BigManTing

Out-Of-Character Information What’s the name of the Minecraft account you're applying for?: Lightty What's your MAIN Minecraft Account name?: BigManTing Do you agree to follow the rules on your new account?: yes Do you understand you cannot be on both of these accounts at once? This will result in a ban if you are caught!: yes Do you understand that if one account is banned, so will be the other(s)?: yes How long have you been on LotC?: on and off since 2012 How many accounts do you currently have whitelisted (including main)?: 1

The front cover of this newly bound leather book features a crudely drawn red olog. The first page reads: "Fur Kud, bruddah ub Wud. Mey ahl dah kubz ub dah Uzg gruk deze dub Ohlog bruddahz, ahn gruk wub dey duz fur dah uzg." Ahnonymouz The Little Olog that Kud Ug Ug Ug. Puff puff puff. Kud stomped along the sands. He was a happy little olog. His shoulders were full of good things for little orcish brothers and sisters. There were all kinds of resources. ferrum swords, ferrum axes, and even a ferrum lance. There were all kinds of goblins. Goblins with blue eyes and yellow hair, goblins with brown eyes and brown hair, and the funniest squeal you ever saw. There were horses, donkeys, wolves, and boats. There was cactus green, more cactus green, and even some cactus green! The little olog carried every kind of thing that brothers or sisters could want. But that was not all. The little olog carried good things to eat, too. Big, round shara’s…fat, red-faced dwarves…long, yellow kha’s…mouldy, rotten bread…and elves to eat after dinner. The little olog was taking all these good things to the other side of the mountain. “How happy the brothers and sisters will be to see me!” "*** DIZ" said the little olog that Kud. “TuU muCZH WuRK” But all at once the olog came to a stop. He did not move at all. “***,” said the little olog. “mI ***in lEGz” He tried to walk again. He tried and tried. But his legs just would not move. “We can help,” said the goblins. The squeal and the goblins climbed off the little olog’s shoulders. They tried to push the little olog. But he did not move. The goblins did not know what to do. Just then another olog came puffing down another path. “Maybe that olog can help us!” cried the squeal. He began to wave a red flag. The olog called Mud slowed down. The goblins and toys called out to him. “Our olog is retarded,” they said. “Please pull our olog over the mountain. If you do not, the brothers and sisters will not have any gobos or hozh food.” Mud was a bit friendly. “yU wUN mI PuLl?” he asked. “That is not what I do. I carry people. They sit in cars with soft seats. They look out the windows. They eat in a nice dining car. They even sleep in a fine sleeping car. “I pull the likes of you? I should say not!” “ZkaH oF ****.” Off went Mud without another word. How sad all the goblins and the squeal felt! Then the squeal called out, “Here comes another olog. A big, strong one. Maybe this olog will help us.” Again the squeal waved his flag. Wud came to a stop. The goblins and the squeal called out together, “Please help us, Big Strong Wud. Our Olog is retarded. But you can pull us over the mountain. You must help us. Or the brothers and sisters will not have any gobos to bully or hozh grub to eat.” But Wud did not want to help. “KuD iZ puZZi biCh. ZhIT CuUK” And away puffed Wud without another word. By this time the little olog Kud was no longer happy. And the goblins and the squeal were ready to cry. But the squeal called out, “Look! Look! Another olog is coming. A little blue olog. A very little one. Maybe this olog will help us.” The Little Blue Olog was a happy olog. He saw the squeal waving his red flag and stopped at once. “WAh dH *** U wUNT?” he asked in a kind way. “Oh, Little Blue Olog,” cried the goblins and the squeal. “Will you pull is over the mountain? Our olog is retarded. If you do not help, the brothers and sisters will have no goblins to beat or hozh food. “Just over the mountain. “Please, please help us.” “oH,” said the Little Blue Olog. “*** nO.” “But we must get there before the brothers and sisters wake up,” said the squeal and the goblins. “Please?” The Little Blue Olog looked at the goblins and toys. He could see that they were not happy. He thought about his orc brothers on the other side of the mountain. Without goblins to beat up or hozh food, they would not be happy either. This was all said out loud to the goblins and the squeal, in the form of a flat, dribbling moan. The Little Blue Olog pulled up close. He took hold of Kud. The squeal and goblins climbed back onto Kud's shoulders. At last the Little Blue Olog said, “I think I can climb up the mountain. I think I can. I think I can.” “*** muNTEn. I KAN, I kAN, I kaN.” Then the Little Blue Olog began to pull. He tugged and he pulled. He pulled and he tugged. Ug ug, nub nub went the little olog. “kUD lAT duM ****,” he said. Slowly, slowly, Kud started to move. The goblins and the halfling began to smile and clap. Ug ug, chug chug. Up the mountain went the Little Blue Olog. And all the time he kept saying, “I tInK I KAN, I tInK I KaN, I tInK I KAn …” Up, up, up. The little olog climbed and climbed. At last he reached the top of the mountain. Down below lay the goi. “Hurray! Hurray!” cried the goblins and the halfling squeal. “The brothers and sisters will be so happy,” said the squeal. “All because you helped us, Little Blue Olog.” The Little Blue Olog just dribbled. But as he puffed down the mountain, the Little Blue Olog seemed to say…”*** KuD, *** KuD, **** KUD.”

the dankest of brazilians

Good read. Very well done indeed.

Orcs. No other race rubs me the right way, I like the look of them, the desert setting in LOTC, the culture, architecture, combat, speech etc etc the list goes on. Great bunch of guys who play them too. Always down to have a laugh. I also feel like each individual has the potential to set new direction for the whole orc community, where other races are kinda locked in. I want to see Trolls, not big fat things, but closer to wow orcs, Jamaican accent, spears, african tribal inspirations with heavier focus on witch-doctors, juju and the like. A variant of orcs that doesn't get ridiculed for being too small and puny (like goblins) or mentally retarded like the ologs. Something equally respectable, and just as fun to play.

In the aftermath of the battle, Brugash'Gorkil stands at the forefront of the gates among his brethren. Blood paints the floor as his fellow kin behead the enemies to claim as trophies. His loincloths remain damp, a crude mix of sweat and pond-water, for he was the lonely fisherman and the initial target for the beasts. After the commotion of the ordeal died down, he approached the Rex, hoping he had a quick moment to spare from his tight schedule: "Rehx, dem olog der pozezz dah ztrengt tu wich da lyke mi nevur peep, culd dah zhamenz perhupz tri tu gruk dah orygin ub diz ztrengt? Ihf erry uruk wuz dah ztronk... dah pozzibylitez..."

A newly bound tome sits on the shelf of the orcish library in Gund'kothz titled "Brugash'Gorkil of the Ash I". It is written in blah. Brugash’Gorkil. Born Brugash the Klanlezz to two War Uzg orcs. At a young age, Brugash’s parents were slain whilst away on a raiding party. The family kept to themselves mostly. They met quotas, did their military duties and farmed in an obscure part of the desert. When they didn’t return, Brugash was left to fend for himself. Being so young, Brugash didn’t even know how to talk the blah fluently. Growing up without the warmth of his kin, a lot of the social skills that come with the unusual orcish culture were unknown to Brugash until his adult years. His childhood was spent maintaining the tiny farm his parents built, fishing in the river and exploring. He knew of the War Nation and that one day the time would come where he would feel ready to make the long journey and join the finest warriors of Vailor, but until then, he would spend his days stockpiling food for the winters and hunting the most dangerous beasts that prowled the dunes of the Uzg. Brugash left his farmlands with nothing but a water gourd and an estimated amount of food sufficient to make it to the walls of Gund’kothz with his heart still beating. His tusks were starting to protrude from his mouth. He was eighteen years old. He was strong. He had potential. The journey was harsh. His feet were cut and sore from walking, his back aching from the load of his inventory, his throat burned for hours every time he ran out of water. He was caught in sandstorms and blistering cold nights. He would extract the water from cacti that were few and far between in the dunes some days to keep going. The journey felt like ages. Despite all of this, somehow Brugash felt like the pain would be worthwhile. He made it. He stood at the walls of Gund’kothz in a daze. There was a lighter smell in the air, a cool breeze from the river nearby. This Goi was at the border of the desert, where a river separated it from the main landmass. He had finally arrived at his new home. The moment he crossed the gates, there was a huge explosion. The volcano in the middle of the desert had erupted. The ash and smoke pluming from the summit covered the world in darkness. Maybe just a coincidence, but perhaps this is some sort of omen. It is not known. A few days later, a whitewash orc had the nerve to enter the city, and was confronted by the locals. Brugash was present. It was at this time he was learning more and more about his culture and the importance of honour and loyalty. Wargoth Duruh’Gorkil gave the kill order. A battleaxe was chucked to Brugash and the group mauled the whitewash. First a stab to the chest by one, leg stabs by two… axe in the skull by Brugash. It was his first kill, and a brutal one at that. Blood painted the sand of The Hub. Brugash thought to impress his kin by mimicking what his father used to perform on his prey. He grabbed the traitor orc by the hair, rested it on his thigh, and ripped at its neck with the head of the axe. Brugash was showered in blood as he mutilated and defiled the corpse. He enjoyed it. He took the head and offered it to the Wargoth. He had made his decision “Wurgothz, mi wun ta juyn dah Gorkilz. Ihd wud bi mi hunur. Mi giv lat diz kyll.” She accepted. Later that night, Brugash swore by the spirits and his ancestors to live by their ways. It was marked by blood, the seal of the Gorkils branded on his chest: a torturous procedure. He was a newcomer, but already addicted to the idea of loyalty and honour, living as a true uruk in perfection. He chose the chest so that all would see his lifelong commitment to the clan. He felt fulfilled. He lived the rest of the “Year of Darkness” as any orc would when in peacetime. Gathering resources for the Iron Uzg. Brugash’Gorkil of the Ash. His story is just beginning.

MC Name: Polouk1 RP Name: Brugash (Brugash'Gorkil if accepted) Teamspeak (Y/N): Y Mic (Y/N): Y Skype (PM it if you want): pm

Banned for the ugliest avatar I have ever seen

Changed my avatar back to original, so posting again :) 8/10 for badassery.

A letter from Boidoc Firimar lies on your desk

I donated ages ago, but went inactive shortly after. I received my VIP in game so it was fine, but I never did get the forum tag. Could somebody set it up for me? I don't believe I have the proof of purchase per se, but I have VIP In game. I can show it to somebody if they require that as proof. Minecraft name: Polouk1 Character name (just in case you need that too) Boidoc Firimar Thanks in advance.

Seen this gif so many times before, I always get confused as to why he walks in a circle. 7/10, buddy.