Narthok

A grumpy Orc nods at the news from their fellow Southerners. A treaty with Haense vassals was worth less than the paper on which it was written. After being gifted a peace by the Chieftain of the Cross-spirit shamans the Hyspian oath-breakers had violated all terms of the treaty at the behest of their Haenseni masters. It seemed that the High Elves of Haelun'or were now learning that the bonds of vassalage upon Balian were just as strong. The beck and call of the Haense-tribe trumping all oath and treaty.

I ******* love orcs

Thrall gives two big thumbs up at his second favourite nation in the south

Suffering The cold knife slipped between his ribs, kissing gently into his heart. Death had come for the Hordespeaker. He looked down at the Doe-Chieftain before him, her unintelligent cattle-like eyes so common amongst her ilk. She did not understand. Her kin did not understand. The treaty they had signed, meaningless. The bonds of words upon the soul were a mere suggestion to the brittle-bones. Perhaps they had never intended to pay in the first place. He closed his eyes, the animal braying of the livestock about him distracting him from his death chant. They had bound him in many chains, he would die like cattle to slaughter—a bad death if ever there was one. Chained and surrounded by the brittle-bone warriors barking around him. The Orc-Father had a cruel sense of humour. His way was neither easy nor gentle. Nonetheless the demands of the Kru’un were a stronger bond than the iron chains that bound him. Even here, as his life-blood dripped out onto the hands of the Invader Chieftain, out onto the floor below He would not succumb to the siren song of the blood-fire not here. Not at the end. The fire rose in his blood. Even now at this ignominious end, the lie-speaker’s laughter could be heard ringing in his eyes. He would not have the satisfaction. Not here, not at the end. The chieftain gave a last blood filled rattling breath, the crude stab of the tiny human having ripped into his lungs. Yet the breath was enough, the last of countless millions taken in quiet reflection. The fire subsided. He would not be a slave to the curse. Not today. Grommash fell to his knees memories flashed before his eyes. His emergence from the wilderness. His first ascension as Rex, much to the chagrin of many who did not know him. He remembered Minto, the diminutive halfling honourary showing more loyalty and toughness of beasts four times his size. He remembered many cold nights around warm fires shared with the little warrior. A tiny frame concealing a mind with more wisdom than many of the Uruk elders. Grommash hoped the little halfling was doing well. The dying Hordespeaker remembered Gazhnakh his closest friend. The one who had stood beside him in the earliest days of his Rexdom. Who had healed the divide between the Horde and the Akaal with her wisdom. She had fought next to him in the Veletz war. Stood by his side when the oath-breakers of Celia’nor had ran. She had taught him many things when the clans had once again elevated him to the rank of Horde-speaker. They would never meet again. Regret. Grommash remembered the many members of the Horde. Kaal, Grinkus, Kho, the goblins of Ox, Qahir, the Sandsworn. He remembered Dirt, the childlike Olog’s enthusiasm for life infectious. He remembered Madoc, Ghoraza, Ukukaal, Maukurz, and Gharak. The elders had given him much wisdom. With their advice and the support of peoples of the Horde both greenskin and newcomer, something beautiful had begun to flower in the southlands. Regret. The Hordespeaker’s vision began to blur. The jeers of the surrounding humans rang loud in his ears. The peacocks of Celia’nor preening themselves. It had taken many of them to bring him down. Battered by countless blades, even now his wounds wept lifeblood, his path from the river to the palace a trail of blood. A testament to the suffering of the world wearing Chieftain. He felt regret as he had never felt before. He did not fear death. He had finally earned his respite from the trials of this world. From the burdens placed upon him by the Orc-father. But his work was not yet done. HE HAD FAILED HE HAD LET THEM ALL DOWN A pain worse than a thousand blades overwhelmed the Hordespeaker. Though his eyes were no longer capable of tears, his soul broke. An anguish and shame more profound than any he had ever experienced overwhelmed him. He had failed. He had let the Horde down. How would they survive the terrors of the world, now, in this age of treachery and dishonour. Death took Grommash, as despair broke the spirit of the once proud Chieftain. The corpse of the Name-giver lay cooling on the floor of the Hyspian palace, steam emanating from the massive frame of the fallen Orcish Chieftain as the last of his vitality drained away. His death had been a brutal thing. Chained like a dog, surrounded by his enemies, covered in wounds, he had not even been allowed to die with a weapon in his hands. Yet as his body lay amongst the mud and blood the desecration of Grommash was not yet done. Julian, consort of the old Hyspian Queen approached, knife in hand to remove the head of the Chieftain. The peace of the south, the treaty signed, all of it meaningless in the face of satisfying his hatred for the dead Orc. Kneeling, he defiled the corpse, before the new Queen ordered it taken from the palace. Anacleta, a young warrior of Hyspia, took the headless corpse of the Hordespeaker and returned it to the Horde. A delivery met with much sorrow and gnashing of teeth. And so the story of Grommash came to an end

An Orcish invoice is sent to the Chieftain of the Cross-men

"The half-man should check out the giant market built in the middle of the desert by the merchant longears" Grommash would grunt

Safety in the South Various Greenskin, Elfen and Human messengers spread posters throughout the lands Few can say they know the hardship of war better than the Urukim. The children of the Firstborn, the bearers of the blood-curse placed on them by the ADVERSARY. Long have we borne our curse, enslaved by its song. Only recently, after many decades of struggle and suffering, have we begun to return to the path set out for us by our forefather Krug. The people of the Horde, both of the-blood and of the-law know me as Grommash. Some call me Horde-speaker, some Name-giver, some Truth-speaker. Whatever words decorate me, it is the duty given to me by my forefather Krug that reigns supreme. I have sent many of my people to bleed and die, to suffer, to thirst, to hunger, all in the name of the greater good. I have often shared in their suffering, held them in my arms as the life faded from their eyes. Few of the-blood can forget the horrors we faced in the last war, where we sought to free our occupied lands from those who would steal them away. Since then we have learned. We have grown. I returned to the Horde not out of desire but out of compulsion. In my endless travels one command tortured my dreams. My service to the-blood was not yet done. Their salvation not yet at hand. It is for this reason that I have returned once more to dwell amongst my fellow First-born, to guide them in the way of Krug that they may someday be free of this horrible curse in our blood. But what does this mean for the Horde, for the South, for those who are not-blood. If the-blood must change and grow to emerge from our spiritual enslavement and stand as Krug would have us stand, then the Horde must change too. For many moons I have shared my dreams with my fellow Firstborn, tracing our path amongst the stars as revealed to me by the spirits. Now I shall share that dream with the not-blood. The Horde will no longer be Uruk alone. Rather, the Horde will be as it was always meant to be, a federation of many clans and tribes. Many fingers clenched into a strong fist. War is once more on the wind. Once more the warsong will ring out over the green-lands of the human tribes. Villages will burn, tears will be shed, and loved ones shall be fed to the earth as is customary. Such is the way of things. None know the brutality of war better than we, the Uruk. Forever outcast. Seen as savage and animal by those from softer, kinder lands. And so we shall do as our forefather Krug would have done, we will offer meat and shelter to the stranger. For if we cannot offer this, how can we expect others to provide it to us. From this day the Horde shall be constituted of both THE-BLOOD, those whose membership in the nation that must be, is not a choice or an option, but a birthright. Many shirk this choice. Who refuse to be what they are. To accept that they were born of the blood-line of Krug, most feared enemy of the lie-speaker. But whether they reject or embrace their birthright, they cannot change it. However, from now on the Horde shall include those who are people of the Horde by THE-LAW. Those who have either chosen or who have been born into the nation that must be but who do not possess the-blood. Nevertheless they are as much a member of the Horde as any other. Entitled to all that the Horde-law entitles and obliged to all that the Horde-law obliges. They are not Honourary as was once custom amongst the-blood in our degraded state. Rather they remain true to themselves while embracing the destiny of the nation that must be. With the example of our forebear in mind, we extend this welcome to the tribes of the wide world. Be you an outcast, wanderer, or stranger, be you many or few, the meat and the shelter of the Horde are open to you. To those who seek a safe home, safe lands to raise herds and children, this too the Horde can provide. Your chieftains shall speak at our councils, your people shall drink from our waters and eat of our herds. You will be safe in the south. All you must do is respect the Horde-law. YOUR POOR, YOUR RICH, YOUR SLAVES, YOUR FREE. For us there is only the Horde. The Hordespeaker offers the following promises to foreigners seeking a refuge. Peace-seekers seeking safety will be granted full membership within the Horde and entitled to the Horde-law's protection. The retention and free practice of their religion. Tribes seeking land for settlement will be given land, pasture, and access to oasis. Protection by the warriors of the Horde and the immense defences that have been constructed to protect the-people. A chieftain to represent the tribe and make decisions for the Horde on the Horde council.

scheming eunuch - @Esterlen loathsome heir - @rumpo court jester - @frill noble knight - @dpm

The wind howled and raged atop the mountain as the Hordespeaker closed his eyes and breathed deeply. War would once again come to the world. Once more, he would send his warriors to their deaths to serve a greater good. Once more, the Urukim would cleave flesh and break bones. He remembered the last war. The screams of the dying, the piles of the dead, kings fleeing like dogs as their men were butchered in their wake. The Chieftains and tribes of the Greenland did not have the will to rule. Like prey they huddled together, terrified of the unknown. The scarred chieftain shrugged. The schemes and squabbles of the brittle-bones were only his concern insofar as they effected the-blood. Whoever hired his people would have their loyalty until the end of the contract. Opening his eyes he pushed himself to his feet, the voices of the wind turning from rage to laughter. They knew of the war-song that would soon grace the wind. They revelled in the coming days of red. Grommash sighed and began to descend from the mountain. His people would prepare for war.

New player retention will be interesting. Extremely funny how massive the race application disparity is.

I don't think recruiting off server is a problem. Players who were off server have stuck around and assimilated to the server. Olpx, larry, sebby, smallest_clouds there are many who have stuck around and become LOTCers. There have been many pvp recruiter waves that preceded vinovia. I get that LOTC is uncomfortable with pvp and warclaims and is moving towards DnD but I think its ridiculous that the staff ethos is 'we should have fewer people participate in our content'. I think writing peoples apps is bad and wrong. If people are on the server and have bad quality rp then they should be banned. Just seems like an overreaction. Ringo is perma banned and the back of vinovia is broken. Blackvale is gone, ferrymen are gone, flays are gone, reivers are gone. There are no pvp groups left.

Don't see why this is a problem. Excited to have to argue with mods to get people into the warclaim day of.

Something I would like clarified by moderation is if there is any intention to allow multi theatre conflicts / concurrent / exclusive warclaims to occur. Being unable to attack a committed enemy nation from behind or beat up on a small neighbour while the big boys are occupied has been a long standing issue with the warclaim system I'd also like mods to be more clear on the intercept rules as they pertain to war. 60th handled them terribly. Also I just generally disagree with the new 30 hour cap. You guys already banned out vinovians. Instead of randomly griefing fleepers rules should address how wars play out via intercepts and multi front wars. Now every warclaim is just going to be me arguing with a blue tag about some 15 hour playtime pink tag getting into the warclaim rally. We should want more people partaking in server content not less.

Presumambly you're still here because you have found something enjoyable about the strange magic of lotc

Horde-Hou-zi Citizenship Pact Signed 222 The Horde and the Hou-zi Clans The Horde extends full membership to the Hou-Zi Clans. Hou-zi will be considered full members of the Horde and entitled to travel, hunt, and dwell within the Honour-bound lands. The Horde grants the Hou-zi a parcel of land for settlement as well as hunting and fishing rights to sustain their tribe. The Hou-zi Clans agree to defend the Honour-bound lands if the lands are invaded. Sage Chiangbao Yuan

An orcish chieftain comes across the body of his fallen companion. Lying cold on the cavern floor, no one had come to his aid. The chieftain's heart boiled and roared. DEATH. Qahir's death would be avenged. He summoned the war-chieftains. He would not just kill those who had killed his warrior. He would break their homes and salt their lands. It was time for war.

"Peace in the south" The scarred Chieftain would grunt

"Won't know until he tries" responds the old man

"Literally just have a civil war," Says an ancient Ruric patriarch who wrote the tenets that everyone quotes.