PraiseTheLord

An air of curiosity swept over the ashen Orc, Gijaak, as he stepped into the library of the Angathgûl. As he squinted in the dimly lit space, he looked to the tomes and scriptures of old littered across the floor. It seemed there was little space on the shelves for new additions, and so they had been strewn about in carelessness. As Gijaak stepped cautiously over the books, he made his way to the Smithing section, setting his steel cane up against the shelf as he reached upward. For a moment he paused, running his fingers along the books as he searched, humming in contemplation. As his eyes fixed on a book in particular, his eyebrows rose in surprise as he drew it from the shelf. He proceeded to carry it over to a nearby table, blowing the dust from the cover on the way there. As he wiped the remaining dust from the cover, he noticed a crimson blotch of blood stained on the leather surface. As he went to open the tome, it creaked and groaned with old age as it presented its knowledge. Dâr ob Griish (A Blood Priest in the Raguk Death Chambers) Many decades ago, when the Raguk had settled into Vailor, the Wargoth at the time, Kharak'Raguk, set in motion a series of events that would allow the Raguk to rediscover the Spirits. Those that decided to follow him along this path would come to create a mysterious cult beneath the scorching sands of the Uzg, where they would work with the Spirit of Blood and Bone, Gazigash, to achieve craftsmanship of unprecedented potential. Ideology (Gazigash, the Spirit of Blood and Bone) Those within Dâr ob Griish, or the House of Blood, are master smiths and craftsmen in line with the traditional aspirations of the Raguk, serving most often at the apex of their chosen professions. However, they differ in their approach to the forging process, by utilising the latent abilities of the Spirits to help enhance the quality of their creations. This is done predominantly with blood, the crimson stream that gives life to all things and runs deep with iron, sharing the stench of forgery when exposed to the air. The Dâr ob Griish believe that the iron in the blood of all living things is critical in empowering the creations of their forgery. By working in unison with Gazigash and Gentharuz, the Spirits of Blood and Smithing respectively, these Raguk will add vast quantities of fresh blood to their forging process in order to create what is widely known as Blood Steel. Blood Steel (Non-Raguk Orcs offering their weapons to an outraged Blood Smith to be enhanced with his ability) Revered widely by those of the Dâr ob Griish, Blood Steel is considered the ultimate metal, being made not only with the skill of the individual smith, but also infused with the iron of the blood that is enhanced and molded into the steel by the unending power of the Spirits. It can be used to create some of the strongest steel in Orcish culture, and is widely sought after by those few who are aware of its existence. Blood Steel is created specifically for the Raguk, with barely any outside of the clan subject to its potency. This in large is because these Raguk believe they were chosen by Gazigash to use her latent abilities, so that they may wreak devastation in combat and honour her with bloodshed. Typically Blood Steel is fashioned into blades, but can also be used to create armours of complex design and defensive potency. Each item is crafted to the best of the smiths ability, and is decorated according to their worship. They will often use bone for the hilt of the blades, or for decoration in points around the armour in order to represent Gazigash and her domain in its entirety. The Ritual of Blood (Lowly Goblins, subject to Gazigash' rejection) Before a Raguk can become a Blood Smith, he or she must first commune with Gazigash herself in order to receive her blessing to continue with their work. This is done through the efforts of the Shamans in the clan, who work almost exclusively with Gazigash in order to hone the craftsmanship of the clan. Any Orc that does not have red skin will be immediately turned away from such an honour, for it is not within the Raguk belief system for them to be suitable. This is because the Dâr ob Griish believe that their stark crimson colouration comes from a direct blessing from Gazigash. For many years she watched in intrigue, as the Raguk labored beneath the world, smeared endlessly in their own blood as they worked for the progression of the Uzg. The mines of the clan permeated with a stench of iron as their blood painted the walls, for there was no end to the work of a Raguk, and no release even in disablement. The Raguk have worked in blood since their conception, both by injury, and by staining their weapons with it in War. For this great sacrifice to progression, they were to be blessed by Gazigash herself, representing her entirely with their colouration. For this, their steel would be unmatched, and they would spill the blood of their enemies in waves. Appearance Aside from the typical appearance of the Raguk, the smiths of the Dâr ob Griish use tattoos and jewelry to represent the other aspect of Gazigash; that of bone. They will often mask themselves in white paints, representing the symbol of the Raguk clan, the open hand. Additionally, they will trace their bones with paint, so as to further represent the skeletal domain of their Spirit. Aside from this there is no stark contrast between a Raguk of the Dâr ob Griish, and one who has not been inducted into the group. The process by which one may join, and how to utilise Gazigash in the Smithing process remains a mystery, lost in time to only those within the clan. Attributes The steel. After being formed with great care taken into consideration, was a worthy sight to behold. Standing firm and strong, it would retain a durability twice that of normal steel, yet with the added durability came weight. Bloodsteel is comparable to black ferrum. Red lines: - one may only forge bloodsteel when they have gone through the ritual (a shaman of Tier2 is required to summon Gazigash, the spirit may be represented by ET,MT,LT and designated Shaman's that know how spirits work). - Once 'connected' and deemed a child of blood (dâr ob griish) the orc of red skin must collect a sizable amount of blood from either descendants or animals (obtained through roleplay). Creation of tools and weapons cost 'units'. One unit of blood being defined as a single descendant worth of drained blood or 2 small animals, 1 large animal. - Weapon&Armor costs: Any tool/weapon uses about 1 unit of blood to be created. A full set of armor should cost about 7-10 depending on the amount of plated steel that's required. - There will be a list of connected individuals. - If you were connected before this lore was accepted, you don't need to go through another ritual. That was part of the social aspect of bloodsmiths, now it is made into actual lore. - an MA is required for this Feat, and shall not take up a magic slot. The aforementioned connected individuals may grandfather their applications. - The steel is comparably heavier than normal steel. - Bloodsteel strength modifier: 2x as strong / durable as normal steel. It bares no magical properties other than it's red coloring and enhanced strength. - only orcs of red skin may be Dâr ob Griish. - bloodsteel cannot be enchanted

Klunka’Raguk beats up Imp’Raguk to sign the charter for him.\ Signed Klonka Klunka’Raguk

Name of your Charter: REXULKS-OB-ÖRTAG Owner's Username: pepperoni_nip Owner's Roleplay Name: Targoth Leydluk'Raguk “The Skahing Honourable” Location (XYZ): X: -2438 Y: 66 Z: 2118 Tier applying for: T1 - Sum of 3500

SPIRITUAL EXPEDITION Ganak Örtog Ulks| Spluttertongue [X] The great Obelisk, wild in corruption. The Venture conjured when Klunka’Raguk, Yazgoth of the notorious and industrious clan called his brothers forth to Fiimurz-Glat in sodality. A numerous grouping emerged, many bearing old and wisened faces, yet just as many young and brash. Nevertheless, they congregated and discussed recent news and old stories from the ancestors. Yet directionless talk bears heavy on patience, and Klunka’s was running thin already. He stood, groaning as he did so; “We have expeditioned here, to this camp, as a unit. Yet in singularity I have done some expeditioning of myself! I have ventured into the firelands to find a home of firm placement, a home that is inveterate in strength! Sound the revs of war and march out with me.” Thus, rose Megaflat’Raguk atop his makeshift tower, bound to play the heavy metal Ragukian tunes of inspiration endlessly. With these riffs cascading across the jagged rocks and steaming magma, the fellowship set out into Ganak Örtog Ulks, the uncharted firelands. . . [X] The thaumaturgic Khorgol’Raguk before the obelisk, it’s chaos calmed. With bleeding appendages following the journey, and heaved breaths, the grouping stumbled upon an obelisk of unnatural nature. A spreader of corruption upon their new lands. Megaflat’Raguk’s distant tunes and the thundering of the magma conjuring forth a symphony of industry, fitting ambience to the shaman who sat before the Obelisk. Queries touched the atmosphere, Trazha and Zteehl questioning the shaman’s actions. The very air surrounding the shaman grew thick and heavy, growing thicker still with each phrase. Khorgol’s body began to quiver, body tensing as he now began to chant again and again, repeating a single name “Scotharuz, Scotharuz!” repeated amongst a sea of old-blah phrases, as the ashes around the shaman began to notably lighten in hue. “Dalg-Amirz! Dalg-burzum! Dalg-buzog!” Resonated, aided by the shaman’s bone drum. Contorted and changed, there would now be a circular shape of dirt of where scorched earth stood. Yet with the life given to the lands, Khorgol’s appearance grew pale. Confused bickering grew louder between the Raguks, as they observed with wariness in their eyes. “Scotharuz-Grak Izgul-Buzog! Fiim-Uzg!” Khorgol cried in resounding finality as he lofted upwards, smashing his right foot into the landscape. With this act, a ripple screened across the orks, shaking the very earth. Yet, the magma calmed and the tension faded, the air grew breathable once more and Khorgol tilted towards Klunka, cranium bowing. “We can pass . . . The taint, am subsided.” [X] An envisionment of the Mohk-Raguk Free Territories. Once more the footsteps of the Ragukian warband met with the firelands’ rough exterior. Klunka had recently found a great plateau, and within it shared the missing Leydluk’s envisionment of a great citadel. Yet, uncertainty filled the young ork, for he knew not the pantheon’s intentions. For this reason, he brought the most spiritual with him. That of Morug, that of Khorgol. “Am these lands not blessed, brothers? It is where we were birthed to be, and birthed into hardship will our children be, so that battle will not even flinch them. These lands are not ripe, but we harbor no need for twigsdelicacies, but the meat from the ironkow.” He paused. “That, is why I called the spiritualists to this land, the pantheon do not speak to me. What do they say?” Khorgol rasped, growing silent and sensing once more. As he did so, criticisms. formed in Klunka’s compatriots’ minds, as were accustomed for Ragukians to be as proficient as they could. The trio’s bickering were silenced when Khorgol confirmed; “The pantheon. . . They hold some influence in this land. . . Aye, Klunka, but. .“ He falters, bowing his head considerably. “I will need to meditate. I feel. . . Two other strong presences in this land. I must meet with them.” His palm clasping across the ash below. “ There be basalt, hardened magma beneath. It aint that far. Shrines, we must erect. Praisal, we must give, lest we risk bein’ burnt to crisps. The pantheon is not alone in these lands” “Then we shall erect a great multitude of praisal shrines. Chrome will be the tattoos of our snaga, for they invoke the right of sacrifice. Will this tame the spirit’s bonfire?” Klunka queried. “Maybe, we will peep, in tik. Mi must go meditate. . .” And with that the grouping split off once more, as Megaflat’Raguk’s riffs served as an anchor to lead back home. Some went to labour, other to think on the matter. However, a new certainty crossed their minds. They were not alone, and their new lands were not yet liberated. This would come in time.

Yazgoth Klunka’Raguk reminisces on his time with the Nottingham Trading company, yet is ecstatic to work with them moving forward.

EPIC MUSIC : ) BIRTH OF AN ERA Fiimûrz-Glat | Spluttertongue DATE ESTABLISHED: UNKOWN [CONSTRUCTION | NAVAL ] They of Ragukian ilk were not numerous, nor were they rich. In the stead of such virtues, stood capability and endurance. Them of Ragukian ilk garnered their numbers at the temple, and at the head stood Klunka, his eyes placid yet at the same time filled with determination. “Alright, boys. It’s time. We are humble in numerical value and strength, we are neither nomadic nor sedentary. We are Raguks, and we choose to endure. Look above, the garnered nebulas of the pantheon smile at us now, now as we make the great traversal. Trasha, you stand beside me, so do you, brothers of red ilk. They-” And the machination of Raguk industry pointed his index at the starry night “-have done their job, and they have forged us a home. Let’s go take it!” So the entourage of brave uruksfolk folded their cowardice and birthed curiosity. Traversing to the cerulean shores of Sutica, and boarding their schooners. The great journey of navality was carried out over many a sunset and many a sunrise. Many a time Klunka would require to soothe his own temper as his compass grew faulty and rusted. Alas, they pushed through rogue waves and landed themselves on a land far more hellish than of earthly value, yet to the Vanguard the firelands were angelic. Overjoyed, they stumbled upon a camp of Raguk design on the outskirts of the scorched landscape, even though none claimed to be it’s maker, and none claimed to have set foot on the lands before. It was theorized that either the Pantheon, or the missing Targoth Leydluk’Raguk was aiding them. Either way, their ambition was no longer humbled, and the great machine had been reborn. OOC COORDS: XYZ: -2644 | 53 | 1437

TO ALL OF RED ILK Of whom were contacted, ranged from the miniature Ragukian goblinsfolk of Sutica’s sewers, to those of large capacity whom roamed famished across the plains. The behemoth, Klunka’Raguk pondered the Ragukian future, the past birthed off stern, and the present state of his clan. In his lobe was an image conjured by Leydluk, the golden hue of industry and wealth sprawled across the firelands, Rexulks-Ob-Örtag, a clan unified and prosperous. As much as Klunka idolized the notorious wargoth, it was Leydluk’s dormant disappearance of which jumpstarted the machine; Klunka was to take up the mantle whilst his predecessor was on pilgrimage, though this was a temporary state, for Krukleyd’s return was prophesied. Thus, he whipped and beat Imp’Raguk to conjure a jumpstart of his own machination, the unification of his people. “Lat gits better get ready. For too long have our PEOPLE been dormant, silent as Arcas churns forth. Our mark has faded, and our cleavers grown rusted. The forges flicker no more. One would assume da boyz have fallen into inactivity, and one would assume right! But for no longer, come find me, Klunka’Raguk, ya gits. Return, brothers of Leyd, and relight the passion of industry. “Return!” OOC: If you’ve been thinking of playing a Raguk for a while, this would be the perfect time to make one, since it makes sense in roleplay. We have a detailed bot and great community that’ll help you set up your character. If you've already got an existing Raguk character, come rp with us. Raguk discord: https://discord.gg/T9u5hvY Raguk subforum for more info: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/forum/953-clan-raguk/

says garsen wyne

“The tyrant dies and his rule is over, the martyr dies and his rule begins.” Soren Kierkegaard, The Journals of Kierkegaard Wasps of verdant green supplemented the deathly stench of the afterlife, curious onlookers too wisped offwards and warded by the presence of another. Krukleyd’Raguk stood before Glottgut, his visage screened of dissapointment yet valued respect. “So much to say, so few time. You were a younger brother to me, Glottgut, much akin to Groggnar’s relationship towards you. I introduced you into the crimson warband, I had hoped you to become everything I was. Yet, I was a bad teacher. I cowered from responsibility when Leydluk was imprisoned, I shied away when danger came. I realize now that you had not become everything I was, but became everything I should have been.” Then, as an illusion, or perhaps reality tricked, a sea of blood washed over the duo, and chains took their limbs. Waves of crimson foam crashed and cascaded onto them, before Glottgut arrived in a domain of spectacular fashion. Large pillars of smoke and industria immortalized in plethora. They had arrived in the Lord of Chain’s throne room. “Sit beside me, Glottgut. Become one of the Glatek, Galzunizunin years will pass and your name is still immortalized, Ang Gund Griizh.”

What a dumb excuse There's always room for improvement

[!] A tune fills your mind. . . THE COG STILL GRINDS [Forums are scuffed, no image.] [X] A Ragukian warrior, angered upon hearing news. The sun screened across the desert’s landscape, calming in it’s afternoon haziness, yet it’s calm ambience was overridden by the thumping of sabatons, and the wrapping of chains. Krukleyd’Raguk, son of Wargoth Leydluk’Raguk, was dropped before a pit of flame. His brawl against a duo of uruks had brought him down low. Golden pupils focused on the Rex, and the ork felt the razoring of an axehead scraping across his neck, hanging dormantly and awaiting the Rex’s -of whom stood before Krukleyd now-, orders. The Ragukian, however, did not see fit to abide to orders, nor did he see fit to die chained. “Murak’Gorkil, Rex of Krugmar. I have lived a life many consider dishonorable, yet allow me to do this; allow me death in combat, as Leyd would have sought it, an Honorable death. Repent.” Murak agreed swiftly, they were placed in the arena of which the bricks were first placed by slaves. As the Bloodsmith flicked his eyes across the vast architecture of the structure, he came to a realization, and understanding. This was to be his final moments. If he emerged the victor, he would be maimed for being a whitewash. There was only one exit; that of the afterlife. “I march on my way to the Gates of Kor, and already I hear the cackling from the Death-wolf. My axe, in life, was sharp, but it will be sharper in the halls of Leyd! However, my Ragukian brothers will not receive such a pleasantry, as their swords are sharpened to the tune of my death! To the tune of wagh!” This was followed by cries of war, and fists cascading against flesh. Krukleyd began strong, grappling the Rex and delivering a hailstorm of blows to the jaw; yet his brash rage would be his undoing. A technique of art, Murak slipped from his grip and delivered a strike to the temple, collapsing the Ork. As he peered down onto the setting sun, with dusk’s first stars blooming over his physique and chrome tattoo’s, he would only manage a bloody cough; and bloody were the words that followed before his death, aswell: “Bahaha. . . The cog still grinds, brothers. . . The cog still grinds!”

“Finalli, Ang Gund Griizh, boys!” Krukleyd said.

“Lats a Git. Da Dar Ob Griizh ‘ave exizted for aeonz, before evun mi popo tuuk da reignz. Ang gund griizh, ****!” Krukleyd, the more boisterous and hot-headed of the duo proclaimed, lofting his cleaver into the air.