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Dragonslayerelf

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About Dragonslayerelf

  • Rank
    Libertus
  • Birthday 08/07/2001

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Dragonslayerelf#4334
  • Minecraft Username
    Dragonslayerelf
  • Skype
    dragonslayerelf2
  • Email
    no

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Iron Uzg
  • Interests
    Orcs The Elder Scrolls, Game of Thrones, Puppies, The Wild West, Steampunk increasingly, black powder weapons, etc.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Shakul'Gorkil, Znitgit Shrogo, Flavius Ludicus
  • Character Race
    Chad Orc, Chad Goblin, Chad Holy Man

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  1. The Return of the Shrogo ~Znitgit’Shrogo circa 1721 Znitgit woke up on his small dinghy, not knowing where he was, only knowing that when he took the mad caps, Luara had told him to head out to the high seas in search of his homeland in order to bring more disciples to Atlas, to know her and to praise her as more than just the crude idols of the moon that had been erected on their isle of Shroglund. In a frenzy of religious fervor, he chopped down three trees and, using his skills with carpentry he gained from making the Great Shrine of Luara outside of his clan's cave, he built the small dinghy in the shape of a moon. Thereafter, he set off into the seas in the general direction of where he thought they'd come from. Unfortunately for him, a boat in the shape of the moon is not the most agile boat, and he had neither the skill nor the strength to drive the boat forward. Additionally, he'd forgotten food and water, carrying nought but the mushrooms that he stashed in the folds of his robe. Noting his dire circumstance, he resolved to wait until night and to eat the mushrooms in order to commune with Luara. When night came, he consumed the mushroom and suddenly the crescent moon above shined brilliantly, his boat reflecting its light. He looked up, his pupils dilating as he found himself in awe of the brilliant moon above. To him, before the boat appeared a line of silver stars, and a paddle of pure moonlight rose out of the water (in reality it was a convenient piece of driftwood from a nearby boat wreckage), and believing that Luara had aided him, he took the paddle and madly paddled onwards. He paddled for three days and three nights, stopping only once to relieve himself off the side of the boat into an astral chamberpot that presented itself (a bucket from yet another nearby wreckage) before continuing his mad dash. When his boat struck the shores of Shroglund, he found himself amazed when he looked up and the moon appeared as a large thumbs-up, egging Znitgit on towards his people. Thereafter, he stumbled into the nearest cave and fell flat on the sands before them. When he awoke, he was surrounded by his pale-skinned kin. They had recognized that he wore the robes of a Mushob, and talk of a 'prophet' had begun to spread among the locals. "Where’s Nuda?" and "What happened to Shiitake!?" some would say. He first weakly requested food and water, as he had not had either for three days, and when it was brought he drank much of the water and ate much of the food. Thereafter, he took a nap, right there in front of everyone, and when he woke he sprung up and jumped onto the nearest - and tallest - rock. "Bruddaz!" Znitgit shouted "Dea'z an 'ole nuvva continent out dea'! A big wun wif a big moon! It'z 'ome 'ta gitz called 'Urukz' dat run diz great nayzhun called 'Krugmar'. Luara shinez upon id'z peepul, and da Urukz 'ave people who can 'elp uz zpeak to Luara 'erzelf!" he paused for dramatic effect. Some of the Goblins gasped in awe, however a skeptical Mushob asked: "Which part of tha Bad-Moon?” Znitgit, using it as an opportunity to pontificate to the masses about Luara, continued. "Luara; da git dat zhinez' on uz at niyt, dat shelta'z uz frum da zun! Dat led'z uz 'unt an' gatha' at night! Luara'z da git whoze naym we should all rekogniyz an' prayz! Lop Luara!" he shouted, and the goblins reluctantly joined in. "Lop iz a wurd in diz ol' language dat Luara bl- zpeakz, called da 'Old Blah'. Da gitz in Krugmar zpeak da New Blah, wizh - " he lowered the pitch of his voice " - zoundz a bid liyk diz. Dey'z 'av bigga teefz den uz zo dey'z needa blah divvrunt." He raised the pitch of his voice to its normal tune once more. "But I 'ave spoken to Luara! I have spoken to da moon!" the assembled goblins gasped. An old Mushob, native to Shroglund, shouted "So 'ave I! Wif da Shroomz!" Znitgit shook his head. "Wivvout da shroomz! I've bin ON da moon! I've BLAHED wif Luara! Az in, she didunt giv me zum vizhun wif a nu- unclear idea of wot to make 'appen, she told mi!" The old Mushob shouted "Lies!" Znitgit shook his head once more. "Be'old!" Znitgit then brought forth the Shrogo Moon from his pocket, rendered naught but a useless bauble by the Skygods, but it still served as proof of Znitgit's statement. It floated gently above Znitgit's raised hand, its light filling the surrounding cavern. "Diz iz a tiynii moon dat Luara gave to uz! Diz iz da proof of my statement! Diz iz da sign dat we are Luara'z chosen! In Krugmar, we'z got an 'ole cave and an 'ole seat on da Rex'z counzil! We'z importunt enuff to be recognized an' consida'd! We'z a WARGOFF klan! Before I lef' Shiitake'Shrogo wuz Wargoff! We'z got it roight good in Krugmar! Now, Schnub'Nub came 'ea an' we believed in 'im! We truzted 'im! We were rewarded! Now, who'z gunna' follow mi liyk I follow'd Schnub!" The goblins' applause shook the cavern walls, and the news of this prophet of the moon spread all throughout Shroglund, and eventually reached the local Gobbgoth. Infuriated by Znitgit's perceived attempt to take his people away from him, to take them to this far off land that he thought didn't exist, to lead them to wherever this 'prophet' had come back from, he came down from his high, gem-encrusted, gold-laden, silver-lined cave bourne by four strong goblins he'd appointed to have the honour of carrying his gold palanquin around with his iron, silver-inlaid, gold-hafted axe and the breastplate that he'd recently had stretched as he'd grown too fat for his armor. There, he saw the 'prophet' and shouted boisterously "You! 'Mighty Prophet of da Moon', roight? Da skah'r ya doin' wif my skahin' people!" Znitgit began his sermon anew to accommodate for the Gobbgoth, but the Gobbgoth would have none of it. He lifted his axe on high and motioned for his palanquin carriers to lower the palanquin to the ground, and stepped off the gold seat with much effort. His stomach, gelatinous as it was, jiggled around as he lowered himself to the ground. "Get reddi fur a scrap!" Znitgit had brought naught but his ritual dagger and, unlike the Gobbgoth, had no armor to speak of save the thick, heavy robes that hid his form from the sun when he wanted to walk in the day. However, Znitgit had faith in Luara, and, drawing forth one of the mad caps he kept concealed in his robe, he set it alight at a nearby torch and blew it out, then simultaneously smoking and eating the cap of the mushroom. To him, time slowed. His heart raced, on the verge of exploding. Then, he attacked. Those who witnessed him claimed that he glowed with the yellow light of the moon, though it was likely the fire that had started on the mushroom in his mouth. Others would say that he moved as swift as a moonbeam in a crack in the rock, though it was just that he'd moved much faster than the slow, obese Gobbgoth. No matter the account, all stayed the same; Znitgit slew the Gobbgoth that day, and had cut him into ribbons as well as his malleable gold armor, which was no match for Gorkil-forged steel. and the axe barely scraped the Mushob. When it was done. Znitgit collapsed, twitched for a while, then rose up once more and lifted the head and the flabby mass that formed its neck and presented it to the gathered goblins. "By right uv da' Skrap, I'm da new Gobbgoth! Now, get 'ya robez, go outzide n' build da biggezt ship lat gitz'v evva zeen!" The goblins would begin to file out of the caves with newfound determination, but would soon be stopped by the sounds of a staff hitting the floor, rhythmically and methodically. “Ah… Hrm.” A shadowed figure stood in the doorway, a long, creeping shadow coming off of the light from outside. The group, stopped in their tracks, observed it. Some yelped, some ran, and some cowered. “I thinks I understand.” It waved a staff in the air, knocking back a few goblins, and pointed a long, spindly finger towards Znitgit. “I can tell you’ve done Schnub things, yes-yes.” It spoke, coughing and sputtering, lowering its hands and leaning on its staff. Soon it would be clear to the goblins that this was Mygenaba, one of the oldest Mushobs, let alone beings, on their island. “Hnnghh!” The old goblin convulsed, and with a shaky hand, pulled a Mad Cap from a belt that hung lazily around his waist. Consuming it, he would immediately scream. “Yes! Yes! The Bad-Moon!” He shouted with newfound energy, lumbering over to Znitgit. “It all aligns! The stars line with the moon! You have seen Schnub himself!” He waved his staff in the air once more to the amazed Znitgit, and this time while dancing. “Be bless-blessed! Gyaaah!” He smacked Znitgit on the head with his staff, before nearly collapsing. Noticing that Znitgit was about to speak, Mygenaba quickly interjected. “Speak none! Go! You carry the Bad-Moon on your shoulders!” With that, he stumbled to the side of the cave wall and laid there, pointing to the entrance of the Shrogo caves. It was a gruelling trip. Due to pure dumb luck, they had run off course and were headed towards Arcas rather than the cold, frigid wasteland that Atlas had become. However, that also meant that their general direction was off. They had planned for a weeklong journey and packed for two weeks, but the end of the 2nd week came and went and there was still no sign of land. Goblins began to perish or jump overboard from desperation or from bad trips, claiming the Moon told them to do it. Other goblins, not used to even the slightest amount of light, died from incurable skin conditions. While the Shrogo fleet began with 27 ships, their numbers dwindled until they could man only one. 26 ships with Bad Moon banners were left to float adrift on the seas beyond Arcas, all laden with the corpses of Shrogo goblins not strong enough to make the trip. Znitgit had needed to Skrap a considerable amount of times, but no one could best him once he'd entered his frenzy. However, even Znitgit was wondering whether he was in the right, doubting his holy mission. On the night of the 7th month - they'd been subsisting on the flesh of the deceased, those who hadn't died of illness - he prayed to the Moon. A mist had set in that day, and all on the boat were clueless of their heading, only hoping for land. To Znitgit's shock. he opened his eyes and saw the moon, a crescent above him, and the mist before him cleared. Before him, he saw the shores of Arcas, and knew he had reached the right land. At the top of his lungs, he shouted "LAND! LUARA GAYV UZ LAND! LOP LUARA!" and the motley crew of goblins remaining burst into cheers. The Shrogos were once again coming to the shores. OOC: Hi! I’m bringing back the Shrogo clan, but if you want to play one of these surviving members from the original isle, post a little RP blurb about the trip and your character as well as the following. I’ll send you a link to join the discord and communicate RP Name: MC Username: Discord Username: Need a skin: (Y/N)
  2. The Journey of Shakul’Gorkil It had been ages since he'd last seen another of his kin. Was he the only one left in this frozen wasteland? Furs adorned his body, layer upon layer of mammoth, rabbit, deer, and any other kind of fur he could get his hands on covering his body. He'd lost track of how many Vaeyl he had slain outside of his once sandy, hot, arid, cave, only that he'd suffered since the memo of his nation's departure had not reached his cave, the messenger likely silenced by the continual ringing of the hammerstroke on his latest masterwork. A year before and 3 following the evacuation of Atlas, Shakul'Gorkil laboured tirelessly at the Forge of Azog on reforging the Black Hammer of Gorkil, the hammer he'd wielded since he was a kub on the sands of Vailor when he was known by a different name. He'd just mounted the boar-faced head onto the haft when the snows began to set in, when he'd noticed that the goi his people once called home was abandoned. He'd already taken to hunting various beasts in the desert, but he'd noticed a rather dramatic change; The coyotes and dire wolves had fled the deserts, the nullers remained beneath the sands, never to rise and torment him again, the desert tortoises and wild jabbernaks had disappeared, and the vultures no longer circled overhead. In their place, great hairy northern creatures - grizzlies, mammoths, elk, moose - had begun to appear, beasts he was familiar with from his ranging in the mountains of the unfinished San'Gorka. Anticipating the later colds, his stockpile of furs and hides began long before the snows began to rise above the low rock walls that surrounded his cave, long before the entrance was regularly blocked by a cascade of snows that required ample heat to remove. In these times, Shakul'Gorkil was grateful for the magmatic flow he'd tapped into in order to fuel the forge, grateful that he could take shelter in his cave and cook his latest kill over the scalding heat of the forge. For years, Shakul existed in this barren wasteland, drinking from buckets of melted snow and eating haunches of thawed bear meat. It was some time before he encountered the Vaeyl, a threat that he'd heard of only in the whispers on the wind before the snows began to set in. Often, he'd find himself ambushed by the armour-clad men, and often he'd find himself hauling fresh metal - and often, fresh meat - to the forge. He was beyond certain that he would die in this frozen wasteland, cold and alone, and began to make peace with Krug, with Kor, with the ancestors and immortals that he held dear to him. It was with this desire to make peace with his spirits that he ventured to the Elemental Plane and spoke with Quxlaz, the fire spirit that he'd made a pact with when the rivers flowed and the plains flowered, when he'd made the promise to bring to the world the greatest fire the Mortal Plane had seen, to spread Quxlaz' influence to every hearth in the halls of Krugmar. "You lied. You resign yourself to remain here, in this frozen wasteland and eke out the rest of your days merely living?" the fiery creature's voice shouted in the Old Blah "And for what? Why do you live? What is your purpose? You are a frail, old thing, and you have decieved me." Shakul'Gorkil hung his head in shame, the stinging accusations of the spirit stinging his pride and scalding his resolve. "Mi did nub lie. Mi'z intenzhuns wur-" "Your intentions are not your actions." Quxlaz recognized his words had made their mark. "Now, will you go meekly into Stargush'Stroh, or will you make good on your promise?" Shakul's pride took ahold of him, and when he departed the trance induced by the cactus green he'd smoked, he took naught but the furs on his back, his tool belt, his warhammer, some meat and a torch and left. The trek north was brutal. He was constantly assailed by wild animals, the Vaeyl, and the various other creatures that had come to inhabit Atlas after the cold set in. His body had began to freeze, the snows lashed at his face, and the winds bit into his skin like a hungry pack of wolves, ravenously pursuing their elusive pray, snipping at the parts that dared stray too close. The warmth that the torch provided was minimal, and rather quickly the flames went out, rendering the torch naught but a piece of charred driftwood. Sleep began to seeem like a good option, and the promise that Shakul might wake up to find this entire endeavour was naught but a green-induced dream was beginning to appeal to him. Several outcroppings in the snow-laden rock seemed appealing, but the biting words of Quxlaz nagged at the back of his mind and drove him onwards, a fiery lash driving him forward against his will. He had not slept in days, he had resorted to drinking the blood of his kills in order to stave off dehydration, and he had naught but a general notion of where he was going when he decided to set off north. He passed the ice-encased cities of the past - Haense, Marna, the Cloud Temple, Dunshire - on his trek north, all of which posed as comely distractions to the beleaguered warrior. Were he not an uruk of tougher stuff, were he not a former Rex, were he not a war hero and a survivor, he would've already been dead, and while his metal leg dragged in the snow, the wolves warily watched his every step, and the icy northern crows cackled from frozen boughs above, he continued on in spite of them, driven by his pride, his resolve, and his basic sense of survival. It was pure dumb luck when he happened upon the passageway north, the frozen statues of Atlas' fallen implying their valiant struggle against the Vaeyl on their northern retreat, armors and weapons of all races sticking out of the thick layer of ice that encased their former owners, forgotten by the children of Arcas. It was through this gate that the weary, frostbitten Shakul wandered through, not peering back to view the hellscape that became of the land he was once a leader of. Luck caused him to choose the correct passageways north, and luck caused him to amble past the Vaeyl patrols that monitored the region south of Arcas. Luck and resolve in equal measure brought him, gasping and limping, to the borders of Arcas. He was too distraught to realize that his left hand was dangerously frostbitten and in need of amputation, that two of his toes were on the verge of snapping off, and that all that saved his face from devastation was the thick beard that had set in after years of isolationism. Not realizing the threat had passed, Shakul continued his trek until he reached the Cloud Temple of Arcas and, at its border, he collapsed onto the ground. Cloud Temple monks rushed to his aid and, with their medical expertise, three of his toes, a significant portion of his left arm, and one of his fingers on his right hand were amputated. Shakul was in a catatonic state for months, tended daily by monks and watched over by their monastic order, before, eventually, Shakul woke. The fire in his heart was rekindled, and it was time to release it in the name of Quxlaz.
  3. ((As much as we've had our differences, NLing a nation for 3 irl years straight is an enviable effort. Give this man a pat on the back and a departing toot o7
  4. >tfw you look back after 4 months of downtime and realize you were a bit of a spastic mongoloid for taking out a bad breakup on the server

    1. ScreamingDingo

      ScreamingDingo

      daily reminder orcs are a racial minority and treated like 1940s african americans

    2. Ford

      Ford

      Don’t beat yourself up over it but glad to see you’re still hanging in there

       

      maybe give yourself a hard slap to sober up a bit more 

    3. IZipZapManI

      IZipZapManI

      Hey Dragon! long time no see!

  5. Spirit Walk RP w/ KBR, TaxSeason, Sykogenic, Dakirennis, and a man whose name escapes me atm https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oROeBqPiqKTH9DjPnzRKYLCLgUOc7dz797r40szRfeo/edit?usp=sharing
  6. If you’re too thick to read the bloody fine print then you’re too thick to understand that it was a comparison and a likening, not an equivalence. I air my real grievances, I get banned. Such is the way of the server. Who wants to play a race with a deep culture and lore and abundance of rp when you have someone who’s angry that that community is mistreated. Its popularly attributed to Voltaire. I can change it if you fancy. And, I fully intended to stop at my last post if it wasn’t for the admins putting TreatyCole in the uncomfortable position between me and the ‘community guidelines’, which I didn’t want to put him in because I respect Treaty, so I simply resigned. I’ve been pointing out problems I see in the community using the diction I see fit, which the staff clearly doesn’t. It wasn’t a ‘temper tantrum on an alt account’; That was fully intended to be out there. It was meant to generate conversation. I don’t complain about the ET because the ET is one of the only good staff teams on LoTC atm. I did my work diligently and didn’t complain. And no, I don’t think I will.
  7. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” ~Voltaire~ Well, here it is. The end of my long tenure as ET. No, it is not because I am stressed. No, it is not because I can’t keep up with the quota. No, it’s not because of IRL issues. It’s because the staff has become a restricting body that I can no longer respect, no longer support, and, as a result, no longer be a member of. In my heart, I am an American. An American that believes in a certain set of rights that are inalienable. The staff, by their own doing, has alienated these rights. The chain-and-ball of the ‘staff & community guidelines’, that, once upon a time, were guidelines, have become the straitjacket of all members of the staff. They have taken away any staff members’ 1st amendment right, the one enshrined globally by all freedom-loving democracies. The right to free speech. I don’t care if you don’t agree with what I say, find it hostile, find it displeasing, but this fundamental right, believed to be so by brilliant minds such as Voltaire and Locke, has been fundamentally violated. Therefore, I sign this letter of resignation before the admins lock me away and say it was for the betterment of the server, that I was a hostile, toxic, radicalized writer of forum posts. I, Dragonslayerelf, officially resign from the ET. Take off the straitjacket; Take off the shackles; There will be no use for them, for I am free.
  8. Fixed. IRL I know almost nothing about drugs aside from the fact that they’re addictive, so I’ve edited it! Thank you for the feedback.
  9. UV rays cause it to wither away (or just Aztran’s influence via the sun.) It’s not a ‘reskin of cactus green but unique to my clan’ kinda thing. It’s not even meant to be unique to my clan; I want other cultures using this lore. However, as it would currently be implemented, it serves an influential point in the culture of the Shrogos. We don’t even have shamans, but we do have Mushobs, which are spiritual leaders that basically just get everyone high on this crap and interpret their drug trips after, usually something along the lines of “Luara blezzez lat!” or “Luara peepz lat needz moa’ worshippin’! Go sacrifice someskah!” However, more than that, it’s also used as a method of receiving ‘visions’ that often fuel occasions and events that I do with the clan. TL;DR It’s not that, but if any shrogos or anyone who uses the drug becomes a shaman, it’s a nice feature to have.
  10. Psilocybin Schnibea Origin The Schnibea mushroom, known to the Goblins of Clan Shrogo as the “Mad Cap” mushroom, is a form of highly hallucinogenic mushroom native to the distant island the Shrogos came from, and have since entered the ecosystem as an invasive species of mushroom in all the lands that they have gone to, chief among them being Atlas. Borne across the oceans by the great migration of the Shrogos, the mushroom has been used for a great many purposes by the clan and can be utilized by others for much of the same purposes. General Facts The mushroom thrives in moist caves where dead things may be stored, and can thrive in places like dark pantries or larders if a sampling was brought near them. If the conditions are ideal, and it has the space, the Schnibea mushroom can grow to be the size of a small tree over many years, however, a naturally grown mushroom will never reach this size as it competes with itself in nature for nutrients. If the mushroom is brought into the light of the sun, it will wither away, however, artificial light and firelight do it no harm. The mushroom, when kept in a dark environment, can last for long periods of time without dying. Appearance The Schnibea mushroom comes in two varieties, a brown and a red variety, both of which compete with each other in nature. It is unknown whether these are 2 different species or the same type of mushroom, however, they both have the same effect. The stalk of the Schnibea mushroom is consistently a bone-coloured white, and can be as hard as wood at room temperature, however, it softens with heat. Effects The effects of the mushroom include hallucinations that can be either positive or negative, a relative strengthening or weakening of the body depending upon the mind’s response to the hallucination, and, after prolonged use, decreased resistance to the sun as it causes the melanin of the user to decrease progressively, as well as mild insomnia. When under the influence of the hallucination and the body begins to produce adrenaline, the user will grow irrationally furious and enter into a frenzied state. Seemingly at random (roll a d12, if it’s a 1, this occurs) or if the hallucination presented is ‘failed,’ as in the consumer experiences negative emotions (anger, fear, greed, etc) during the hallucination, the user will fall to the ground and violently convulse for anywhere between an hour and a few minutes. (1-4 emotes) The psychedelic nature of the mushroom is compounded with the fact that the substance is highly addictive, those in withdrawal suffering from sporadic seizures til they continue to take the substance. An overdose of the mushroom can potentially cause the user to become irrationally insane as their hallucination lasts for months or even years, and can potentially, in high enough quantities, cause total brain cell death. All of the potency of the mushroom is contained within its cap, with the stalk being effectively useless for anything other than rooting it to the ground. The Schnibea mushroom, when used in alchemy, has 2 different effects when its different varieties are used. If the brown variant is used, it acts as a mild earth symbol, however, the red variant acts as a mild fire symbol. Additionally, Shamans can use this as a substitute to Cactus Green to attune their minds to the spiritual plane and enter the spirit realm.
  11. Znitgit’Shrogo would come off the boat, carrying bottles of Shrogo Shroom Beer on a sling beneath his robe. He snickered as he arrived, knowing that his unique brew would sell well to those in this new land. “Le’z make diz zkah ouaz boyz!” he’d exclaim happily, leaping onto the beach and then rubbing the sand off of his robes.
  12. Dragonslayerelf

    ROLFIZH CLAN

    “Dah zkah mi blah abowd nuw clanz?”
  13. Shakul shakes his head. "Diz organizayzhun wud bi hozhur iv lat nub triyd tu mayk peez. Urukz nub lib ah wey ub peez. Wagh am dah ztayt ub urukz. Wagh iz nezzezzari. Peezmungerin' am nub'hozh. wehn lat haz zkahz dat peep tu wulk ull uvvah lat."
  14. Rex Shakul'Gorkil signs the document, hoping he will not be BR'd
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