Two figures, walked. Covered head to toe in pelts. Their faces obscured, each step kicked up dirt. Their destination the sands.
For years the Braduk wandered. The howlur durub giant. After Gargant was crucified he just couldnt live with himself. So he got up and left. No word, no goodbyes. Just left. Knowing his son Thurak was a very capabable orc gave him some peace of mind, but nothing could keep him from leaving. The passing of time is inevitable and it claims the lives of those most honourable. At the dead of night he treked. Years passed.
After making a camp so he could live out the rest of his days, a purple haze rose around him. Soon enough, the legendary figure of Mokrag'Braduk stood before him. "Bruddah, latz kub haz fayuled lat." the wanderer stroked his now gray beard. "Nub, Thurak is nub ah dumskah heh kan handul da klan." Mokrag shook his head. "Owt ob da dub ob uz wich wun kan chuuze tu apeer werebah da skah dey wunt?" the wanderer laughed. "Dumskah." Mokrag sat down, the purple mist still hanging around him. "Lat needz tu breng diz klan bak tu ordah. Lat needz tu reyunite da Bradukz, agh skah awll da oddah prikz who stahnd in owr whey." the wanderer nodded but was still troubled. "Wot wud lat hab me du den brud?" Mokrag rose. "Goh tu da anzient villaje ob Kenuk. Da jurney wil beh lohng yez. But id wil beh wurff id. Dere, mai zun, Mokbane libz." the wandere interuppted. "I fort ah flatted awll latz kubz hur hur hur" Mokrag snorted "Shuddup. Diz wun am tuff." the wanderer sighed "Am diz kub gonnah beh liek Gargant and juzt zpek da zlang?" Mokrag shook his head "Nub he lernt blah." The wandere nodded and with that Mokrag disapeared.
After a year of sailing the wanderer arrived at Kenuk. Its ruins, brought back haunting memories of his childhood. He slowly moved around the broken village. And then crash, a club bashed into his head and he was out cold. As he woke, he was tied to a bolder with chains. He saw a bonfire, and a orc. He wore only a loincloth. His hair was grown out as was his beard. His height, 9ft. He was as broad as broad can be. Old, but not as old as the wanderer. "Ah new latz wud kom." The orc said to the wanderer. "Latz am Mokbane yub? Kub ob Mokrag?" He nodded, and poured water into the wanderes mouth. "Agh lat am Ghazkull, bruddah ob Mokrag. Gud tu meet lat unkol bud my popo blahed tu mi we god a klan tu fikz."
Over the next few months, Ghazkull tought Mokbane the new ways of Braduk fighting. Mokbane was skilled, but only knew the old barbaric traditions. Ghazkull enlightened him to the new tactical and brutish techniques. They hunted, gathered food and pelts, weapons. Two years passed. Then they boarded the boat and headed back to reclaim the former glory of the Braduk clan.
Ghazkull and Mokbane arrived to the sands. Looking around through their pelts, their glowing orange eyes pierced through their bear skin face masks and hoods. A new bloodline had been forged. The blood line of Kenuk, the blood line of the ancients. Ghazkull took his face mask off, saying "Mokbane, tudey, iz da virzt dey, in wich weh tayke bak owr gloreh. Thurak agh da newbludz hab fayulded uz. Dey betraied uz. Ah Braduk nebah retreetz, nebah zurrendaz. Da Bradukz aint dizbanded. Nub azlong az ai lib. Weh ged wudeva boiz we ken weh led da urukz knoh we am bak in biznezz."
Once a Braduk always a Braduk
