_Grim1_

Application for joining Clan Raguk MC Name: _Grim1_RP Name: Dratozh (pronun Drah-tosh with a sound like oz)Teamspeak (Y/N): Looking into getting Teamspeak, but currently No.Mic (Y/N): Can do Mic. Nervous/shy as hell but For The Horde and all that. Yes.Skype (PM it if you want): theangriesttreeofall

Kargul finally receives the note, a runner searching over hill and dale for the elusive hunter. "Delt wif akk...ack...ack-kord-din-lee?" A bloody and scarred hand crumples the note, and Kargul is surprised at just how hoarse his voice sounds after so long away from civilisation. "Ib id aind Thurak hoo idz sendin da lettah...an id kand bi coz id blahz hym naym..." He growls, scattering a small flock of nearby birds--birds that reminded him painfully of his lost hawk. "Idz gun tuu far. Azhzt Gronkk, nuw diz...urukz aind wub wi yoozd tu bi. Flattin eej ovah, flattin juzt coz peepul aind urukz agh nub becoz idz fun..." He coughs, his lungs run ragged by the branch that had pierced his lung--for the second time in his life--during a recent fall. The old leg wound, by the one boar that got away, had opened up again. And for the absolute first time in his life, Kargul sees his body failing him. But there is time. Time for one last glorious klomp, for the good of the orcs. "Azhzt mi gutta fynd Thurak. Den...den mi kan gruk wub tu du."

Kargul leans against the post, having returned to the desert some weeks ago, listening to Thore and Thurak argue. Confused, he opens the letter and glances over it, before crushing it into a ball and hurling it to the ground. "Da Larfin Skuwl aind liyk diz azh bit." he growls angrily, stalking away into the shadows. He'd heard of the Ugluks, and he didn't like what he'd heard. Growling, he sketches a ragged skull in the sand as he walks, venturing in no particular direction and moving as fast as he pleases. "Puur Bradukz."

As far as things go, we'll find some way to keep Hunter 'alive'. One imagines enchanted weaponry could work wonders on undead, Hunter might want to look into that. Hmm. Oh lordy, Hunter could get cleric magic. That'd be hilarious. Also probably impossible. Hmm. I can't think of anything off the top of my head. I'll ask around. - _Grim1_

Sand, warm under his feet. The air, hot and dry. The sky, not a cloud to be seen. "Hoem fiilz hozh." Kargul grunted. He looked around, seeing the familiar sandstone arch strung with red and black banners above him. Further in the distance, San'Orka reared up like a great bull, looking down on him. The holy city. Kargul trudged forwards, the harsh light of the sun near to boiling his brain in his skull where it lay exposed to the open air, the left side of his face a scarred, hideous ruin. He'd learned a little elvish over the years, learned how to control his rage some. Home would be a challenge. "Huu da skah am lat?" someone greets him at the gate. They look him up and down. No clan markings, no tattoos to show him as a clanbound orc. They grin. "Hur hur. Wytwazh aind lat?" then a growl, an unsheathed weapon. Kargul moves quicker than lightning can flash, the hand holding the weapon is twisted and snapped as his other, his right, goes to his belt, drawing his first sword. "Wub lat blah mi? Beddah nub hab biin wytwazh. Ib id wuz lat idz gunna lern a lezzun lat aind nubgrukkin." he growls. Predictably, the other orc howls with rage and lashes out. A short, intense struggle breaks out. Kargul ends it by thumping the other orc in the back of the head with the flat of his sword and knocking him to the ground. "Skah uff, git. Mi am Agrak. Lat dayah cawl mi wytwazh, da nerv ob cubz deze dais." Kargul walks off into the desert, looking for the Gorkil fort. He hadn't been home in a long time. - _Grim1_

I figured. Has the wiki been updated? It'd be good to get a comprehensive idea of the changes. To be fair, I never played us as being any less vulnerable to gold. We're still undead, we still get demanifest by it. Instantly's harsh but I can deal with that. Welp it'll be tricky. Sunlight weakness sucks, but we'll manage. - _Grim1_

Dangit Supremacy. We were never not hurt by gold in the first place, so why the standardising? Is it essentially for the daylight vulnerability? Editing my summary post to include your comment. - _Grim1_ P.S. DAMN YOU'RE QUICK

Warden cursed silently, as wisps of spectral fire as cold as his black heart flaked away from his arms under the harsh glare of the sun. "What...is...this?!" he growled, staggering forwards under the glaring light. It might have made a piteous sight. The dark power in the North that had finally reawakened his kind had receded, and with it the initial surge of energy that had fuelled him. He had diminished. He had new weaknesses. Gold, he knew now, he should avoid. He brought forth his lantern, wrenched open the latch, and drove his entire arm deep inside, his hand and elbow seemingly disappearing into the innocuous-looking lantern. He drew forth in taloned fingers a glowing orb of blue light--the ones who acted wrongly to save others soothed the soul when devoured. Justice truly was blind in the Warden's empty eye sockets. He felt his strength return. The soul's energy empowered him. Experimentally he caused his sickle to twitch of its own accord, then to float towards his hand. A chain manifested between the sickle's handle and his belt, as did one that stretched between him and the lantern. These chains never seemed to run out of links, and adjusted in length according to his needs. The daylight still burned, but it was bearable, now. He could feel it, malevolent, sapping his energy by the moment. A curse upon the dark powers and their weakness. If only they had made more murderers of the men of Anthos, he might have retained his power. A whimpering noise roused him from his reverie. "Little one, don't be scared." he comforted the human child, stretching an ice-cold talon to brush the tears from her cheek. "Run along. Your father and I have business to conduct." He surveyed the thief. He'd stolen a loaf of bread, assaulted a shopkeeper to do it, all to feed his starving, snivelling child. He'd stolen. Broken the law. CRIMINAL. "I know what you did." the Warden laughed maniacally, readying his sickle to harvest another soul. "No crime goes unseen by the Warden." He swung. Blood spattered the ground. Somewhere, a child screamed. The Warden continued on. There would always be more souls to collect. But in the back of the Warden's mind, a little niggling doubt had begun to form. One of his brothers bore a desire for vengeance that burned almost as strongly as the Warden's. And that which draws strength from the hunt can never be slain by its prey. "Just one...more thing...to...consider..." he chuckled, as he faded into the shadows. Summary: Nope, we still gettin chopped by steel. Supremacy on the confirm, there. Also, as a special note for Hunter, go ahead and keep using gold if you need it to hunt undead. I'm sure we can figure some kinda workaround between us. - _Grim1_

Eh, I don't much like these changes. I made Graven weak to normal metals instead because I didn't want them to seem OP. Plus Hunter kinda needs gold to hunt undead stuff. Besides that, daylight weakness on graven will kinda screw with most of us. I don't really want to get demanifested just because the sun's up. Brilliant light however, would still hurt us, quite a lot, just not quite to that extent. It would drain our energy, there you go. I'm all for us having complete immunity to weapons if it means we are only vulnerable to gold, unless that screws with Hunter, in which case NO NEVER NOT IN A MILLION YEARS <3 other Graven. I'm not sure, but I do know I dislike most of these changes. - _Grim1_'s two cents.

Spectral eyes watch from the shadows. "And dead men walk. Ahahahmm." the Warden laughs, retreating into the shadows, biding its time until it has become stronger.

Character Name - Kargul'Agrak Nicknames: Kargz, Kargy, Bone'ead. Age: 97 Gender: Male. Race: Orc! Status: Alive. Description Height: Eight feet, five inches. Weight: 400lb. Body Type: Medium muscular build, considered wiry by most orcs. Very agile. Eyes: Solid red. The left eye is a ruined socket, having been cut out by an Iblees-worshipping child many years ago. Hair: None so far, due to a portion of his skull being exposed on the left side of his head. Is beginning to grow ragged, long black hair. Skin: Dark-green. Markings/Tattoos: Has the left side of his skull exposed, including the nose and eye. Health: Healthy, fit. Left leg injured by a wild boar, healing slowly. Personality: Brusque but companionable. Easily angered but relatively slow to become bloodthirsty. Simplistic, with philosophical elements. Enjoys the little things. Inventory: Two orcish warswords made of blackened iron, one orcish falchion, made of tempered steel. Wooden round shield, composite bow, barbed orcish war arrows, broad-headed arrows, hunting bodkins. blackened chainmail neckpiece and leather pauldrons, leather boots, metal cuisses protecting his thighs. Wears blackened iron vambraces. Also possesses the book 'A History of Magic', several blank manuscripts in which he is currently writing, hide, skins and salted meat, bundles of orange-white feathers taken from his hawk Fethaz while it was still alive; has a much-treasured necklace of bone fangs that he considers to bring good luck, and carries many other such 'good luck charms'. Further Details: Lives by an honour code known only to himself, and is the last scion of Agrak'Agrak. Is known by many orcs as 'fast'. Life Style Alignment*: Chaotic Neutral, tends towards Chaotic Good Deity*: Krug Religion: Spirits, nature, orcish honour code. Alliance/Nation/Home: Whichever land is beneath his feet--but owes allegiance to the orcs of Krurgmar. Job/Class: Vagabond Title(s): The Laughing Skull of Agrak Profession(s): Scout in wartime, Hunter in peace. Special Skill(s): Honed senses of hearing, sight and smell. Unusually dexterous and co-ordinated for an orc, accomplished student of the dual-wielding discipline, incredibly quick and agile. Cunning to boot, and dead killy. Stealthy--for an orc. Flaw(s): Dumb as rocks, injured left leg (only really troubles him during long periods of strenuous activity), attached to his bird, Screech. Has trouble growing hair on his head thanks to his exposed skull. Magic* N/A Weaponry Fighting Style: Brute strength and speed, dual-wielding weapons. Trained Weapon: Orcish warsword, falchion, shield, composite bow. Favored Weapon: Twinned orcish warswords. Archery: Competent, nothing special. Biography Parents: Whitewash orcs, Jargas and Nakaiga. Both are deceased. Siblings: None living. Children: None so far. Extended Family: All orcs, everywhere, are his brothers and sisters. Pet(s): Young orcish warhawk named Screech. Full-grown orcish warhawk, Fethaz, deceased. History Kargul was born clanless and honourless, emerging bellowing from his mother's womb and attacking the human midwife who delivered him with his tiny fists. His place of birth, the human village of Seven Bridges, was neither renowned nor defamed, far away from the orcish deserts in the south. Raised in the 'greenlands', Kargul grew to the age of four in Seven Bridges under the watchful eyes of his parents, the whitewash orcs Jargas and Nakaiga, and came to despise humankind. His suspicions--and his hatred--were confirmed when, on the eve of his fourth naming day, the human villagers attacked and burned his family home--a depressive, filthy hovel--to the ground, and along with it his natural parents. Kargul fled into the wilderness, and began again. Kargul had managed to steal a pair of swords--mismatched and ill-suited to the swiftly-growing young orc, but weapons nonetheless--and practiced with them relentlessly. Initially clumsy, slow and stupid, Kargul soon became quick, deft and stupid. In orcish society he might have been ridiculed, for he was not particularly strong and he certainly knew no honour. Because he was young, and no-one was there to tell him otherwise, he came to believe that everything that happened in life was the result of the will of 'the spirits'. Whenever he became ill, he prayed to the spirits and promised he would not offend them again. When good luck came his way, he made sacrifices to the spirits to ensure his good fortune stayed. Whenever possible, he employed his weapon skills on living targets, ambushing entire caravans on his own with varying degrees of success. When he was not training with his swords, he was hunting for food to sustain his ever-hungry orcish metabolism, and slaying wolves with his bare hands and teeth. By the time he was eight, Kargul was the size of a fully-grown human, and four times as strong. On his ninth birthday, Kargul became very sick. He'd fallen prey to a disease--it made him see visions, hear voices, perceive omens of bad luck and misfortune that persist to this day--that ravaged him, nearly killing the young orc cub. When he recovered, Kargul ran like the Nether itself was after him, believing above all else that the spirits were enraged, and that all he could do was run--for one cannot hide from spirits. Kargul travelled the world for many years, honing his skills and living in fear that the spirits would strike him down. He learned to use his natural cunning, strength and speed to his advantage, and crafted many tokens of good luck to help ward off ill fate. By twelve, he was an accomplished--if brutish and ill-trained--swordsman, and a competent shot with a stolen bow. He had become so adept at hunting that he could track a wolf by the sound of it breathing, sense his foes by their scent, and watch his prey like a hawk. He eventually began to believe that the spirits were no longer angry with him, and he ceased his unending retreat and emerged back into the world. It was then that Kargul learned the rest of the common language--his parents had taught him orcish but only broken common--and to speak it more fluently, although that skill took a long time to master. He learned the ways of men, but could not relate them to the savagery of orcs his parents had spoken of. He was regarded as honourless and without morals, and soon humans began to pay him to kill their rivals. But the spirits caught up with him. Tormented by visions in the night and strange voices howling in his head, Kargul ran. On the very day of his eighteenth birthday, Kargul arrived in the orcish city of San'Orka--then the War Uzg. He was greeted at the gates by a group of orcs, himself accompanied by a goblin named Gartug, and three or four poorly-chosen words later he was tossed into the arena pit with Gartug, the Braduk orog Ghazkull and Farok'Gorkil--who would later be an inspirational figure in Kargul's life, and then a bitter friend and enemy--and despite all odds won out. The fight lasted nearly an hour, ending in both Farok and Kargul lying bleeding on the sandy ground, Ghazkull having beaten the life from Gartug in the first few minutes, then retreating to watch the rest of the fight. Kargul, then honourless, had bitten Farok, wounding him, while Farok had used his superior martial training to beat the similarly-sized Kargul senseless. However, Kargul's cunning equalled Farok's strength, and the fight ended in a draw. From then on, Kargul was considered a true orc. Kargul was initiated into the Braduk clan but his skin always seemed to itch and his blood boiled half-heartedly. It had gotten to the point where Kargul was restless and quite insane when he overheard tell of one of the orcish clans of old: Agrak. Kargul ambushed those he overheard and stole the book they referenced, forcing a human to read it to him. Kargul learned of the legendary hero Agrak'Agrak of old, an orc that sliced open his own head to exposed his gleaming white skull, and fought the dwarves at the mountain fortress of Brittleskull Pass during an age-old war. Kargul asked around, and soon found that the fe-orc who'd bloodbonded him to the Braduk clan was in fact of Gorkil descent--as was Agrak'Agrak--and after a second duel with the bloodthirsty Farok, in which Kargul was mortally wounded, his chest staved in and lung punctured, a vision came to him. Kargul writhed and bled, bled and writhed, all the while believing he was Agrak'Agrak. He was saved, barely, by the intervention of Raurna and Malakai'Braduk, and there witnessed things that disturb him to this day. Regardless, he soon healed and recovered, though it took some months. The one thing Kargul remembered was the truth of his heritage: Kargul was an Agrak by blood. The Gorkil blood boiled in his veins, Raurna's gift to him as part of the bloodbonding ceremony, and it awakened the Agrak within--and Agrak blood did always love to fight. Kargul became a wandering hunter, leaving the orcish uzg for the greenlands, realising he missed the feel of grass beneath his feet. He spent most of his days haunting the lawless human city of Salvus, brutally murdering Shields and White Roses whenever he could. The monks had their hands full with the young orc, but after seeing Farok in the city and realising the importance of honour, Kargul reforged his own honour code, and lived stringently by its decree. He became a protector of sorts, klomping anyone who harmed a person that could not fight back for themselves. He made a lifetime enemy of the seemingly-undead doctor Corvo Archdiamond Valkrae, and of the White Roses and shields. Upon his next visit to the orcish war uzg, he mutilated his own visage to make himself resemble Agrak'Agrak, and to strike fear into his enemies, cutting off his nose and scalping himself, exposing the left side of his skull; a gruesome sight. Kargul's wanderings took him to Malinor, once upon a time, and while Kargul had never really though much about elves he suddenly found them very interesting--in particular the dark elf women. He admired that creatures so slender and graceful could be so rash, violent and battle-hungry, and knew he wanted one for his mate one day. However, while Kargul was attempting to teach elves how to speak orcish, his beloved pet and companion Fethaz, an orcish warhawk trained to kill and eat other messenger birds, was slain by the elf known as Bircalin. Kargul still promises vengeance upon Bircalin should he ever find him again. Once again in Salvus, Kargul saved the life of a blind dark elf girl from White Rose attackers, and generally made the life of the Shields hell. When the orcs began to raid and later siege Salvus, Kargul trusted to his honour code, and fell afoul of Ghazkull--the brutal leader of the Braduk clan. He also made bitter enemies of the blue-skinned Zudah orc tribe, but slew more than one of them over the months and eventually decided to live and let live with them. There is an uneasy ceasefire between Kargul'Agrak--as he was now known--and the Zudah orcs. Kargul befriended a few select humans, in particular Mark Lander--now known as Visha Celestrios--and Sarah Archdiamond. He also decided that the Horen family in particular were quite honourable and good people, and not quite as worthless as most humans. He remains close friends with the new leader of the Braduks Thurak'Braduk, and retains strong ties to the Braduk clan, feeling the most kinship with tales he heard of one Dagnyr'Braduk, who died during the ship travel to Anthos, having fallen overboard. Nevertheless, he refused to renounce his Agrak heritage, and one day will reform the Agrak clan. His fondest hope is to establish a city, Shalatuwar--fortress of the orcs--which will be open only to orcs and elves, and hopes to foster more than just neutrality with the graceful lords and ladies of the forests. After a few chance encounters with Kharajyr, Kargul also learned to respect and even admire the odd-seeming cat-people, and is able to understand a few words of their tortuous tongue. He has even been to the Kha lands more than a few times, and befriended one Do'Kahn, a Kharajyr warrior. Kargul now hunts the lands around Abresi, and helps unofficially to keep the peace in his spare time. He also has taught himself to write, and quite likes doing so, along with reading. His most favoured pasttime remains klomping, but unlike some orcs he also enjoys other, less-violent pursuits. Most recently, Kargul badly injured his left leg hunting a wild boar that proved more cunning than expected, running him down from behind and savaging his leg. The boar escaped wounded but alive, a fact that vexes Kargul to no end, as he considers himself the greatest hunter and climber of walls that ever was. Climbing is another of Kargul's skills and enjoyed pasttimes, as is hunting. Kargul has also found and is in the process of taming another orcish warhawk to replace the beloved one he lost. This hawk is named Screech, and oddly has white-banded wings. Kargul is currently recovering from his injured leg. Famous Quotes "Evul idz az evul duz, agh rooin tagz alung." "Git." "Uuf skah." "WUB DA SKAH?!" "Nebah yooz a weppun latz hab tu frow awai. Datz juzt skahin ztuupid." Artwork - _Grim1_, now y'all can learn a little bit more about the one Chaotic Good orc there is. TEnjoy, folks!

Dayum skippy. - _Grim1_

"Why don't we all apply for religious zealotry" is a good question. Also a good question: "Why would we apply for religious zealotry" As far as I know, following our duty is not being called into question, and if we were to kill or harm in pursuit of our duty we'd still need 2A, still need 2C for possession. I'm not sure religious zealotry VAs would solve or add anything. I agree with simply being ghosts not being provocation enough but for most people it is. Think about it; needing a VA to kill a scary ghost? You don't need a VA to kill spiders, or those ominous beings from the North. That's the way I see it. On the subject of provoked, Warden counts as provoked whenever someone performs a major felony in his vicinity. Otherwise he's almost completely unable to physically harm a person. - _Grim1_

Insanity is a very extreme VA. I recall they didn't ever really want more than 3 people with a VA or 5, which means it is quite intense. Anyhow, the information here is all accurate. Until I get around to posting my guide, this is bible for Graven everywhere. A few points: 1. Being sentient, Graven are not susceptible to the influence of necromancers. A dead, mindless soul may be compelled. One that is angry, and after your blood, cannot. Graven may, however, work with necromancers if it is to that Graven's benefit. 2. Actually, Warden draws energy from killing the guilty. If y'all would just let me do my work, you'd have far fewer villains trying to kill you or steal your minas. :D 3. Depending on their strength--determined by whether or not they are regularly fulfilling their eternal duty--Graven may manifest other slight abilities. For example, at full strength, Warden can unleash souls to torment people, and remotely manipulate his sickle for brief periods of time. A-yup. - _Grim1_

((Teuton Graven are fine. Knock em down a notch or two, spqr. It'll be hilarious.)) For the first time in nearly three months, the Abresi night seems quiet. No rattling echo of chains or ghostly voices haunt the night, and the grim spectre of Warden is not to be seen. But eyeless sockets watch from the shadows, always, and for a moment it seems that all men and women of Abresi hear the same voice all at once. "Those who slay are slain. Those who thieve, their souls I steal away. All who would defy justice will feel vengeance, and the touch of my beloved chains." The night air is cool, but not chill. The Graven known as Warden seems to have disappeared...but seemings are uncertain things at best, and the shadows beckon as always.