Joltastik

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows:

Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice!

Tell me, Children of Malin! You dutifully tend to the ground of this Perceivable Realm, and the loyal Aspects that embody that which Word alone cannot… Yet in all of your conquests as ever-living gardeners of this World, have you ever stopped and thought to look at the Sky?! Will your life not reach an end, in spite of its longitude? Verily, I say to you, that I’ve seen beyond the Veil-- and there are no sanctuaries for the Souls of gardeners, as your faith promises! It is merely a lie imposed unto you by your betters so that they may go on and indulge in depravity! Forsake your blind love for the Material Realm which GOD blessed you to wander most, and see it for what it is! Broken and spoiled! Encroached by the black, glazed tentacles of Entropy! Forsake it, and our Lord Father above shall save you!

Signed,

A Concerned Citizen.

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows:

Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice!

Tell me, Children of Krug! How can the tusks of your Rexes still possibly grow?! When was the last time your leader’s hair bore the red hue of Glory? When was the last time they actively sought out a Warrior’s Death-- the privilege to raise your Souls to the Sky above and tell your Exalted Ancestors of how you accepted the harsh Chaos of this world for what it was-- and fought until the End despite it. Verily, I say to you, That your Kin grew too fond of life, and would rather render their Souls to be continuously befouled by Monks instead of pridefully leaving this plane towards the GrogHalls of your Ancestors once faced with better contenders. Forsake your fear of living life as Krug did. Face the forces of Iblees Entropy Flood Wheel Chaos Sata, BoM [!](This word has been crossed and replaced by many others, though they have been all scribbled over, making them impossible to read!) head-on until the End, and our Lord Father above shall save you!

Signed,

A Concerned Citizen.

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows:

Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice!

Tell me, Children of Urguan! For how long have you coveted the minerals and gems of this Perceivable Realm’s depths? Their value is undisputed, but who MADE that value?! Verily, I say to you, Virtue holds more value than any topaz, diamond or corundum! Use your picks to carve an Ark that will shelter your kin from the coming Storm! Forsake your Avarice, and our Lord Father Above shall save you!

Signed,

A Concerned Citizen.

Leonhard twirled the waxed ends of his moustache, smirking all the while.

“I expect some proper hazing, gentlemen!”

[!] Neat papers are nailed all over the bulletin boards of Arcas, written and distributed in relative haste -- though the author sure took his time to sound as whimsical as possible. They read as follows:

”A holler to any and all survivors of the onslaught in the Accursed Swamp!

I, a humble being of sheer curiosity, wish to gain an insight into the happenings of last month’s ill-starred battle with the magickal, faceless residents of the Swamp of the Damned! I merely wish for a short conversation (over drinks, of course) with any of you brave warriors, as to record any detail (or heroic feat YOU managed to accomplish amidst the bloodshed!) in my upcoming chronicle, titled “The throes of Arcas”! In it, I wish to transcribe any and all obstacles the brave Descendants had to go through in their efforts to settle within this untamed Realm (of course, bearing in mind attention to detail.) 
 

I don’t have much in the ways of rewards, but I can assure your name WILL appear in my tome, as a direct source! If you feel like you have anything to share as to the OBJECTIVE nature of this anomaly, please send me a bird right away, and we will meet, surely!

Yours truly, Leo.”


Discord: Joltastik#2008

T̫̟͠o̢̝̞̼̜ͅ ̵̞͚͙̻͔i̫̠̪͙̱͓ṇ͈v͎̝̣̟̻o̭̘̣̼͙k̺e̙͙͎̝ ̣̖̦͖̝ͅt̩̯̘h̝e̲͖͖̫̩͘ͅ ͈̘͔̥̬ͅh̛̞͚̦̙i̻̺̱̞̞̲v̺͇e͔̼̥-̡͚͓͈̮̭̼m̝̩i̺̼͍͞n͇̙̝̫̞̱ḑ͇͉͍ ̯̭́r̺̘̻èp̷r̨ḛ̥̞̖̤͍̙s̱e͈̼̫͍̹̕nt͘i̧̭͕̖̗̭n͏̯͕̭g͇̼̥̝̣̮ ̯͎̫͚̗͖̩C҉̱͖̜̹ͅh̙̦a͇̦̯̤̻̻o͉̬s̮͍̘̱̩.̯̖͙
Ị̱n̷̗͈v̢͉͇̱o̗̙̳̘ͅk̲̱͈̩̗̘͜i̲̮̠̹͙̟n̠͕g̡͈͙̳̬͈ ̺͔̠ͅt̟̠̟̤̤͇h҉̹̱͚̜̗e̷͓̫ ̞̣̙̬̤͟ͅf̸̼͙e͕̘̜̩͙̼͡e͚̩̫l̝͔̝̯͔̪i̟͕̹̗ͅn̢g̟̫̠̝ ̫̣̹̳̭͉ǫ̫͓̬̘f̢̪͎̰ ̞͙̟͈̮Ch̕a̱̝o̺̜͕̜͓͈̬s̢ͅ.͏̹̼̯͚̙ͅ
͈͔͙̠Wi̬͖̘̙͎̱t̢̹ḩ͎̺͍ ̝͎ò̜̪ut̶̼̣͇͕ o̩̞̤̫r̺͈̖̟̻̟ͅḍ̜̙̪̤̙̯ẹ͇̲r̛ͅ.҉
̩̣T̠͇h̵̻̳̱͓e̮ ̧̭̱e̵͕̼̦̦̠͖͙ç̦̤̼̗̹͈ṳ̥͘m͙̦̝̼̘e̻͙̟n̗̞̼̗̻i̷̮̦̣̝̖̞̦c͉̞̘a͉̝l҉̥͎ ͅḥ͜i̩͘v̞e̗̙͈̬-̹̗̭̠̥m̬͕͚̫̯͞ͅi҉̮̼̣̩ͅn̤͓d҉͚͚͙̞̘̖ ̤͕̯̟o̰͎̗̹̣͙f̨̗͎ͅ ̱̗̺c҉͎̤̪̬̣̘͍h͈̦͢ͅà͍̪̱̫ọ̫̠̱̀s.̷͎͓
͙̖̫̘̜͢H̰e͙̠͖̞̰̞͜ ̶͖̭̰̭̞̤w̱̝͘h͚͓̘͝ơ͚̦̭ ̛̙̟̻̩ͅW̲͎̜͍͎̻a̤̫͔̥͔̱i̘̟̯͙͝ͅt͎̥͈̘͖̗ͅs̵̻̥͎̜̭ ͚̥̞̳B͙̪͙͡e̫̗͈̫̱h̖̣͚͙͓̠ͅi̭̠̘͚̼̯͢n̵͉͔d҉̬͇̞̭̱̦̝ ̭T̖͝h͙̜͍̣̝̟́é͙͍͚̥̝ ͉̺̫͚v̥̮̼͢e̠̫̜̠̘͕i̬̟̼̹͔͙l̛̘͓͎̣͍͚͖.̣̦̹̩̝͟ͅ
̫Ṱ̖͢h̻̗͖̥̜̲͓e̦͕̗͉͍͙͡ ̻̝̰̣͉̦G̖̜̟̹͉̻̕a̸͙̘̫̮̭̮͉r͕̹̠d͉̱̟͔̜̜̀ę̣͖ͅn̠̯̣̼̠er̸̗̭ ̟̮͍̰͔o͇f̧̻̞ ̝M̯̳̜̭̺̺̰ḛ͙n͡ͅ.̶͍͉̙̭
W̟̲̯͎̼͍a̘͍͇͕̻̤͠ͅk̖͚̖e̼̞͖ ̧ͅu̟̩̩̤͈̯̰p̢͎̙͔̠̻̟͎.
̝
̰̭͚̥͞N̫̼͡ọ̴ ̼͎̟͚͢h̗͓̦͙̪͟o̙͚͇͙̭̬p̜̳̥͟e̪̣̪̞.̧̣͚͉̰͎

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Naught endured. Naught but the glaciers, whose tips leaned to a side, as if to gaze upon what was left. Yet naught was left, and the wind wept because of it. Its howls battered against the waning snow, as if to push it aside, desperately searching for the relics of an age bygone. It found nothing. The snow ran too deep.

The glaciers, greedy, told the wind nothing of what they grasped. They held the frozen relics close to their hearts, encased beneath the mounds of ice. Protected, in a way, though inaccessible to the outside world. Not that there was much of a world outside, anyway. Among the frozen relics, of which they were many, resided one item in particular. A journal. Once dust-ridden and forgotten, this journal now laid glazed, encased beneath a lonely glacier’s unwavering chunks. Nobody could know of this journal, as nobody was alive to care of it. Nobody could recite its one passage, written in the form of a letter. A letter meant for a different outcome. A letter written by one naive young man whose heart, though hidden, still sparked of idealism.

.

.

.

“Dear Vicelin,

If you’re reading this, you have succeeded. You’ve prepared me. By now, I must be gone, ready to face the worst they have to offer. I tell ya’, those sops at the Hexicanum don’t know what they’re expecting, having me and Bart train alongside them snot-faced Initiates who’ve never seen ‘nary a vodnik, before! Them Sparrows will be surprised. I don’t doubt me and pretty-boy’ will ace the trials.

Would’ve addressed this to Renuald too, you know, but i know him enough to reckon he’ll dismiss it. In truth, this letter’s purpose is to thank you, ‘fore anything. I’ve only heard tales of how men come out of there-- cold, harsh, and barren of wordly bonds. If that is, in fact, the truth, this’ll be the only piece of proper gratitude you’ll ever get out of me. A last ******* ode to the good days, just in case I don’t return the same.

I was lost ‘fore i met you bunch. The Initiative gave me purpose, a home, and men worthy of sharing it with. You, Renuald, Eddard, Jentos, Bart, Alfred-- hell, even that blasted bloodsucker we took in. That twig-hugging elf, Veidan, too. I look upon each of our bounties and escapades, and find myself both lucky to be alive, and lucky to have been among yous’. Remember our first trek in Adelburg’s sewers, or when we had to rescue those midgets from being eaten by Quotpedes in ol’ Oak a short while ago? Annoying *****, that one Frostbeard, was this close to cutting off that blabbing tongue of his!

Don’t think me nostalgic, Vic. I’m looking forward to what’s ahead. In fact, upon return, I’ll have already set eyes upon my very first contract! There’s this odd abandoned city north-west of ol’ Johannesburg i came upon in my travels once -- before meeting yous’ all, in fact – that’s got quite the ghoul problem. Some strange man clad in plate lives there, blabbin’ of a giant that loomed over the city one night.. ‘Size of a Mountain!’, he said. What ******* hogwash! 

Don't think there’s much else to say, except thank you. For all of this. Thank you.

See you when I see you,

Sighard.

 P.S: Tell Bart I wrote this prissy bullshit, and i’ll throw you off Winterhall’s pallisades.”

Sighard rests within the Seven Skies with Haddock as he repeatedly and eternally pummels Raide for being a cucked blood-fiend

3 hours ago, Skylez1 said:

“Butcher of Ulmsbottom”

“Who the **** called him that?” 

Just now, TheDragonsRoost said:

Besides, anything’s possible with magic xD right? Might as well as mess with Alternate Timeline storylines ?

Shut it DOWN right NOW

please keep the alternate timeline narratives to those books you’re writing or whatever

9 hours ago, bigcrazy said:

literal sped who can’t crawl out of this place so he has to make fun-fun poke-jabs at double-digiters to occupy his time beyond tending to the short-necked kangaroos in his job, i really do not wish anything but ill upon this guy

This man is obviously a Xionistic pawn of the big bad RPer CA squad. He could NEVER comprehend the value of literal WoW raid events, and would certainly find himself too dumbfounded as to use the wonderful /spawn mechanic (which is objectively the best way to improve your events).

Overall, a good post, and application. Great job, joel. Keep it up, proud of you!

here’s an irl pic of Malgonious, for reference. Good eventing, gamers!

Self explanatory.

Prices vary because i like haggling over pixel money (i take irl shekels too if you’re feeling generous).

FOREWARNING:

I’m generally **** at making full plate, dresses, and helmets.

Here’s a few examples of skins i made:

If you're interested, slide into my Discord DMs for some fun time ;^)

Joltastik#3780

He can’t keep getting away with it!

+1

13 hours ago, TheDragonsRoost said:

My depression.

bro you’re 19 it’s just hormones.

Get a proper diagnosis if you genuinely think its more than that, please.

“What do you think of [Insert staff team]? What do you think of me???? What do you think of my style of rolepla-...”

GrimReaper98 smacked his chapped lips. He cracked each of his sweaty fingers consecutively, before gently placing them upon his keyboard. He had just gotten off another unspecified mineman server where he had fulfilled his high elven erotic orgy fantasies, just to read the pathetic responses to his AMA, written on a minecraft fantasy roleplay forum. Just as usual, the reply feed was brimming with depraved little cuckholds. Ones he indulged in desecrating with a crude, relentless vocabulary. The bait was gulped by each and every one of them, and with each key he pressed on his keyboard, he was one step closer to absolutely obliterating them... A smile emerged upon his puffy features.

“Heh.... Nothin’ personnel, kids...” The aboriginal man cackled. He was to have so much fun in the following hours! After all, the night was young...

A leprous goblin scurried the scorched fields nearby San’Kala, deeming fit to loot the bodies of the dead for all their worth. The barren field of battle was a result of the many skirmishes the passing clan wars ensued.

For a moment, the tiny being seemed to notice a tiny glimmer beneath a mound of corpses. Amidst sickly cackles, he struggled to push each rotting cadaver over, and alas, he uncovered the stumped body of a yellowed-skin Uruk. Shiny, bronze plate covered his arm.

Indeed, the body belonged to Nurzum’Izig, former chieftain of clan Izig. There he was, guts sprawled o’er the earth in a macabre display of rotting gore as he laid with the dead. His clan, left without a leader, was sure to follow.

The goblin simply took off his dented armor, and passed on to the next body. Such was the end of a short-lived clan, before the proud Rex could even properly disband it.

Please get out while you can it'll suck you in LEAVE NOW

2 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Claiming druids can't interact with demigods on one hand while orcs interact with immortal spirits regularly is simply hypocritical and is not a valid argument. If you think creatures of this calibre shouldn't be approachable in rp, then it applies to everyone, not Just us. No double standards. When orcish spirits, aenguls, daemons and other deities are no longer approachable as well, then come talk to me.

Nobody said you can't summon your little tree spirits, bud. You could at least make it more unique and in depth, because the current 'clarification' goes as far as to tell you that you should gather some dancers and druids and do some unspecified ritual until a poopy-doopy animal spirit spawns (or not). I'm not criticizing the lore because i don't want druids to spawn their mani. I'm criticizing the lore because each piece of lore and it's respective branches are supposed to provide original rp rather than rehashing already used ideas.

2 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

carbon copy of orcish lore

they are painstakingly similar in several manners=/= it's a carbon copy of it. 

2 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Your opinions on whether or not this lore should exist is irrelevant, since it already does, and has for more than a year.

Well, your post re-brought it to the surface, and lore is always open to free criticism. That, and the addition of simplistic, half-assed summoning rituals.

3 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

profound lack of understanding

3 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

arrogance and self centredness

3 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

it's the truth.

rofl

Just now, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Don't really care much further. Any comments that mani shouldn't be summoned are moot. Especially by orcs rpers whose magic involves summoning spirits. Purely hypocritical. 

Only with the enlisted help of a farseer and through substancial rp (If the Spirit even cares to manifest itself). Otherwise, spirit manifestations only happen during vague ass dreams, and even then they're extremely rare, and mostly called off as the imagination of the one that dreams it. As far as I can see, the 'summoning' ritual and process here is quite lackluster. Enough dancers and druids and unspecified rituals and you can summon a god? lol

3 minutes ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Mani have already been summoned in rp multiple times. It's already canon lore, and this is just a clarification piece giving it guidelines and boundaries. 

**** boundaries, see above.

3 minutes ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Just because your magic has superficial aesthetic similarities to my lore doesn't mean you need to scrape every bottom of the barrel reason to invalidate it

superficial aesthetic similarities? You mean the core jist of it, just without the detail?

7 minutes ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

(personally attacking most druid rpers in the process) 

44 minutes ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

To address @Jentos @_Jandy_ Hate to break it to you buddy, but mineman orcs don't have a trademark on animist-type deities. It's almost as if different cultures all around the world have worshipped spirit-figures for thousands of years, and its natural for humans to see supernatural themes in nature around them (such as Animals, in this case) and turn them into religion.

 

I don't care about Orcish lore nor do I have any desire to make elven culture anything like it. The inspiration from the Mani comes mostly from real world cultures.

Nobody's saying it isn't plausible, neither are they saying that orcs have a trademark on pagan shamanism-type religions. What they are saying, though, is that it's kinda **** and counter-productive when your piece of lore is literally the same as another piece of lore already implemented into the server. Like, literally from the way you summon them, to the nature of lesser spirits etc.

Yeah, sure, have your deities. Try at least to have some sort of unique twist on them maybe. Something that doesn't break consistency by resembling other deity-lore head to toe (whether you actually inspired yourself from 'kwakwakwakwa' dances or not). Try and keep a stake of originality, for the server's sake if anything else.

"Zkah'z ah God? Zkah'z ahn Azpekt..?" An oblivious orc inquires to his brothers, maw clenched upon a roasted piece of halfling femur.

5 hours ago, Will (TauFirewarrior) said:

I've kept since my days as a Marked Man.

Sighard laughs in the heavens, alongside his hexicanum brethren.

Nûrzum "Azh-Peep", Warchief of the Izig clan, sloppily signs the parchment.

"( ( (  ) ) )"

[!] A Raguk glyph has been carved here, alongside a set of utterly nonsensical drawings!

((OOC note: The following story is scarcely known throughout the land. Unless you come upon this information IRP, there would be no way of your character knowing this. Please avoid Metagaming this information. That being said, I hope you enjoy the post. PS: Huge thanks to Aesopian for providing this event!))

Plenty of Krug's days have passed ever since the wild armies of September razed San'Kala to the ground, and though one would expect the fires to subside, they did not. The meek remnants of the Horde-- utterly crushed by the vile entity's decimating assault, struggled to retain diligence. Among them stood their warchiefs, trying their best to salvage what was left. Among them stood Nûrzum of Izig, desperately clinging to his convictions-- loosely hanging on to the survival of his people. . . Yet as poor Nûrzum scuffled his way through the fiery debris, surrounded by the hopeless screams of his brothers and sisters, he could muster but one single feeling: impending rage.

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(The Burning Goi, as seen through the eyes of hopeless survivors)

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As the wild, disgruntled warchief stomped throughout the ruins, he'd burst into aimless fits of rage-- latching unto loose planks and boulders, throwing them as he roared the name of Prince September. He vowed for revenge, though as his fury slowly subsided into fatigue, the bloodthirst diminished. His beady eyes were filled with desperation; a certain kind of hopelessness only broken men could muster. Subsequently, he finally approached his dilapidated excuse of a blarg, mostly spared from the structural onslaught. As such, he bashed his way past the door and fell to a knee, convening deep ruminations.

"Nub."

He was not to give up. He bared the bloodline of Azgal the Titan! His kin thrived in hardship, and he was no less of an example; but most of all, his kin retained dignity. For this very reason, the Izig swore to have his revenge. No matter the damned cost. No matter the accursed consequences. He took a stand and, still convulsing, sought out a dusty little chest kept for display inside his meek basement. From within it, he'd procure a peculiar dagger, carved of bone. It's purpose was obviously ritualistic-- sacrificial, even, considering the dried patches of blood that stained it's crude tip to this very day. He reluctantly took it in his shaky grasp and shimmied towards a dusty shelf. From it, he procured a dried batch of cactus green. Sitting by the hut's center, he put together many branches-- as to form a pathetic little fireplace.

The peculiar smell of smoke invaded his nostrils as the fire took shape. . . It simply paled in comparison to the great hearths sparked by reclusive shamans, but it had to do. As such, after a brisk moment of unsettling thought, he threw the dry patch of cactus o'er the very fire in front of him. It didn't take long for it to take a greater, crackling shape, thick smog escaping it and seeping through the ruined hut's cracks and crevices. Nevertheless, the room was soon dense with smoke, and in the meantime, the anguished ork knelt by the fire, spewing wild, guttural incantations. Surprisingly, they were all meant for one, single Spirit. One frequently contacted during moments of weakness:

"Ixli! Bugd-izh lat-ûr ghûlum!"

And as his booming voice beckoned the spirit of forbidden knowledge, the grasp he held upon his blade considerably tightened.

"Mabaj bot ob armauk! Traum-izh mol-û azul, agh offas-izh hont-izub! Agh offas-izh frûm-Izub! IXLI!

And as he kept chanting-- And as he kept offering, the Uruk's desperate calls heightened in tone. He hoped for a manifestation, or a sign of the egregore, yet nothing came.

"Badûzg lat, IXLI! Badûzg lat!"

His voice finally cracked as his head snapped upwards. . . And just then, through the dense fire's smoke, a single eye seemed to manifest, surrounded by wispy tendrils. . .

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"Deliver, child. . . And you shall receive..."

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The manifestation stood idle and unblinking, gazing at Nûrzum in sickening glee. At this point, there was no turning back for the young uruk. He grasped the dagger in anxious demeanor, and with a stunted, fearful grunt, brought it's tip towards his very own, left eye. He issued a dismaying roar, though despite his efforts, there was a moment of hesitation.

And then, Ixli's accursed eye blinked.

That very motion, simplistic as it could be, was enough to drive the young uruk into a deep sense of concern. He knew that he already went too far-- He knew that the egregore would not take a blatant refusal for an answer. He feared the spirit, and that pushed him towards his edge. Without a moment to spare, he drove the dagger's tip into his shaking iris.

"RRrRRRRRRRRRrrrRrRRRRaAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHhHhHhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The Uruk's eye popped out of it's bloodied socket, alongside several, lengthy spurts of blood, which would splatter over his surroundings. In a last grain of sanity, he cast his eye into the fire, bearing forth to any vision that could manifest within his costly mind... And so it came, for just as the eye began to blister and burn within the hearth, Nûrzum's vision returned through his empty socket. At first, it seemed powerfully disorienting, as both of his eyes were showing him two different landscapes, though as he closed his real one and prepared for the vision's manifest, he regained a smidgen of manic composure.

At first, the vision revealed a set of flashing images-- all pertaining the sight of ancient, native orcs of atlas, in their homes and fields, being violently butchered as wild things descended upon them. Then, the top of a great peak, beset by storms and fire, and a giant of wood and vine. All of that was to disappear within a few quick moments, fading to an awful black. Soon enough, though, the vision started anew, bearing the sight of a war-torn battlefield...

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The earth had been ripped and sundered, and the sky was black with smokey clouds. There was no green, all the way to the horizon, only mud, grime, and sickness. Nûrzum heard a roar, and finally saw what was transpiring before him-- The September prince, waving his body frantically, grabbing and tearing at his lower limbs and at the rotten earth before him. His legs were half-sunk into the muck. In tandem, several creatures were scrambling across the ground, all headed towards the prince. Indeed, they bared the stain of undeath, mangled into an entire swarm-- and in the horizon, an ensemble of live descendants, few of which surged with necromantic energy-- all focused towards controlling the Horde.

In a conglomerate of rotting bodies, the September Prince was dragged towards the earth. Before he'd strike it, the vision ended-- As did Nûrzum's strained, crippled consciousness. He fell limp by the ever-burning hearth, the floating eye dissipating from his feeble, impaired sight.

Whether the vision was but a byproduct of Nûrzum's demented, drug-fueled outburst, or an actual visit from the Spirit of Forbidden Knowledge was open to interpretation. Nevertheless, he was soon to awake, lamely coming to his feet. The One-eyed Uruk rose a different man that day, both sight and mind crippled by the sickening endeavor he was pushed towards. By all means, Nûrzum's vision offered supposed insight-- what he would do with it, nobody knew.

-END-

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52 minutes ago, Tox said:

Terrible playerbase for the race is off-putting not blah. Only people I've enjoyed RPing with when it came to orcs we're Shamans. Shamans typically have great rp.

It may be painstakingly hard to find quality orc rp as a non-orc, that being because most of the RP interactions between the two happen on a hostile basis (Raids, pvp fests and the such); and lets face it, any and all nations are prone to toxic memery and lackluster rp when it comes to pvp. Most orcs barely rp outside of their designated Uzg, in which there's usually plenty of fun, wholesome, non-memey roleplay going on a daily basis. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, as orc culture revolves around being alienated from the rest of the world due to the obvious cultural differences.

That being said, i do agree with Smaw to some extent. Blah may not be the main reason for which the orc community seems appalling to other players, but it could be a part of the problem. If you ask me, it restricts communication and rp possibilities. I sometimes find it quite hard to take my own character seriously when he speaks it, not to mention the other dozens of orc players saying the same **** over and over again. Its certainly not something that ruins all aspects of orc rp for me or other people, but it does prove to be a little bit frustrating sometimes. In my opinion, it restricts the full potential of their expansive culture, as well as proper character development.

At the same time, blah is not something that's hard to get used to. It's not necessarily "hard to learn", or brain-grazing enough to avoid any kind of orc rp. As long as a player is interested enough to explore the culture and lore of the orcs, they can get past the "ug-blug" dialect. Problem is, it will occasionally seem like a restrictive cave man meme catalyst, one which could be properly corrected and fixed in the future, given time and work.