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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Skorkon'Ugluk | Sylvanor Nightbane
  • Character Race
    Orc | Unkillable Deity

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  1. Somewhere and someplace, unknowable by mortal perceptions, a renowned Elven terrorist stirs once more. A scythe extends from the dark elf's arm as cold blood flows through him once more. Who was this poseur who now tries to claim his mantle? Who was this katana-wielding charlatan? Everyone with half a brain would know that only a scythe could merge style with lethality. The innumerable robed cultists gasped as their master awoke once again. An enraged shriek pierced their ears as the elf sliced through them with ease and blood cascaded through the clearing. The Nightbane had awakened.
  2. Deep within its labyrinthine lair of volcanic stone, the bronze minotaur regarded the missive with a cold contempt as it interred the papyrus within a brazen idol, smoke and ember offered up in approval. The moloch's eyes glowed red and the fellow minotaurs of the acropolis raised their fists in salute to their cruel god. "Angathgul. Thagurz'Grizh. Mau'Madur. Namez forgotten even by myth or legend. Krug'z favored people are plain tu peep in da eyez ob hiztori. Agh yet da lezzon iz nub learned. Another name ztretchez acrozz Qarkah'z lizt. Un'Satum."
  3. An Ugluk warrior reads the note, furiously butchering into the skinned corpse of a cow. He roars out in disgust, "WAAAAAGH!! DA AZHT HUMILIATIUN! KRUG AGH DA ZPIRITZ HAV MERZI UPON OUR ELVEN KIN! DERE WILL NUB BE A DUBT TIK!!!"
  4. The DREADED Sylvanor Nightbane reads the missive and scoffs loudly before ripping the paper to shreds with his scythe, Mugenjin. He obliterates the scraps with a torch before continuing on his way down the road. He talks to himself aloud, as any sane elf would, "Heh. Savage brutes.. I will enjoy rending them on my blade. Their flames will be extinguished and meet the Abyss, a mockery of their afterlife." He spits with disdain, perfectly willing to shed orcish blood once more. For a price, of course.

  6. IGN: Vilebranches RP Name: Skorkon'Ugluk Merchant or Guard: Armed Merchant What kind of goods do you bring with you to our caravan?: Bronzeware and Goldware; Jewelry Do you accept the requirement of attending at least one caravan expedition a week? (Thurs/Mon): Sure Do you have any rare goods to bring to the caravan?: Of course
  7. "Even wif da help ob dere preziuz Blakkvayl, dey will nub ztem da tide." The older orc sipped his glass of whiskey as he played a game of cards with a fellow uruk. A fat cigar sticks out of his jaw, sprinkling embers to the table as he speaks. "In deyr heartz dey know diz true. Itz why zo many ob 'em have turned to Krug. Humanz agh elvez; deyz rathur zelfizh kreaturez at da end ob da day. Rathur zeek opportuniteez tu ztay in power den liv agh flat." His hand wasn't particularly amazing; a single pair. He stared across the table to the other orc, nervous beads of sweat cascading down the side of their face. He wouldn't even need to bluff. "But datz da fun part. Peepin' deyr fazez writhe agh zquirm az da wallz around dem kome krumblin' down. Da tide climbz higher, frothin' over da edgez like it kould konzume dem at any moment." The Ugluk reveals his hand, much to the dismay of the other. A cruel smile stretches over his mouth, "Hozhur luck next tik, bruddah. Perhapz lat will hav Ghorza on latz trail."
  8. The Patriarch of the Ugluk Clan beamed upon hearing of his brother's victory; Minotaur meeting Minotaur in honorable combat. He loomed over the burning forge, molten bronze flowing into a prepared mold as he went about constructing his gift. "HA-QARKAH!"
  9. A zealot of the Brazen Bull would remark upon reading the missive, "Da holy-men ob Oren agh Haenze are well within their rightz to worzhip whomever they pleaze. Even if their 'God' iz fake. It waz by thiz faith in the unreal that da humanz created da Immortal Zpirit, Kanon. All thingz am azh with da Zpiritz." The orcish warrior bites into a juicy and succulent red apple before spitting it back into the dirt, apparently dismayed with it's sweetness. "Courze that won't ztop me from flattin' them all da zame. Louzy bugmen."
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