2samspan

"I would be willing to supply cloth. We can discuss amounts and price whenever is convenient to you. -Vagud'Gorkil" Vagud writes in response before realizing there was no means given to contact the person. He sighs and attaches the tiny note to the ad in the hope that the buyer will notice.

Vagud glances over at the calendar in his room. "Nineteen years. That took much longer than I expected." He sighs and tears it off the wall with his remaining hand, tossing it out his window without a second thought.

Vagud looks down at his missing right arm, torn off at the elbow stump by some goblin terrorists in San'Raakh. "Mmm. Dey abzolutely ur nub dezervin of any form ov retaliazion, none wubzoevuh." He grumbles, his voice dripping with venom, and returns to his solitary confinement in the mountains, away from the growing discontent within the Uruks.

After cleaning up the discarded food and viscera from the feast with his fellow Gorkil Noehra, Vagud let out a low groan, his crimson red hands both pruned from an hour of meticulous washing of the tables to clear up the already dried blood in the hot mesa sun and coated in tiny chunks of the congealed blood from men of various races. "Dizguzdin...A true Uruk would nud bring merzenariez to try and claim Rexdom." He shot a glance at the now clean table and shook his head. "A real zhame. Mi rezpected Kuntklobbera, agh mi tinkz he would have made a bub'hozh Rex. Iv unly he remembered dat we ur nud pinkiez ur albaiz."

The smell of beef stew wafted from the Gorkil clan hall, the light from the cooking pit from inside the hall illuminating the darkening streets outside. Inside, the cooking pit blazed, its flames licking the bottom of a cast iron pot and beginning to turn it orange under the careful hand of the leopard-wearing Uruk Nazark’Gorkil, who tended to the fire like it was his own baby. With one hand he prodded the fuel in the fire with a long iron rod, and with the other he used a ladle quickly stir the viscous mixture, never letting the assorted chunks of beef and potatoes sit still for more than a few seconds. He sat there in silence, the streets outside barren, and the only sounds around being the crackling of the fire and the sound of the stew sloshing around in the charcoal colored pot. Nazark had been so intently focused on the fire and his dinner that he had not even noticed that a rather short red skinned Uruk-his Wargoth, Vagud- had stepped into the hall and was watching him stir the stew until he let out a raspy cough after several seconds, causing Nazark’s hand to jerk back, causing the cauldron to slosh around and swing on its hook, a few drops of the broth spilling onto the cracked stone ring and sizzle from the intense heat. He quickly let go of the ladle, leaned back so he was out of the way of the pot, and turned toward the entrance. “Mi did nub egzpekt to ged heeyur zo fazt.” The red Uruk said, taking a few more steps into the hall. Nazark’s eyebrows furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. “Wub doez lat mean?” He asked confusedly, scooting over slightly so he was further out of the trajectory of the red hot cooking pot. And as soon as Nazark said that, a loud shriek came from outside, followed by a small brown hawk swooping down to the ground and landing near the entrance to the hall, a tiny note emblazoned with the Gorkil insignia-the dark red face of a war boar-was tied to its right leg. Vagud glanced back at the hawk for a quick second and shrugged. “Mi zent a bird to give lat a mezzage to meet me heeyur. Bud...well, lat wuz ulredeh heeyur, to mi zurprize.” He glanced over at the roaring fire curiously, the dancing tongues beginning to turn a faint blue. Nazark nodded. “Ah. Well would lat like zome grub? Mi wuz juzd makin mizelf zome dinner.” He gestured to the pot, which was still swinging slightly, but by this point mostly stayed above the fire. Vagud held up his and and shook his head. “Rulg, but nub. Mi haz zumtin mi wunz to dizcuzz wiv lat.” The Wargoth said tersely and sat down on the wooden bench across from Nazark. Without a moment lost, he continued on. “Mi haz…” He starts, but almost immediately falters, shifting around in his seat for a second, before finally continuing. “Mi will zpare lat duh detailz agh keep diz zhort. Mi planz to ztep down az Waghgoff. Would lat be willin to take mi plaze?” He asks in an even keeled voice, his eyes trained directly on the leopard wearing Uruk across from him. The gray skinned Uruk blinked, obviously caught off guard by the comment. The room sat in silence except for the now bubbling stew and the loud crackle of the fire for what felt, to them, like years, Vagud’s eyes trained completely on Nazark’s face, watching every tiny facial movement he could for some idea of what he was thinking, until finally, Nazark spoke. “Ov courze.” Thirty minutes later, night had truly set in and the sun had dipped down past the multicolored clay mountains that surrounded San’Torr, the only light on the plateau coming from the fire in the the horned building the Gorkils called home. Vagud dropped a bloody dagger onto the ground near the fire pit, and Nazark grimaced, trying to hold in his groans as his hand bled from Vagud’s lacerations. With the patience and steadiness of an archer, Vagud had carefully carved an oval and two curved lines into the newly initiated Wargoth’s callused right palm, the. “Nazark, wiv Krug, Gorkil, Angbad, Mogroka, agh ull ov latz agh mi’z anzeztorz az our witnezz, mi zhall beztow upon lat duh title of Waghgoff.” The crimson skinned Uruk boomed, his voice echoing throughout the mesa. Nazark slowly peeled his eyes away from his bloodied hand and up to Vagud. He opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it, unsure of what to say in this situation. The comparatively short Gorkil glanced back down at the carvings in Nazark’s hand and let out a small sigh. Diz iz tradizionally a tattoo, but mi doez nub gruk how to make doze yed.” He mutters, quickly expecting his handiwork. The ceremony was done with little to no fanfare, just the two of them, a dagger, blood, all topped with the savory smell of stew and the sharp, distinctively metallic scent of blood due to the streams of blood pouring from Nazark’s hand and onto the ground and the fire pit next to them. “Id iz called duh Ojutai. Id iz a tattoo given to Gorkilz that have bikom Waghgoff ur even Rexez.” He glanced down at his own right hand and the crescent moon that had been carved into it when he had been initiated into Gorkil and smiled weakly. The traditional Ojoutai tattoo Nazark looked down at his still bleeding hand, the shining crimson red pooling on top of the much more subdued red floor they were on. “Mi likez it. It’z like tradizional Gorkil mutilazhun.” He said, pride creeping into his voice, beaming as he admired the intricate carving on his hand. The careful strokes of the dagger had been precise enough to have mostly avoided the bones, and the widened gashes around the center and tapered off at the edges of the lines that worked to make the make-do tattoo look as similar to an actual Gorkil tattoo’s thick, calligraphy-like style. The former Wargoth popped a tiny smile, a tiny hint of pride in his eye from his handiwork. “Well, mi Waghgoff,” he says humbly, bowing his head in respect to his new Wargoth. “Mi zhould go agh alert duh rezd ov duh Waghgoffz. Iz dere anytin lat needz ov me bivor mi leavez?” Nazark simply shook his head, his eyes staring off into the distance. “Nub...Nub, dat iz all.” He mumbled. Vagud picked the dagger up off the floor and bowed his head in reverence to Nazark. “Den gug’ye, mi Waghgoff. Mi will make zure dat newz ov diz iz zpread far agh wide.” He exclaimed and turned toward the entrance, stepping out into the cool night and heading straight to the Citadel, with orders for the news of Gorkil’s new Wargoth to be spread to every corner of Krugmar and beyond.

Volcarona.

"Fur zkah...iv lat'z gonna pud up a liztin fur a znaga, ad leazd zpell zkah properly." Vagud mutters disdainfully at the note posted in San'Torr. He swiftly tears the note off the message board and crumples it into a ball. "Zlavin ulredeh makez uz look nub'hozh. Diz iz juzd diggin our grave even deeper."

Throughout the major cities and farms of Axios, posters have been hung up near doors or stables. Selling Golden Carrots "Selling golden carrots at prices lower than anywhere else on the market at 10 minas a carrot. Can sell upwards of five bundles worth of gold carrots at any time. If you are interested, contact Vagud'Gorkil. Carrots can either be delivered to you or picked up." Beneath the brief message there is the carefully drawn outline of a carrot, colored in using yellow glitter.

MC name: 2samspan What group are you from: Orcs/Norseth'onn What can you do to help new players: I'm willing to do more or less anything to help a new player out. Specifically, though, I can show them around the server and help them find their place in the server, trying to see what exactly it is they want to get out of the server. I can also help with further improving their characters and working to make them more distinct if they want.

+1. It warms my heart to see my beloved gobos getting some love. I worry, though, about that defined potential for this. I think the lore would benefit from examples of what would be doable and what wouldn't be. While it's admirable that you want to leave this mostly up to the users, but the lack of definition as to its applications could cause confusion for both the lore team and people that would be using the metal.

Vagud stares at the letter, confused. "Is this supposed to be a threat? He just took everything I said and changed it slightly." He shrugs and sets the letter down. "Whatever it is, I hope this will be the push the clan needs to actually become important again."

The freshly minted city center of San'Torr bustled with activity. Kubs played in the streets, elders chatted and fought each other for fun and sport, vendors moved into the previously empty shops, and the pungent stench of green hung on the streets like fog. From atop a hill off in the distance, Vagud'Gorkil watched the cacophony with a small, content smile. His hands and knees were caked with wet dirt from hours of tending to his garden, away from the rest of Krugmar's uproarious activity. He began to walk back from his private perch and back toward the Gorkil clan hall just as the sun began to recede behind the multicolored mountains that him and so many others called home. And, although he could feel his body beginning to weigh itself down from exhaustion, he knew he still had work to do, and that he would be spending the night writing. Shortly before the sun began to rise, and the sky showed only the faintest purple hue, the weary Wargoth finally set down the worn hunk of charcoal he used for his writing, his now black right hand aching from hours of near continuous righting. Surrounding him were several long sheets of shoddy, coarse paper that looked and felt more like linen than paper, filled with scrawled out text and smudges and tears. But in front of him, in his distinct ornate handwriting, laid the final draft of what he had spent the whole night working so tirelessly for. After giving it one final read, he head out to the Citadel to order some goblins to make copies and send this to whatever Azogs they could find. -~- To the Clan Azog I write to all members of Gorkil as both an adversary and an ally, The clan of Azog is at risk of being dissolved and absorbed into its father clan, Gorkil. It has stood inactive and a withered husk of its former self for far too long. There are Uruks calling for the dissolution of the clans that are weak and small, for the revocation of their status as a clan and, therefore, their ability to have a recognized Wargoth. But I come to you not to say that your clan is being taken away from you immediately. I'm wtoting to all of you to give you, whatever Azogs there are left, a chance to save your clan, your name. I will not deny that my interests are in having Azog brought back into the fold of Gorkil, but I am a fair and benevolent Uruk, and will not simply steal it from whoever there is left to take this warning seriously. I will give the clan one whole cactus week to bring strength back to your clan, and to become an important part of Krugmar. I challenge any Azog, if there are any left, to, for the sake of their clan, take the title of Wargoth and attempt to save their clan, to not just sit idly while their clan sits on the brink of destruction. I implore whatever Azog might manage to read this to heed my warning and to make use of my generosity. You would be hard pressed to find someone else willing to give you an opportunity like this. If this clan truly is dead, or if its members are lazy and uncaring enough to let their clan be absorbed, then this letter will be nothing more than a waste of paper. Do not disappoint your ancestors. Do not disappoint your brothers. -Vagud'Gorkil, Wargoth of Gorkil and Yazgurten of Krugmar.

Sizable pieces of coarse, almost cloth-like paper have been posted along taverns, shops, and homes of the wealthy and industrious across Axios, stating: Experienced Worker for Hire Young, able-bodied, and hard working Uruk willing to work for whoever can pay for his services. Can fulfill any physical labor needs, and is highly trained as a miner (legendary), farmer (veteran), and leatherworker (masterful). Willing to work with people of all races and backgrounds until given reason not to. Prices for services and services that will be preformed are determined at the beginning of a contract. Prices will be based on either a. the amount of materials desired or b. the amount of time that I am requested to work for you, depending on whichever is specified at the beginning of my services. As an example, though, a cactus week of all potential services (acting as a miner, farmer, leatherworker, and other miscellaneous jobs within my capability) would be 750 minas. Payment in minas is preferred, however a mixture of minas and other items is acceptable at my discretion. Materials or tools might be very rarely requested to finish jobs if it is needed. Room and board is unnecessary, however access to storage areas in order to hold goods would be appreciated. All clients will be treated with the utmost respect and are promised both hard work and cheaper rates for anything than what you would get from buying at a store. For more information or to arrange a meeting, contact Vagud'Gorkil.

Vagud walks into the Rex's throne room after the announcement, looking over all the heads mounted along the throne. "Id iz nub who me wunned, bud mi will ztill zerve him to duh end..." He stops in front of Lukra's head and let's out a small sigh. "Mi juzd hopez, iv any ov latz ur wajin from Ztarguzh'Ztroh, latz ken forgive uz."

This was moved to outdated, however no Orcs were notified of this. So we were still following this, even after it was moved. This was lore that had been around for quite a while and, while no Orc liked it, we followed it because it's what was explained to us by experienced players as being the way it is. You're right, at some point the restriction was removed, however none of us knew about this at all. There was no communication between the lore team and the players on this, so we continued to perpetuate this information.

"Hmm. Funny. Ragukz take izzue wiv duh migzin of blood between clanz, bud zkahin a Kha iz ukee." Mutters Vagud as he tends to his garden.

"Nubudy carez." Shouts a random Orc to the warlord.

The growing markets of San'Torr would be happy to host the merchant company. Contact Vagud'Gorkil for more information or to schedule a meeting.

My goals for the Orcs are twofold. First, to remove the OOC stigma we have and make people realize we can both be pretty chill and our characters can be just as diverse as any other race by encouraging Orcs to go out into the world and do things that people would not expect Orcs to do, like become a gardener. Second, to revitalize the Orcish economy by introducing more people from the outside world to the city and having them by Orcish goods or open up shops in the city. Both of these goals are intertwined and can very easily use the completion of one to solve the other problem. For the server as a whole, I'd like a decently sized overhaul of the balancing and economy of the server in order to make it more dynamic and so players can sustain themselves without having to vote. I think that having players default to voting for money rather than getting it through roleplay is a terrible way to have the economy go and leads to the vast majority of money being earned not through RP means, but rather through OOC. It creates a stagnant economy and removes a lot of chances for roleplay since people will not actively seek out ways of earning money however they can, and instead will fall back on these means.

Because I care an unhealthily large amount about being liked and appreciated on a roleplay server on a ripoff of Infiniminer. Sweet, the plan worked. AMA's over everybody. Because I made it the best again.

Probably gonna break 100 rep tonight. Also curious as to how these AMAs work. Ask me whatever, I guess.