns unmolested and at full strength. As Blawharag moved to join them, he was surprised to see Mogroka also marching with the group.

“Popo, you’re too old for marching. You’re going to slow us down and-“ Mogroka cut Blawharag off with a well-aimed headshot from his staff.

“Nope! I’m going. I’ll wrestle one down with just my legs and tear out his skull! And I’ll do the same to you if you try and stop me!”

“Popo I-“ Crack! The staff struck Blawharag’s head once more. “Stop that I-“ This time the staff struck Blaw’s manhood. “Will you-“ Thrice more all about Blawharag’s body. “OK! ALRIGHT! ENOUGH ALREADY! Krug, I’ve dealt with kubbiez less stubborn than you. But when you end up inside some Shurr’Dru belly, don’t come crying to me.”

“HAR! You’ll be the one in the belly. I’ll just be crying from laughing too hard.” Mogroka smiled a toothy grin, smacked Blawharag once more on the head and danced off after the rest of the fizt.

“He is strong, he will be fine.” Gragarn was by his brother’s side, and had apparently witnessed the whole exchange.

“Even still, one crashing tail or snapping jaw and…” Blawharag left the rest unspoken. He had lost too much of late. Gilgamesh, Urara, Lothiriel. He was unable to save any of them, and his failure shamed him.

“He will be fine brother. Pull your head out of your pathetic misery or stay behind. We don’t need you slowing up the fizt.” With that Gragarn turned and stalked away, following the fizt out. His words sparked a fury in Blawharag. Not angry with Gragarn, but rather with himself. He is right, sulking will get me nowhere. Only vengeance can bring me peace.

~~~

The night was young, but even still the sands had cooled and the darkness was impenetrable. There was no moon on this night, no light to speak of. It was a black, cold, cruel night. Gragarn shivered despite himself. He was a veteran Orc, he was no stranger to the cold, nor to darkness. Still, something unnatural hung over them this night. Like a nightmare made real.

Urara’s spirit was in a fury, the Bonespear seemingly twitching of its own accord. Urara could sense the impending battle and was anxious for revenge. Lothiriel’s spirit, strong though it was, was almost undetectable with Urara so wroth. Soon, mate. Soon you will taste vengeance. Gragarn made the promise, but it was hollow. They had marched all day unmolested, and it appeared as though the Shurr’Dru did not care for their hidey-hole. Perhaps Lex was wrong, and it was nothing more than a mere cave? They had less than an hour’s march before they reached the spot, and only that long because of the darkness that slowed them. If the Shurr’Dru cared to stop their advance, it should have happened leagues ago.

A breeze stirred the night air as Gragarn shivered again. Something wasn’t right. Some warriors claim to have foresight, or the ability to smell a battle before it comes. Orcs taught that as mere superstition, that it was experience that allowed one to recognize the makings of a trap without even realizing it. Whatever the truth, Gragarn was suddenly very sure they were walking into a trap. He turned to his borther, who was marching beside him. In the darkness, Gragarn could barely make out Blawharag’s silhouette.

“Brother-“

“I know, I feel it too.”

That was more than enough for Gragarn, he immediately began shouting orders. “Incoming! Weapons out, wake up! SPREAD OUT!” All about him the sands stirred and the Orcs reacted to the sudden change shift in orders. Weapons were drawn and Orcs shuffled into position, ready for the ambush. Everyone was in position and waiting in less than a minute. And so they waited. And waited.

From somewhere in the darkness, Mogroka called out “Har, kub. If you are going to jump at shadows, wait until day time.” Gragarn made to respond, but was cut off when the sand beneath him began rapidly rising to suddenly create a dune before sinking back down. The moving wave of sand passed beneath several other Orcs as well, and the world suddenly became very cold, quiet and still. A particularly brave Orc broke the silence, though Gragarn could not see who it was.

“Do you think it’s gone?”

His answer came when the sand beneath him erupted from the earth. Two massive jaws, visible even in the darkness, closed around the Orc and sand back beneath the sands. A split second later, far away from where the Orc had suffered his demise, another eruption of sand burst forth and this time the Shurr’Dru emerged entirely, letting out a mighty roar that shook the Orcs to their very core. As his thoughts were drowned out by the deafening sound, Gragarn could faintly remember thinking one thing: There’s two of them.

~~~

This is harder than I thought it would be. Mogroka mused, referring to both the hide on the Shurr’Dru, and the difficulty of fighting it. Blawharag and Gragarn got the easy one, we are stuck with one that thinks this is all a game. Indeed it appeared that Mogroka had drawn the short end of the stick here. The Shurr’Dru he, Craotor, and Ned were chasing was elusive and overall a pain in the ass to pursue.

“How is something so big, so hard to find?” Mogroka shouted as they looked aimlessly into the night.

“I could try peeing on it.” Craotor suggested.

“No, save your piss for when we have it in the open. You will need to make every drop count.” Ned announced. Mogroka knew Ned was right, but there were few things he wouldn’t give for some Lur piss, even just a little, right now.

The Orcs here were hesitant to move. Everytime one did, the Shurr’Dru swooped in from nowhere, grabbed the Orc, and submerged moments later. In the distance, they could hear the remainder of the war party fighting the second Shurr’Dru. Roars would be shouted, screams of the dying filled the air, and overall the sound of a battle going poorly was all that was conveyed. But no Orc could move to interfere. One step and the Shurr’Dru was upon you. Even talking seemed to attract it, which is exactly why Mogroka, Craotor and Ned Lud were taking turns speaking, hoping to draw the Shurr’Dru into another attack.

“Here thingy thingy thingy! HEEERREEE thingy thingy thingy!”

“It has a name you know.” Ned asserted.

“Oh really?” Mogroka fired back, “And what exactly is that name?”

Ned Lud was silent for a moment, then he and Craotor picked up the call in unison, “Here thingy thingy thingy!”

Mogroka fidgeted uncomfortably. He was not generally one for waiting, and this Shurr’Dru was making him do exactly that. “Why isn’t he coming for us…” The trio fell silent for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Then Ned Lud began dropping his equipment. Before Mogroka could question Ned’s actions, Ned Lud had dropped everything and began sprinting.

Almost immediately the Shurr’Dru rose to the bait. Hidden striking from the all-encompassing shadows, the Shurr’Dru’s massive head breeched the surface of the sand, jaws gaping wide and ready to close around Ned. Leaping on opportunity, Mogroka raised his staff and cried out a terrible roar. A bolt of Krug’s Wrath lit up the sky and crashed through the air, slamming right into the Shurr’Dru’s gaping mouth. In the split second that filled the air with light, Mogroka was able to see the hide of the Shurr’Dru they face. It was black as the night itself, not the usual sand-tan of other Shurr’Dru but black and terrible. The hide was lined with wicked scars that could only have been self inflicted, for no weapon could hope to breach their hide, especially not on such a massive scale. The Shurr’Dru’s form was twisted and grotesque, even for a monster such as this. In just the split second that it became visible, it inspired a disquieting fear in the onlookers. What deranged creature is this that would maim his own body? Char his own skin black as night? Certainly Orcs practiced similar things, but this was no Orc and a Shurr’Dru would have to be truly dedicated to wreak such devastation upon itself. This one is not sane. Mogroka realized, And that means we are going to have to scrap everything we know about Shurr’Dru if we want to stop it.

The bolt of wrath had not slain the monster like Mogroka would have hoped, but the tremendous foe did reel in pain. It’s hide would have been too thick for the attack to have had much affect (As Brevias had discovered) but breeching the sand with open jaws left his insides exposed to the sky. Sure enough, the bolt of wrath-incarnate had stopped the creature as hoped and given Ned time to escape. Now the Orcs descended upon the Shurr’Dru, anxious to attack the creature before it submerged once more. Mogroka was slow to lumber after them, winded from his attack, but Craotor led the charge.

The Shurr’Dru fought back, lashing out in every direction at once. It’s attacks were chaotic and sporadic, showing no traditional sense or rhythm. Orcs were being crushed left and right. An exceptional warrior could fight a traditional enemy in the dark, as they practiced in knowing where the enemy might logically strike next. An exceptional warrior could fight a chaotic enemy that struck randomly, as they were practiced in reacting to these illogical strikes. But fighting a chaotic enemy you cannot see? Well that was just suicide. Mogroka knew that if they were to have hope at winning, they would need to see. Mogroka stuck his staff into the ground and began chanting, calling upon the Spirit of the Hunt once more, and desperately shaking off his fatigue as he did so.

~~~

Blawharag found himself between a rock and a hard place, perhaps more literally that the phrase usually implied.

When the second Shurr’Dru had emerged, the Kheshig rushed to confront it. In the darkness, it was hard to fight the creature, but not impossible. The Kheshig knew what to expect, Blawharag and Gragarn had made each and every one of them study, with excruciating detail, the past fights with other Shurr’Dru. They received play-by-play reports from every single warrior still alive after the fighting and had carefully noted how the Shurr’Dru reacted in battle. Whenever a hunting party came back, interrupted by another Shurr’Dru attack, the Kheshig sat down and spoke with them in detail to add to their knowledge.

That studying was paying off here and now. The Kheshig were not a numerous force, but they were elite. They had meticulously positioned themselves around the Shurr’Dru, standing where they knew it would be hardest for the Shurr’Dru to strike them, and knowing exactly what to expect from the Shurr’Dru before it even launched its attack. Even still, for all their foresight and preparation, they were still blind, and seeing was always a welcome bonus.

Blawharag had attempted to climb onto the beast back using a grappling hook that every Kheshig carried to this battle. In doing so, however, he had exposed himself to the Shurr’Dru which shifted and was now crushing Blawharag against a very inconveniently placed rock.

“Gragarn!” Blawharag gasped, unable to say more with the weight of the Shurr’Dru pressing down upon him.

Fortunately, the shout alone was enough to cue Gragarn in on his position. His brother rushed to his aid, struggling and finally succeeding at pulling Blawharag out from under the Shurr’Dru.

“Rulg… brother.” Blawharag gasped as he caught his breath.

“This isn’t working, our weapons won’t pierce that hide.” Gragarn was breathless as well, having exerted himself considerably already.

“How are you tired already?” Blawharag questioned.

Gragarn shrugged and the Bonespear of Urara up. “It’s her fault. She’s gone ballistic. I can’t even speak with her! I knew she would be excited to fight the Shurr’Dru, but this is ridiculous. Something is wrong.”

Blawharag reached out and touched the spear, immediately he sensed the Feorc’s horrible rage exploding forth and desperate to be unleashed once more. Blawharag considered this for a moment, and suddenly had an idea. He grinned at Gragarn, who was unable to see his brother in the absolute darkness.

“I have an idea.”

“Well don’t keep me waiting.”

Rather than explain, Blawharag simply drew his grapple and began loosing the rope from the hook. Gragarn was quick to pick up on his brother’s chain of thought. “I don’t see how the spear will make any difference.” Gragarn questioned, but began tying the rope to the butt of the spear nonetheless.

“Urara’s hatred will guide the spear. She wants to sink herself into the monsters head, all we need to is give her a push. Once she is in nice and deep, we can climb right up and finish him.” Blawharag’s plan was as simple as that.

“I still have to be close though. If I can’t see the head, there is no way I can through at the head.”

“We’ll think of something.”

Together the pair charged into the darkness, led by the sound of the Shurr’Dru’s roar and gnash of teeth. A scream filled the air and Blawharag knew another Kheshig had fallen. For all their training, they were still dying. This scream marked perhaps the fourth or fifth death, not much for the Krughai but for the Kheshig, four or five deaths was a substantial loss considering their limited numbers. As they approached the Shurr’Dru’s front, they could make out the shape of the beast’s gigantic head flashing through the air, striking down at the Kheshig below. Blawharag and Gragarn just to the side of the action and prepared to throw the spear. Gragarn hoisted it into position, and was attempting to track the beast’s head when suddenly lightning flashed in the distance. In a brief instant, the air lit up and Gragarn hesitated.

“Brother? Brother what’s wrong?”

“I- I saw something. Just… I don’t know.”

Blawharag could tell his brother had seen something during that flash which had disturbed him, but Blawharag was looking towards the other Kheshig when it happened and had missed it. Carefully the two eyed the Shurr’Dru, waiting to see if the lightning would flash again.

After a few moments had passed, something far greater than a flash of lightning came answered them. Blawharag could feel the Spirit of the Hunt focusing down upon them, his blessings washing over the Orcs. Suddenly, the night was clear. Though the world was still dark, Blawharag no longer found the darkness to be clouding his sight. With his vision returned, he quickly looked to the Shurr’Dru’s head, and gasped in disbelief. Beside him, Gragarn began growling and the Bonespear twitched furiously.

There, lodged deep in the Shurr’Dru’s eye was an axe. No ordinary axe, however, but one Blawharag and Gragarn knew well, even from this distance. It was Urara’s axe, and this was the Shurr’Dru responsible for her demise.

~~~

Ned could see Mogroka was exhausted. The two spells had taken a lot out of the Goj, and he was going to need some time to recover. Ned helped him get a little ways from the fighting, and rest. Fighting was a relative term here, as it still seemed more like a massacre. Mogroka gave them their sight back, but as soon as the Shurr’Dru realized it, it changed tactics. It was now doing… everything. It never stopped moving, constantly swimming through the sands, surfacing to crash through a group of Orcs then slipping below the sand again, only to explode from the depths of some dune, twisting and screaming violently as it flew through the air and slammed back into the sands. It was like trying to deal with a kubby having a temper tantrum. Except this kubby could swallow a house hole.

“This is… the most fun I have had in a while.” The Goj breathed, still winded from his spells. “Give me few minutes and I’ll come finish it off.”

Ned chuckled, “There won’t be anything left in a few minutes, we don’t have time to wait for old geysers to catch up.”

Mogroka laughed too, before reaching up and drawing the axe from his back. It was the legendary axe of Gorkil himself, Gar’thang. Mogroka held out the axe for Ned to take. No words need be said, Ned Lud just took the axe in his one arm, and nodded to Mogroka.

“Don’t wander off now, remember that we have a battle to finish when you feel like getting off your lazy arse and coming to help.”

Mogroka laughed again, then promptly fell asleep, though from age, exhaustion or some combination of the two, Ned Lud did not know.

Without taking more time away from the battle, Ned charged back into the fray with a roar. Gar’thang seemed to hum and echo his battlecry, and Ned Lud could feel the strength of Gorkil himself flowing through the weapon. The problem was, though, that this black Shurr’Dru was unpredictable, maniacal even. Its tactics made little and less sense, and any time Ned thought he found a pattern to the beast’s attacks, something changed and suddenly the Shurr’Dru was swimming upside down, or popping its head up for a moment, shrieking briefly then disappearing again like some gargantuan mole. Being able to see it properly helped greatly, but the Orcs still had no idea how to fight it. For this, Ned went to Craotor.

“Lur! We need a kill. Any ideas?” Ned Lud had no time to speak more than brief sentences. Every time he started speaking, the Shurr’Dru would come from nowhere and slap a wave of sand in his direction, forcing him into action.

“What about the explosives?”

Ned Lud frowned. The explosives have been meant for the cave. They were going to collapse the cave, hoping it was a nest or breeding ground of some sort and would be a serious blow to the Shurr’Dru. They didn’t expect to encounter more than one Shurr’Dru on their way to the cave, and one Shurr’Dru would have been easily taken down by the fizt. With the fizt divided like this though, it was increasingly unlikely that they would win without some sort of advantage. The explosives were their only hope it seemed.

“I’ll distract it, you get them up there.” The last time Ned had distracted a Shurr’Dru, it had cost him an arm. This time he was determined to be stronger than that.

~~~

Blawharag gripped the rope tight and signaled to this brother that he was ready. The bonespear was livid, Urara’s wrath was palpable in the air. When Gragarn let fly, the spear covered the distance between Gragarn and the Shurr’Dru’s head with impossible ease, and struck with an accuracy Gragarn could have never replicated. Blawharag had spoken true when he said that Urara’s spirit would guide the throw.

That was the easy part though; the next part was to be more difficult. The Shurr’Dru bellowed an awful roar, frustrated that such an improbable throw had managed to connect. He turned his ire on Gragarn, who had to devote everything to avoiding the various claw swipes, tail lashes and body slams of the Shurr’Dru. Meanwhile, Blawharag urgently climbed his way up the rope, desperate to get there before the Shurr’Dru managed to finish his brother off. When Blawharag finally reached the Shurr’Dru’s head, he grasped the monstrous snout and began to make his way towards Urara’s axe... until he felt it. The faint pull and familiar whisper Blawharag had long though lost. Voices Blawharag had stopped dreaming he would hear again, but here they spoke once more. Somewhere deep inside the Shurr’Dru, Gilgamesh cried out for vengeance.

Blawharag gave his next action no thought, giving into impulse, when the Shurr’Dru shouted angrily at the Orc grasping its snout, Blawharag lept on opportunity, tied the rope to his waist, and dove into the Shurr’Dru’s mouth. This caught everyone off guard. Outside, Blawharag could hear Gragarn shouting, but the words were lost. Blawharag cleared the Shurr’Dru’s massive, sharp teeth before the monster had a chance to snap them shut and shred the Orc. From there, Blawharag very literally slid down the length of the Shurr’Dru’s body. Soon, Blawharag was squeezed through a few narrow spaces and dropped into a slightly open chamber almost entirely filled with liquid. There was virtually no air here, and Blawharag immediately began to feel the pressures of suffocation. If that wasn’t bad enough, the liquid was slowly burning Blawharag’s skin as he dredged through it, neck deep in the shallowest parts. This creature has blood made from fire, no wonder it was able to take Gilgamesh and slay Urara. Blawharag mused in order to distract himself from the sensation of his flesh slowly burning. Despite the absolute absence of light, Blawharag could still see somewhat in the darkness, thanks to the blessing placed upon him earlier. Still, Gilgamesh was buried somewhere in this pit and Blawharag could not find it. Time was rapidly running out as his lungs began burning. The blade is as much a part of me as my own arm. I’ll die before I leave it behind again. Such was Blawharag’s determination, such as his will that when he reached out in desperation, he found the blade in the palm of his hands. Whether it was dumb luck, or the blade had sought him out, Blawharag did not know. What he did know, however, was that he now desperately needed air and to get out of this awful blood fire.

With Gilgamesh in hand, he heard clearly the voices of so many that had been distant for so long. In a surge of strength, Blawharag lashed out with the blade and sliced open his prison. As he rushed through the opening, along with the liquid, he heard the rumblings of a roar echo from the Shurr’Dru. From somewhere, voices guided Blawharag through the squishy interior of the Shurr’Dru as Blawharag desperately tried to remain conscious despite his lack of air. When the voices commanded him to slice open a large, fleshy pillow, Blawharag obeyed instantly. There inside, Blawharag found a pocket of air and was able to recuperate for a moment, as another roar exploded from the Shurr’Dru. It would have been a simple matter then for Blawharag to escape the Shurr’Dru. A lung full of air was more than enough for him to use the rope still tied around his waist and pull himself up and out of the Shurr’Dru. But Blawharag was not satisfied with escape, he wanted revenge. Blawharag listened carefully, through the roars of the Shurr’Dru. He listened for the distinct beat, the steady metronome that drove all creatures. Soon he heard it, the incessant tha-thumping somewhere up, closer to the head. So Blawharag began his ascent, with murderous intent.

~~~

Ned Lud wondered a great many things. He wondered if this would be his final battle. He wondered if the Shurr’Dru could feel Craotor running the length of its body, headed for the beast’s head. He wondered what was causing the other Shurr’Dru to roar and scream in pain. Above all else, however, Ned wondered what would become of the Orcs if they failed. Would they end up like the Orcs that came before them? Would the War Uzg be wiped from the map, like nothing more than a stain on glass? Would the whitewash be left to call themselves Orcs unchallenged, and the spirits lie forgotten? It was a future that insulted Ned Lud. He would not have it, could not have it. He would not die without a fight, or go quietly to the ancestors. If this Shurr’Dru wanted to bring an end to the Orcs, it would have to start with Ned.

So Gar’thang sung as it swung through the air. With each pass made by the Shurr’Dru, Ned would duck and dive away and answer the attack with a solid blow from Gar’thang. Even with one arm, Ned Lud still held his own against the Shurr’Dru. This was not his first bout with a Shurr’Dru, but if it was to be his last, Ned was going to go in a glorious spectacle of blood and battle. This black Shurr’Dru was chaotic in its attacks, making it hard to predict, but that also meant its attacks were rarely the most efficient of strikes. Once Ned established a rhythm for acting and reacting to the Shurr’Dru, he found the attacks themselves to be simple enough to avoid. The real trick though was keeping the Shurr’Dru above the sands. Once already, the monster had dived to come up from behind Ned Lud a few seconds later. Ned had been able to easily avoid the attack, but the dive had shaken Craotor off its back and forced him to start over.

To solve this, Ned made a habit of lunging for the creature’s head whenever it came within a few feet of the ground. Gar’thang bit deep in its strikes, spurred on by Ned Lud’s fury. The act was enough to dissuade the Shurr’Dru from making a second dive, though if it noticed Craotor running along its length then it would be a trifling matter for the beast to shake him loose. Though, as fate would have it, Ned Lud provided sufficient distraction for Craotor to reach the beast’s head unnoticed. Unslinging the pack of explosives from his back, Craotor fought to maintain his position on the Shurr’Dru’s head as it continued its bout with Ned Lud below.

“Keep it still for a minute, damnit! And get its mouth open while you’re at it! I can’t do all the work damnit!”

Ned grunted in frustration. Craotor may as well as Ned to move a mountain, for he could no more control the Shurr’Dru’s actions than he could the passage of time. If only I had a little more strength, just enough to hurt this damn thing…. Even as Ned found himself wishing for this, he felt a surge in power and adrenaline. It felt as though raw, unstoppable power had just possessed him, like some great giant was now wielding Garthang, not a mere Orc. Ned Lud turned and saw in the distance Mogroka, chanting silently into his staff. You old bastard, and here I thought you were out for the count.

As the Shurr’Dru lowered his head once more to snap at Ned Lud, the one armed Orc leapt out of the way and countered before the Shurr’Dru could retract its head into the air. Swinging with all his might, with power fueled by a Shaman’s blessings and an veteran warrior’s determination, Ned Lud drove Garthang into the Shurr’Dru’s snout. The axe carved a deep gash through the monster’s skin and for the first time, Ned Lud saw his strike draw blood. The blackened Shurr’Dru reared back and let loose an aweful scream, a cry filled with agony and pain. Craotor leapt at this opportunity, tossing the satchel of explosives into the beast’s mouth before jumping down. The Shurr’Dru was still screaming when the explosives went off. In an explosion of fire, pain, and horrific sound, the ancient monster of the desert convulsed and fell to the earth. There it lay, twitching and thrashing for a moment longer before finally it came to rest.

Darkness clouded Ned Lud’s vision. Garthang fell from his hand and the warrior fell to his knees. Exhaustion tied his limbs and held him fast, unyielding to the Orc’s best attempts to move. He was utterly spent, as apparently the Shaman’s blessings had not come without their price. Somewhere at the edge of reality, Craotor was laughing and poking fun at Ned Lud’s fatigue. Ned Lud tried to formulate a comeback, but his mind was mush and all he managed was a groan before passing out.

~~~

Rage gripped Gragarn. A dark, deadly furry stole his senses and burned away his insides. Blood-red haze clouded his vision and a fearsome, terrible roar erupted from his throat, though the Orc was barely conscious of it. This was the Shurr’Dru that had claimed Urara’s life and now, this was the Shurr’Dru that had swallowed his brother whole. Gragarn’s entire existence became one of hatred and enmity, all fixated on this thing before him. Turning to one of the Kheshig, Gragarn threw him to the ground and stole from him his weapon, a large, heavy axe, well made and honed for battle. The quality of the weapon was lost to Gragarn, however. In his rage, Gragarn would have as soon used the other Orc as a weapon, whatever it took to release the loathing trapped inside his heart.

Gragarn charged the Shurr’Dru, letting out another thunderous cry for blood as he drove his axe into the beast’s underbelly. The Orc released a flurry of blows, pouring out his pain and frustration into the beast as he hacked away at the monster’s hide. His ire was enough to attract the attention of the Shurr’Dru who made the mistake of bring his head down to face the Orc. Gragarn immediately adjusted his focus the monster and drove his axe into the monster’s head. Using the buried axe, he pulled himself up onto his enemy’s massive cranium and renewed his vicious assault. Dislodging Urara’s axe, Gragarn alternated between the two weapons, pouring his hatred into every blow.

At first, Gragarn wondered if his effort was wasted. Despite his furious strength, the hide of the Shurr’Dru was still too thick to breach. Then, suddenly, the Shurr’Dru spasmed and let out a cry of pain. In shock, Gragarn paused his attack, unsure of how he had managed to cause so much pain. Then the beast twisted and cried again, seemingly of his own accord. Gragarn did not know how he had done it, but he was not about to let up. He continued to bury his blades into the monster’s head with renewed vigor as the beast recoiled twice more in torment.

Suddenly, as the beast was roaring in pain and frustration, Blawharag hoisted himself from its mouth. Gragarn stared in an awed stupor, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

“Oye! What the nether are you doing!?”

Blawharag looked behind him, as if to check and see if Gragarn was speaking to someone else. When he realized there were no other Orcs fighting atop the Shurr’Dru’s head, he turned and bellowed a response to his brother.

“Me? I was just looking around and found myself a pretty knife!”

Blawharag held up a great sword which was very familiar to Gragarn. It was Gilgamesh, the blade Blawharag had lost many years ago to a Shurr’Dru that was chasing him. By this point, between the resurrection of his brother, the swaying of a dying Shurr’Dru beneath him, and the enormous level of ridiculousness surrounding the situation, Gragarn found he was not quite as angry as he had been a minute prior.

“Quit screwing around! No one gives a **** about your rusty old knife! We have a snake to kill!”

Even as Gragarn spoke, the Shurr’Dru lurched forward, making for a dive into the sands.

“Damnit! See, you wasted too much time. Now he’s going to get away!”

As Gragarn berated his brother, the pair deftly jumped from the Shurr’Dru’s back just before it submerged its head. Rolling in the sand, they coughed and struggled to regain their air. Once recovered, they stood and Blawharag offered his response.

“Don’t worry brother; we know where he’s headed now. He won’t escape us a third time.”

~~~

“What? Why the hell would we do that?” Pok questioned, not willing to charge back into the fray so soon. “Clearly this ‘nest’ is important to them, and I expect to find more besides the one that’s bleeding out. We lost the better part of our fizt already, and we used up most of our explosives taking down the black one. It would be suicide to walk in there now!”

Ned Lud nodded in agreement with Pok. It sounds like cowardice, but he is right. If there is even one more Shurr’Dru waiting, it would spell the end of us all. We need to regroup before we could ever hope to face that nest. Besides, we showed them the extent of our strength today, they fear us now and for the first time they have fled the battlefield. We have already won a great victory, pursuing the dying one will only serve to stoke these brother’s taste for vengeance.

“I agree with Ugluk. You two and your Kheshig have killed your quarry. If what you say is true, Blawharag, and you did indeed stab his heart, then he will bleed out soon enough. There is no reason to pursue, you have your vengeance.”

Gragarn spat in disgust and snorted defiantly at Ned Lud, “Do not speak to me of vengeance. I don’t want to sleep knowing that pig bled out. I am not satisfied knowing he died on his terms. I want to tear his heart out. I want to rend open his skull and piss in his brain. I want to be there as he dies and let him see my face that he may know whom he challenged and lost too. It is as with the Necromancer that put an end to the Shadowclan many years ago. This is a matter of pride and honor, and merely defeating my foe will not sate me. Only an absolute reckoning can restore what was lost.”

Gragarn’s words held a certain sting to them, a vicious sneer that reflected his inner anger. Ned Lud turned to Blawharag for help, but Blawharag was as resolute as his brother. They both were determined to claim their vengeance first hand, and they would go with or without the fizt.

“Gromgok, Pok, take the fizt back. Craotor, Ned and I will go with them.” Mogroka’s words came surprisingly, as he had spent the entire debate silent. Pok opened his mouth to speak, but Mogroka cut him off, “If my sons want to do something stupid, rash, completely unnecessary and absolutely ridiculous, you can be damn sure I am going to be there to share in the fun. Besides, they have already shown they don’t know how to properly kill a Shurr’Dru, they need us to come along and make sure it gets done right.”

Gromgok protested, “Why do I have to go back? You’ll want my help when you’re surrounded by the damn things.”

Mogroka shook his head. “No, when we die the War Uzg will need a strong generation to keep it strong. You must return, for when we do not.”

A silence washed over what remained of the fizt. It was a matter of honor. Not practicality, not what was technically best for the War Uzg. Honor and pride. Blood and vengeance. It was about showing the world that the Orcs did not back down, did not relent, did not forgive and spared no mercy. It was about victory, absolute and unshakeable victory. It was about winning a victory that would resound in the minds of the Shurr’Dru and say with a fearsome tone, “We are the Orcs. We are strong, and if you test us we will break you.” They all understood now.

With a few brief farewells, the two groups parted ways. In silence, Ned walked alongside his companions. It was still dark out, though dawn threatened to break just over the horizon. By the time they covered the remaining distance to the nest, dawn had peaked over the horizon and light was starting to return to the desert. The companions took no note of this, though. Their destination was one buried deep within the sands, where no light of dawn would reach them. A hole marked the entrance to the nest. One some 15 meters wide going straight down into the earth. As Gragarn helped Craotor drop a length of rope into the hole, Ned looked up to find Blawharag tying a lock of long, red hair to the hilt of Gilgamesh, muttering a prayer as he did so.

“What are you doing?”

“This hair belonged to Lothiriel. It is enchanted with her spirit, and now I have forever fused it with Gilgamesh, just as Gragarn has fused a lock to the Bonespear, and Mogroka a lock to his staff.”

Ned Lud looked to where Mogroka was chanting, renewing the blessings from the Hunt Spirit that would allow them to see in darkness. Indeed, there appeared to be a similar lock of red hair tied to his staff.

By then Gragarn and Craotor had secured the rope and began to repel into the darkness. Blawharag followed, and Mogroka behind him. Ned Lud took one extra moment at the top, enjoying the fresh desert air as a warm wind blew in from the east. Dawn had stretched its arms across the desert, but Ned Lud doubted he would ever come to enjoy the day. After a brief pause, he gave a silent farewell to the overworld, savoring the memory of a blistering-hot desert day fighting in the arena.

“I would give both my legs alongside the arm I’ve already lost, just for a chance to have day in the arena again.”

Sighing, Ned shrugged off his petty dream and repelled into his tomb.

~~~

Blawharag did not count how many Shurr’Dru stalked the tunnels surrounding them. There were more than four, but less than ten Blawharag suspected. It did not matter. This Orc had eyes only for the one in the center of the cave. The climb had put them right in the center of the nest. A massive stone cavern, with its walls honeycombed by tunnels. Shurr’Dru lied in wait around the tunnels leading into the cavern, but none made a move. There in the center, with blood dripping from its mouth and the Bonespear protruding from its snout, waited their quarry. It watched them, knowing full well why they had come. The Shurr’Dru were intelligent beasts, every bit as smart and sentient as the Orcs. No doubt this Shurr’Dru had come to warn the others that the Orcish fizt was coming. Therefore when only five Orcs descended into the cavern, it no doubt came as a surprise to them all.

The Shurr’Dru looked on in wonder as the five Orcs fixed their gaze on their wounded quarry. It must have been a curious sight, to see five lone, small Orcs, weapons drawn, facing down a monster such as this. These five Orcs, surrounded on all sides by enemies far more powerful than they, showed no fear, only an absolute dedication to a single cause. They were here to finish what they started. The Shurr’Dru was dying. There was no hiding that. Yet even still, it showed a readiness to fight. In the calm that preceded their inevitable battle, Blawharag meditated and reached out to their foe’s soul, probing to understand its thoughts.

“He… is happy. Happy that we’ve come. He respects us, respects the strength we have shown on the battlefield and… he respects that we have come to give him an honorable death, rather than letting him bleed out like some lesser beast. The others will not interfere. He wants this battle to be between us. He will give us our honor klomp. He is the warrior, Ghaashblud. We slew his brother, Buurztraga, in the night. His friend, Fugru, in the Goi. We slew his mentor, Drae’hai, at the start of this war. The Shurr’Dru have dedicated themselves to protecting the desert from defilers and slaying any weaklings who presume to make a living here. We, however, have proven our strength.”

Gragarn grunted as his brother spoke. “Then it is done. Only one thing remains.” Gragarn drew Urara’s axe from his back, “Let us have our vengeance, I am sick of this nonsense.”

Blawharag found himself agreeing with Gragarn. Even wounded, the Shurr’Dru would prove to be a terrible foe. No matter the outcome, the battle would be glorious and any vengeance claimed would be well earned today. Drawing Gilgamesh from its scabbard, Blawharag heard Craotor and Ned do the same. Behind him Mogroka was chanting once more, invoking the blessings of the spirits. Blawharag let loose a War Cry echoed across the Cavern and charged forward to meet their foe.

~~~

The first five minutes of the battle had not gone so well. Blawharag had charged only to be smacked across the cavern floor by a flash of the Shurr’Dru’s tail. The rest of the Orcs were more successful, in that they were able to engage the beast from various sides. Despite this, however, Gragarn was noting little progress. Obviously, their attacks against the Shurr’Dru’s main body were really just a stalling tactic, something to distract the Shurr’Dru while they figured out a way to actually kill him. It was a race against time, however, and Ghaashblud was winning. Despite Mogroka’s constant chanting, the Orcs were growing steadily more and more fatigued. Blawharag had recovered from his initial hit and was making his way across the cavern, but the Orcs need to reach the monster’s head. They were too few to sneak someone up, like they had with Buurztraga, they lacked siege weapons and there was no more rope to be used. There was, of course, the Bonespear, which still had a length of rope attached from Blawharag’s adventure. Ghaashblud appeared to be aware of this, however, and was unwilling to lower his head enough that Gragarn could reach it.

As Blawharag charged across the cavern, Gragarn turned and shouted, “Brother! We need to get his head low!”

Blawharag spent a moment looking at Ghaashblud’s head, and then understood. He changed course and went to Mogroka, who looked exhausted from his chanting. He said something which Gragarn could not hear, and Mogroka nodded. Together, the pair went and ran to the far side of the hole which marked the entrance to the nest.

“Bring him this way; we’ll get his head low.”

Gragarn did not know what their plan was. A rope dangled from where they entered, but there was no chance in the nether anyone would be able to scale that rope, transfer to the other rope, and then make their way onto the Shurr’Dru’s head before the Shurr’Dru simply knocked them down or bit them in half. Nevertheless, Gragarn trusted his brother and father and with Ned and Craotor’s aid, began to lead the Shurr’Dru towards the waiting shaman.

Ghaashblud showed no fear, diving after his opponents eagerly, not dreaming there was a way they could reach him. Gragarn had seen overconfidence kill more than one Shurr’Dru, and it would appear that over-confidence was going to strike again. Gragarn reached the shaman first as Ned Lud and Craotor continued to lead Ghaashblud closer.

“What’s your plan?”

“Get ready to grab that rope, we’ll get his head nice and low for you.” Mogroka said with a wicked smile.

At this moment, Ghaashblud realized something was amiss and immediately barreled past Ned and Craotor, his new target the waiting shaman. As the massive Shurr’Dru charged, Blawharag marched forward, anger flashing across his face.

“This is for Gilgamesh, SKAHUR!” Blawharag raise Gilgamesh to the air, and the blade glowed and angry, menacing red. Just as Ghaashblud was upon him, Blawharag slammed his blade into the earth and a mightly boom sounded. A bolt of lightning, manifestation of Krug’s own wrath, crack down into the cavern, entering through the same opening as the Orcs. The bolt struck Ghaashblud square in the head, forcing his head towards the earth- but not by enough. The rope was still out of Gragarn’s reach.

Before Ghaashblud could recover though, Mogroka cried out,

“This is for Strigzgoi and the War Uzg!”

Outstretching his staff, Mogroka summoned another bolt of wrath, scoring another hit on the monstrous head of the Shurr’Dru and forcing him even further towards the ground. This time, he was close enough for Gragarn to reach the rope. Without hesitation, Gragarn leapt up and grabbed the rope, just as Ghaashblud whipped up his head. Gragarn was thrown into the air at a colossal speed, flying straight past Ghaashblud’s head before he could grab on to anything. As he fell back down, he expected to catch Ghaashblud’s snout. Ghaashblud’s snout, however, caught him.

With one quick motion, Ghaashblud snapped at Gragarn, catching his legs as he fell. Long, sharp teeth dug into Gragarn’s thighs, halfway between knee and waist. Gragarn cried out as much in frustration as in pain. He was so close, so very close to vengeance, he was not about to let it all slip. Weary from wounds, the Shurr’Dru swayed, stunned by the loss of blood, the two successive lightning bolts, and the exertion of focusing through all this pain in order to catch Gragarn mid-air. Taking advantage of this lull, Gragarn reached out and grabbed the Bonespear where it rested.

Immediately he felt Urara’s spirit once more. All of her anguish, her rage and her hatred washed over Gragarn. The two were both going through the same hardships, and knowing this lent new strength to Gragarn. In a cry of pure wrath and defiance, Gragarn roared as if to testify that he would not accept defeat. Using the Bonespear, Gragarn pulled against the teeth which held him prisoner. Bones cracked and shattered, flesh and sinew tore and eventually the Orc pulled himself free of the Shurr’Dru’s grasp. The act came with its price, however, and where Gragarn’s body pulled free, his legs stayed behind.

Driven purely by rage and determination, Gragarn displayed an act of pure unshakeable will and soldiered on. Wrenching the Bonespear free of its lodging place and gripping it with his mouth, Gragarn crawled up the Shurr’Dru’s head as it was coming to its senses. He reached the eye where Urara had buried her axe and proceeded to use the Bonespear as a lever and dislodge the remnants. Just as Ghaashblud began attempting to throw Gragarn off, the legless Orc crawled into the empty socket and thrust the spear as deep as he could.

“And this is for Urara, and all the other Orcs that died to you!”

~~~

A blinding flash of blue light blazed in Blawharag’s eyes. He squinted to make sense of what he was seeing. It was if the Spirit of Urara herself had emerged from the spear as Gragarn thrust it. The apparition burst forth and, wielding a mighty spear herself, stabbed it into the monster’s skull, right into the eye socket Gragarn was in. The Shurr’Dru convulsed, roared, and came crashing to the ground with a thunderous clamor.

Dust clouded the room as Blawharag ran forward to find his brother. When he found the Shurr’Dru’s head, he climbed up onto the beast and went to the eye socket. There a legless Gragarn lay passed out, his spear still held loosely in his grasp. The Bonespear had found the Shurr’Dru’s brain, severing its connection to the body. With the injury Gragarn sustained, Blawharag doubted he could have made such a skilled thrust on his own. Touching the spear briefly, Blawharag uttered a silent thanks and appraisal to Urara. Mogroka, Ned and Craotor were right behind him. Ned and Craotor began tending to Gragarn as the shaman pair, absolutely spent from their efforts, looks to the tunnels around them. The Shurr’Dru watched silently. Some had left, others remained. Only one left its tunnel to deposit four eggs before the Orcs and slink away.

“They want us to take the Eggs.” Blawharag explained. “They know of your prophesy, Popo. They know our time in this desert is coming to an end. When we migrate to our new land, they want us to bring the eggs. The new desert should be protected from defilers even as this one is, and they want their children to take up that role.”

Mogroka considered this, “Maybe we could raise them for the War Uzg?”

Blawharag shook his head. “They are not Orcs, Popo. They will not fight for us. Their only role will be to protect the new desert.”

Mogroka grunted his disappointment. “Well, they sure as the nether better not try to test us again. Next time I won’t be so merciful.”

“I think he is going to make it, we should get him back to Strigzgoi quickly though.” Craotor announced as he pissed on the stubs where Gragarn’s legs had been. Together, the Orcs used the length of rope attached to the Bonespead to fashion a harness. Craotor, the least physically exhausted Orc with two good arms, carried Gragarn to the top as Blawharag, Mogroka and Ned Lud followed behind him. Outside, the day had found the desert and the air was already beginning to heat up.

“We’ve found a glorious end to a great war today.” Blawharag mused as they began their journey.

“Too bad, I was just starting to have fun.” Mogroka gave his son a wicked grin before cracking him on the head with his staff.

~~~

Blawharag kept the eggs close and hidden as he and his brother boarded the boat. Gragarn was strapped to Blawharag’s back, carrying the Bonespear close even as Blawharag coveted Gilgamesh.

“There is a long journey ahead of us, brother. Let’s spend the time practicing.”

Blawharag grunted, “Practicing? For what?”

“The Kheshig are too few now, and we will need to rebuild them. I’ll have to be able to hold my own if I am going to be a Warboss in the Kheshig Trials to come.”

Blawharag stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Aye. Won’t that be a sight? All the potential initiates laughing at the legless warboss, only to get their arses kicked and get sent home licking their wounds.”

Blawharag chuckled at the thought as Gragarn grinned. “They won’t know what hit them.”

~~~

And so we conclude the war between Shurr’Dru and Orc. Let the acts of Valor carried by the Orcs named within these tales serve as inspiration to future generations. Let every Orc to come know the greatness of their heritage, and strive to be as strong and honorable as their Ancestors.

The End.

My first few days playing an Orc consisted of Mog asking me to escort him around various places. Within a two day time span we had pissed off Oren, nearly started a war with the Dwarves, and Blawharag had challenged an errant Orc to a duel (Which he won, subsequently getting him inducted into the Kheshig). That is the sort of RP that I immediately fell in love with, and what should be fostered. Honorable roleplay that is centered around combat. Rolling around in War Parties and inciting fights without breaching a code of honor. There is too much focus on stupid stuff, and way too many Orcs trolling about. Switch focus to more serious roleplay, with more disciplined war parties, and you will note a significant increase in the quality of roleplay.

Filling out as a current player, as I intend to be logging in and playing again throughout Winter Break

MCName:
ttwesten

Character Name:
Evark

Revoke/Ban Period (Striked lines indicate a completed field):
~2 weeks, as of December 6th, 2012
~Must submit a report detailing a proper reformed RP that is acceptable

Reason:
A powergaming report was submitted against ttwesten by Viscen (forum account name) on December 3rd, 2012 to Blawharag. After review from three team members (DsDevil, Gragarn and Blawharag) it was determined that the above penalty was sufficient for first offense powergaming (using the Void to detect all individuals around him).

Evidence:
http://imgur.com/a/nL4B2
Five screenshots showing RP in which Evark (ttwesten), accepted for Fire Evocation, uses Void magic to "sense" all individuals around him.

Users with Revoked or Banned magic applications, or have other penalties associated with their magic app will be posted here with appropriate details. This thread will be hidden from public eye.

This is the second thread, the first disappeared and needs to be tracked down for record purposes.

The "Shadowclan" branch of Gorkil is pure in Orcish blood. They broke off from Orcish society to seclude themselves in the Distant Desert early in Aegis history lore wise, only to return much later after being all but wiped out. I believe there are many "Pure Orc" characters, and I fail to see how being 100% orc blood is powergamey. It does not afford you any special powers.

Evocationists can only use the 4 primary elements, electricity (or storm) is a secondary element, evocationists can't use it.

I don't know who told you this, but they lied to you. Evocation is the art of summoning non-living things from the void, most commonly elements with the intent of combat. Traditionally, one of the four classic elements is chosen as a realm of study, but technically this is not a rule.

By that hand, the MAT has been slow to review this admittedly, due to some ongoing debates within the team concerning various lores and lore suggestions, however I recently introduced a new way for the team to view and review lore suggestions that should allow us to conclude many pending reviews in a more time-progressive manner. The new system is less than a week old, so I do not know how well it will work yet, but it seems to be doing well so far as much more discussion on this and other lores has already taken place.