Vilebranch

Once played a tiki halfling that spoke broken english and prayed to rocks. Dude ended up becoming a prolific dark magic user, a schizophrenic cult leader, and a renowned monster hunter all at the same time. The first time he ever died, he died riding a flaming pterodactyl straight into the ground from 60 feet up after murdering a giant with a javelin. I pked him on the spot and he was given a whole ass shrine by the Huntsmen post-mortem. God I miss that character.

To define the emotional connection I have with this den of losers and degenerates is a difficult prospect but I hope yall will bear with me. When I joined back in 2015 I was as lost and confused as any other new player. I made a high elf character and came to Haelun'or figuring I could just log on and find a telekinesis teacher. In fact, I think buried in the archives somewhere is my first rp post where I ask for someone to be my teacher lol. After a while I left Hae'lunor after not really gelling with the community and made an orc named Moreg. Moreg started off as a dedicant in the Druidic Grove where he met another dedicant named Oliver, and the two got along spectacularly. Oliver would teach Moreg how to read and write while Moreg would teach Oliver what little knowledge of orcish culture I knew at the time. This was the first time I truly felt attached to my character and the characters I was interacting with, as well as the first time I felt a sense of community from the people behind the characters. Moreg had plenty of amazing experiences with the Druids, such as hosting a therapeutic smoke sesh with another dedicant after the death of their wife, but after some time it began to feel as if the cliques higher up didnt really want me there. So I left. When I finally came to the Uzg I immediately felt as if I found the community I was looking for. I showed up at the camp just as the orcs were preparing for a hunt, and Moreg killed his first boar before descending on their proper target, the Scaddernak. All the while, the other orcs were guiding me on how to properly do combat roleplay and helping me with blah. When we got back to camp with our haul, we had a proper feast and Pok invited me to his clan and gave a link to the teamspeak/skype. Up until then I hadnt even used either of these, so my interactions with the community were reserved for ooc only. Suffice to say, this was a game changer. I would try and hop onto the server as soon as possible to hang out on teamspeak and chat about orc lore/history or politics or just what was happening with our lives. It was a proper brotherhood, one I was proud to be apart of. Contrary to popular belief, orcs weren't always a community of pvp obsessed goons and racist assholes. Hell we still aren't. And ultimately, that's what LotC is. It's a brotherhood of like-minded individuals who can share in eachother's pain and create something amazing to escape into, even for just an hour or two. If we are even a tenth as awful a community as we think we are, none of us would still be here. Screw the staff and **** the admins, LotC is what every single player makes of it.

An orcish savage remarks upon reading the umpteenth missive penned by the 'mighty' "Crown" of Elvenesse, "It'z kalled we du a lil' trollin'."

Savage, Beast, Brute, Monster. To an orc these words could only be used as compliment, as affirmation of an uruk's legendary status. But Dishonorable? Hearing such a word from one of his kin could be enough to send a more simple-minded orc into a violent rage. There is no greater insult. And yet here Skorkon reads the words of an elf yet again calling his people dishonorable. Skorkon never was fond of his people's so-called 'Honour'. More a cause of in-fighting and weakness than a virtue. Each orc has their own definition, and confusion over the topic runs rampant. But that is not the nature of the elf. The elf does not wish to see orcish society healed of its weakness. The elf wishes nothing more than the end of orcish civilization. To see them scattered across the land or annihilated entirely. The elf lacks even an understanding of their own definition of honor, writing propaganda and conspiring with foreign nations. A crude message has been carved into the wood below the missive, "Your propaganda falls on deaf ears. Know this, elves. When the people of Amaethea become slaves to the Orcish Warmachine and their city lay in ruins, we shall come for you. Haelun'or shall burn, just as my ancestors set ablaze to it in Asulon. May your Gods have mercy, for we shall not."

Skorkon'Ugluk 'the Bull' recieves word of the Dominus' actions via letter. The Uruk looms over the contents of the paper from the confines of his hovel, secluded from Orcish society since the sudden ascent of the Golden Rex. "Mi muzt prepare azh offerin' tu Enrohk. May diz konflikt ezcalate intu true wagh. Nub eny Uruk zhould be forzed tu ekzperienze da agoni of Peaze for zo long azh tik."

I'm building an orc clan if you're interested. We're basically all about looting treasure and having parties. Hmu on discord if you're interested. Vilebranches#8810

TWISTED SKULLS “To keep your secret is wisdom, to expect others to keep it is folly.” – William Samuel Johnson {Rp in a bit} Turn 5 – 2275 Actions Two levels of fortifications are constructed in the Capital. [10000 C + 2 B] A raiding party led by Smiley will scout out the block to the south, enslaving any small settlements or wastelanders found in the area. [MOD] Production of 50 Molotovs [4 M, 2 F] 2% Population Growth [3 S] Researching T2 Plasma [11/25 R]

TWISTED SKULLS “If he truly is a God, then he is an unforgiving one. I hold no doubt he loves us, but his love is torture. He will have us destroy half of the world before we are granted an end.. But hey, the loot ain't bad.” – Burke's lament. After the raids of the previous year, the various groups of raiders found themselves at each other's throats. Supposedly the raids were meant to put an end to the rivalry and determine once and for all which group made the better raiders. However, the apparent lack of a clear victor made the situation ten times worse. Brawls between tribals and 'normies' became frequent, Smiley himself vowing to hunt down and kill Burke in his sleep. Burke's raiders would hold themselves up in the western half of the settlement, constructing some added fortifications around the area. Smiley's tribals on the other hand, would fortify the eastern half. The hostilities would come to a head at the tail-end of Spring, after each group had finished fortifying their areas. Each party would hurl insults at each other from their barricades, the faces of people they had previously called allies in their sights. The only thing which kept the hostilities from breaking out into an armed conflict was the sudden appearance of a familiar deity. Osiris, the mysterious God-King of the Twisted Skulls, stood between the barricades, inspecting their craftsmanship. Osiris, absent for nearly five years, instantly quieted the once hectic battlefield. The raiders looked down at the masked man with awe as light reflected off of his many medals and jewels, giving him an almost ethereal presence. Finally he broke the silence with a grim tone, "Is this why I raised you all from your crypts, up from your subterranean hell? To see you all tear each other to pieces over some childish rivalry?" The tribals all hung their heads, ashamed to be chastised by the man they worship. The others just scratched the back of their heads or simply frowned. He looked up at Burke, then turned his grim gaze to Smiley. "You will both clean up this mess and be out of my camp by the next week. You will both be responsible for our greatest raid yet. And if you want to make sure our tribe is not just forgotten like many others, you will have to work together. Now.. fix this." And with those last words, Osiris retreated back to Hell to let the warlords sort themselves out. Turn 4 – 2274 Actions The Twisted Skulls take over the previously cleared block to their West. [10000 C + 5 B] Two levels of fortifications are constructed in the Capital. [1000 C + 2 B] Smiley's and Burke's raiding parties join up along with some newer goons. They set off to pursue their first big raiding target. This will be the big one, and whether or not the raiders can succeed here will determine what happens soon after [REDACTED. MOD] Production of 25 T2 Gunpowder [3 M] Production of 50 Molotovs [4 M, 2 F] 2% Population Growth [3 S] Researching T2 Plasma [8/25 R]

TWISTED SKULLS “This is your land. A land taken from you by the elites, by silver-tongued demons and false promises. So I give to you an opportunity; follow me. And take it back.” – Osiris to the survivors of Vault 57, before forming the Twisted Skulls. Burke and his raiders found themselves welcomed back to the camp with a bloody festival. A massive bonfire had been created to light the festivities as chemmed-up raiders went about their business, drinking alcohol and getting into brawls. However, a considerable force had decided not to participate and was notably missing. The tribals; those who had completely lost their minds inside the Vault, could be found gathered around Hell. Despite this, the party-goers couldn’t be less worried, instead just continuing to party until they all passed out. As the festivities grew to a close, Burke leaned back in his lawnchair, placed into a stupor thanks to the copious amounts of booze and food. For once in his life he felt like he had achieved true bliss. The horrors of the Vault were truly gone, and now all the worldly delights of a ruined America were in his grasp. As he slipped into a drunken coma, he was approached by a group of a great many revellers. By the looks on their faces, they seemed to be about to ask him for something. Nothing new to Burke. The apparent leader of the group approached him, “Yo, Burke! We got somethin of an offer for ya.” The rest of them seemed to stand off, all with eager faces. Burke opened his eyes just slightly, “Yeh? What is it?” The leader was a large man, easily one of the physically stronger raiders in the tribe. “We want to join ya on your next raid. Me and the gang been needing some target practice.. And some loot wouldn’t be bad either.” Burke smirked, too lazy to move any more than that. “Next raid is in two months. Make sure you and your boys are ready.” At long last, the gates to Hell opened. Out strode the Skeleton Crew, looking about the massive crowd of Tribals. At the head of the Skeletons stood Smiley, the newly accepted leader of the Crew. He had assumed his position by simply out-thinking the rest of the maniacs, despite his enormous stature. He had a mind for the sadistic, which allowed him to eventually convince the Crew to follow him. He climbed onto a hastily-made stand overlooking the crowd, his signature grin stuck onto his face. “Hey! You best know why I got yall over here, yeah?!” He knew they knew, or atleast had some kind of clue. The tribals had a kind of hive-minded approach to their society, simply following after which ever other tribal was nearest. “Those stupid normies been having all the fun! We’s just been sittin’ round doin’ nothing while they take all the slaves!” Smiley takes out his rusty machete and waves it around in the air, a stunning display indeed. “So I says, we go out and take some slaves of our own! Make Osiris real happy!” The assembled tribals let a great cry echo across Chicago, a volley of plasma gun fire trailing into the sky. Several screams pierced through the war cry as two or three tribals burnt their hands to malfunctioning plasma pistols. “That’s ******* right! To hell with Burke! To hell with the Normies!” Turn 3 – 2273 Actions Burke’s raiders set out on their third raid, bolstered by the success of the previous year. [MOD] [20 Trained; T3 Armor, T1 Melee, T2 Gunpowder. 20 Green; T3 Armor, T1 Melee, T1 Plasma.] Smiley organizes a raid of his own to the block to the East. [MOD] [30 Trained; T3 Armor, T1 Melee, T1 Plasma.] A fuel refinery is built in the capital. [5000 C + 1 B] A construction yard is built in the capital. [7500 C] Production of 25 T2 Gunpowder [3 M] 2% Population Growth [3 S] Researching T2 Plasma [5/25 R]

TWISTED SKULLS “Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power. You are free.” – An old world scholar. The fledgling raider nation slowly begins to grow through the streets of the former slum. At the entrance of the encampment one could find the mangled bodies of the former slaves, each piece of the body impaled on a different spike. The only piece of flesh missing from the piece would be the heads, likely being used as basketballs or something by the Skeleton Crew. At the same time, under a peculiar tent at the edge of camp, a group of ragtag intellectuals sat around the eerie glow of their experiments. At their head was a Dr. Evelynn Shaw; a Vault-Tec scientist preserved through ghoulification. Shaw is unique among the Twisted Skulls in that she wasn’t from Vault 57, instead offering her valuable skills as a doctor to the warband as payment for her life. At the other end of the table sat a familiar old man, decrepit and masked as usual. He slowly slid a piece of paper across the table, “YU MAKE GOODER PEW-PEWY FOR SKULLZ. STOPID GRUNTS KEEP MELTIN THEYR HANDS.“ The ghoul seemed to scoff, rolling up the illiterate ramblings up into a ball and tossing them on the floor. She had already done Osiris a big favor by constructing those plasma weapons for him to begin with. She raised an eyebrow to the hunch-back, “Do you have any idea how long it will take to get the proper prototypes functioning? Me and my crew are already practically unfunded, everything we do comes out of our own pockets. Mister Mask responded with a simple grunt before reaching under his robes. He procured a the head of one of the slave boys before slamming it onto the table and storming off. Shaw seemed uncertain as to whether the gesture was meant as payment or as a threat. Regardless, it was convincing to say the least. Turn 2 – 2272 Actions Burke leads his band north across the expressway to enslave the few scavengers and wastelanders inhabiting the area, secondarily acting as a scouting party to chart out the area. [MOD] [20 Trained; T3 Armor, T1 Melee, T2 Gunpowder] A market is built in the capital. [5000 C + 1 B] 2% Population Growth [3 S] Researching T2 Plasma [2/25 R]

TWISTED SKULLS “Wassup, dawg? You hear about the new slaves that Burke and his posse wrangled up? Yeah, fuckin’ Skeletons came and dragged them to Hell. They might as well be useless now.” – The laments of a slaver. While the rest of the warband started getting acclimated to the new camp location, scavenging the ruins for valuables and setting up temporary farms, the residents of the Fire House took on a very different atmosphere. The walls of it’s interior painted crimson, a primal instinct of rage or fear could not be avoided within the building. It was a place affectionately referred to as ‘Hell’ by the more ordinary raiders. Though this moniker was not based upon it’s decor, but instead by it’s demented inhabitants. Two members of the Skeleton Crew were engaged in a friendly bet at the loser’s expense, cheering on an obscene game from within the reception area. Keon, the more lucid of the two psychopaths, had bet his package of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. Smiley, on the other hand, had bet his own liver. The two skeletons were screaming at two maimed slaves, each missing one of their legs as they hopped on one foot towards the other end of the room, where a single rifle had been left unattended. As one of the slaves neared the gun, he collapsed onto the ground, a sharp noise instantly ringing through the building as the slave was melted by the blast of a plasma pistol. “GEHEHE! Me win! Keon is a loser! Give me cake.” Smiley’s face contorted into his signature grin as he cackled at Keon’s expense. “Yeah, yeah.. You’re lucky you didn’t lose, Smiley. That kidney would be MINE.” Keon poked at Smiley’s exposed abdomen, a trail of slobber trailing down his chin as he stared. He reached down into his bag and retrieved the treasured, irradiated sweets. “Don’t let Fatso eat any.” Keon finally bestowed his lost bets to the smiling psycho. Across the room, a pained voice could be heard yelling out at the two. “Stop this right now, you sick motherfuckers!” The one-legged slave pointed his recently acquired bolt-action at the two psychos, alternating his aim between each of their skulls. “Go and shoot, dum-dum! Shoot him!” Smiley pointed at Keon, a crazed look on his face as he danced about like a moron. Keon decided to join in on the fun, dancing around in a circle as he pointed at Smiley. “No! Shoot Smiley!” The slave pulled the trigger and a shot rang through the fire station once more, yet Smiley and Keon were perfectly fine. Instead, the rifle itself had appeared to explode in the slave’s face, peppering his soft flesh with countless shrapnel wounds. This clearly would not be the end to the slave’s torture. Further within the building, a monster stirred from behind a ruined desk. His features were obscured in shadow, light banished from the old Fire Chief’s office with the application of some simple curtains. Unlike all the other Twisted Skulls, this man was for all intents and purposes, an outsider. This man had never experienced the true horror of Vault 57, nor had he been taught the lessons of the Twisted Skulls’ ancestors; those unfortunate souls who once lived the lives of raiders long before the bombs fell. And yet he was worshiped by them, and more importantly feared. He was to them, a God of Death, one who would bring ending to their enemies; should he be appeased. It was for this reason that he chose the name Osiris. It wouldn’t be long before a masked figure appeared before Osiris. A malformed creature, which stood with a noticeable hunch and wore a primitive mask in front of it’s matted, white mane. This one was one Osiris knew well, the singular individual who could somehow get the Skeleton Crew to work together. The Skeletons called the man by many names but the one which seemed to catch on the quickest was ‘Mister Mask’. The old man slowly stooped down to a knee, obviously struggling due to his withered bones. The man said nothing the entire time, just waiting in silence for Osiris to finally give his orders. Osiris spoke with little more than a whisper and the robed figure floated away back through the doorway, determined to complete his divine task. Turn 2 – 2270 A scavenging crew is sent to survey the Twisted Skulls’ first block. [MOD] Burke leads twenty raiders back into the recently cleared block to occupy the area. [MOD] An Agri-House is constructed [7500 C + 2 B] 40 T2 Armor [2 M] 1% Pop Growth [2 S] Researching Molotov Cocktails [5/5 R]

TWISTED SKULLS “I ain’t no fool. Osiris saved us from that hell down there, man.. I’m just sayin. He’s spooky as all hell.” – A Twisted Skull grunt to another tribe member. The tribe of the Twisted Skulls had made short work of the ghouls inhabiting the mud-covered neighborhood. They knew the importance of the collection of shanties and collapsed two-story buildings. Long ago, the ancestors of the Twisted Skulls likely inhabited these homes, thriving in the squalor and poverty afforded to them by the corrupt city. The ghouls they had to put down may have even been familiar faces to their ancestors; those fools who sought refuge in Vault 57. After a week living here, their God-King found solace in his temporary palace, an old fire station which he had renovated with his own peculiar flavor of decor. The God-King demanded that they bring as many corpses from Vault 54 as they could. The Twisted Skulls originally thought he wanted to bury them, and so were quite surprised when he started ripping the bodies apart, decorating the fire house with the bones of the entombed and the blood of the diseased. The cruel reality of the wasteland was that the corpses had very little true value; they were just blood and bones. Maybe that was the lesson. Since then, Osiris has yet to be seen with the rest of the tribe, beyond by his loyal bodyguard; the Skeleton Crew. In truth they were hardly even bodyguards, just a collection of the most deranged individuals of the tribe, given war-paints displaying bones and skulls over their bodies. The true leaders of the tribe rose up during this period of time, leading them in the construction of homes and shanties, and repopulating the shattered remains of their origins. One such leader is Uterius Burke. Burke had quickly gained the respect of his tribe when he beat back the hordes of ghouls with a salvaged shotgun and managed to rally together the tribe’s first raiding party. His natural talent at combat and skills as a leader lent him to be one of the de-facto leaders of the Twisted Skulls while the God-King sat in contemplation. “Burke! Help me with my roof?” A woman holding a large piece of sheet metal called out to Uterius just as another man started begging for assistance, “Please, Uterius! I just need a bit of food. Help a brother out!” He pretended to ignore them and just walked past. Last he counted there were two-hundred and fifty Twisted Skulls in total, if the gangs couldn’t help each other out on their own then he had little reason to even stay much longer. They survived Vault 57, he figured. They would survive this. Uterius eventually arrived at what remained of a small park. A group of hoodlums and tribals sat around a hastily made fire, a few of them were roasting chunks of squirrel meat. They weren’t much but at the very least they were willing to take a bit of a detour. Around thirty men were to accompany him to the west, each of them issued a cheap plasma pistol before they set off. Even he wasn’t sure what would happen if one of those things were to malfunction. He preferred not to think about it. Turn One – 2270 Burke and a band of thirty raiders head out to the block to their immediate West. Their primary goal is to scout out the area. Their secondary goal is, of course, to find slaves. [MOD] 15000 C – Two construction yards are created in the newly acquired neighborhood. 7 M – 50 T1 Plasma, 200 T1 Melee, 25 T3 Armor 5000 C – Training fifty raiders. Researching Molotov Cocktails [3/5 R]

Application Faction Name: Twisted Skulls Civilization Type: Raiders Starting Points: 5 points in Tech , 1 point for 5 M, 2 points for 10k C, 2 points equipment production Faction Backstory: The story of the Twisted Skulls begins with Vault 57. Before the Great War, the ancestors of the Twisted Skulls were taken from the nearby projects of Chicago and relocated underground. These individuals, mostly from black, low-income households, were forced into an already over-crowded home and given an endless supply of food and water via a special breed of algae developed by Vault-Tec. While originally pitched by Vault-Tec as a solution to world hunger, the true intentions of the company were far darker. Vault-Tec’s true goal was to create a human ‘Mouse Utopia’. Within a single decade, the issues of the vault became obvious. For one, the Vault was way too small to support any growth in population and two; no disposal system was installed in the Vault, forcing the residents to store all of their waste and trash in a single room. This solution would only last them so long, however, as the waste room quickly filled up and the residents were forced to close off another room to keep the miasma from suffocating them. Another issue was the prospect of expansion, as the Vault-dwellers soon learned that the vault was built too close to the surface to support the creation of new rooms; any attempts could potentially contaminate the entire vault as irradiated mud collapsed on top of them. The result of this horrific experiment was a Vault where walls of excrement and corpses slowly closed in on it’s inhabitants, where disease was an ever-present reality, and those who passed away would simply take up yet more space. Dwellers were practically stacked on top of each other by the time Osiris found them. He came to Chicago expecting to find pre-war secrets or stashes of archaic weaponry, and instead he found a Vault filled to the brim with excrement and bones, and found a people completely forsaken by any gods. And so, he decided to become their God. One which would give them an actual purpose beyond suffocating for the amusement of long-dead monsters. They would become his new tribe, one which he would use to sate his desire for revenge. Characters God-King Osiris; The faceless, nameless leader of the Twisted Skulls. The true nature of Osiris is known to very few. All that is known about him is that he came from some blasted land out West and that his original tribe was decimated to the very last man by some great empire. To the Twisted Skulls, Osiris is both their savior and their worst nightmare. He represents everything they came to despise after living through Vault 57, and yet they still cling to him and his image. Perhaps they continue to march with him out of gratitude, perhaps out of fear, or potentially from something far more sinister. The result is the same, the God-King shall continue to rule. Uterius Burke; The infamous ‘Ravager of the Green’, Burke has developed a reputation for brilliant strategies and outright savagery. While clearly not as insane as his liege, Burke’s capacity for violence and skill in the arts of warfare is certainly without equal in the rest of the warband. Burke has sometimes even disobeyed direct orders from the God-King, earning him more hideous scars as punishment. Despite this, Burke is still determined to lead the rest of his brothers to find greater plunder and more slaves. Discord: Vilebranches#8810

I mean, personally I’m happy with where Orcs are currently. We could use a bit more activity, but hey when haven’t we. There are clans that cater to old-fashioned/traditional orc roleplay like Ram, Gorkil, Ox, and Ungri. There are clans that have a more reformist/spiritualist nature like Yar and Lur. And there are clans like Shrogo, Raguk, or Lak which decide to go somewhere completely different. I encourage you to get back into orcish roleplay. There’s really something for everybody. Well, almost everybody.

one more roman salute for the good times, dude. you was a good lad. o/

The Stone-Faces Actions Population: 532 Resource Gain: 9,000 C, 4 L, 4 M, 2 F, 3 S, 0 E, 0 AE, 2 R Stockpiled: 2,000 C, 0 M, 0 F, 4 S, 0E, 0 AE, 0 R 240 Stone-Face Raiders: T3 Melee, T1 Armor 26 Stone-Faces: T3 Melee Unused Gear: 274 T3 Melee [4 M] The foundries of the Stone-Faces finish arming the first generation of warriors, storing a large amount of weapons and armor for the next batch of warriors. 120 T3 Melee and 120 T1 Armor. [10k C] In the newly colonized lands of Woodlawn, two large fields of maize are grown along the decaying urban streets. [4 S] The stockpiled food and supplies are distributed throughout the tribe in an attempt to prepare the tribe for the prophesied ‘hardship’ this winter. Stockpiling everything left over as it can be stored. [2 R] The tribe’s wise men continue their research, beginning to lay the foundations for powerful fire pots. 4/5 R for T1 Explosives. [MOD] The Stone-Father aids his acolytes and wise men in preparing the first fire pot prototypes. The shaman’s mixture would be made up of two parts scavenged alcohol to one part molten tar. (2 S, 2 P, 2 E, 2 C, 3 I, 1 A, 3 L) [MOD] The Headsman leads an expedition further east to explore the lands around the great ‘Skyway’. (3 S, 1 P, 2 E, 2 C, 1 I, 2 A, 5 L)

The Stone-Faces News of the iron chamber which lay beneath the rubble and steel skeleton of the museum spread quickly among the violent tribesmen; tales ranging from trapped demons to entombed riches were told often to assuage their intense fear of the unknown. Yet the holiest of the tribe remained fascinated by his find, scribes and shamans clamored to catch a glimpse of the antique shape. An item of intense religious value due to it’s age and wisdom. Back at the Phoenix Garden, Feenix prepares his raiding party for it’s second major expedition. His group will depart from the gardens to head further north, exploring the unknown land and scavenging for gifts from the stone trees. Actions Population: 527 Resource Gain: 9,000 C, 4 L, 3 M, 2 F, 2 S, 0 E, 0 AE, 2 R Stockpiled: 3,000 C, 0 M, 0 F, 4 S, 0E, 0 AE, 0 R 180 Stone-Face Raiders: T3 Melee, T1 Armor 240 Stone-Faces: T3 Melee [3 M] The primitive foundries of the Stone-Faces continue to churn out well-crafted spears and tomahawks, readying their men to do battle against the horrors of the wasteland. 120 T3 Melee and 60 T1 Armor. [5k C] Large gardens of maize are grown in Hyde Park, supplying it’s new residents with a plentiful supply of tribal cuisine. [5k C] Hunks of old world metal and anything scavenged in the new area is placed in a new scrap yard to keep up with the demands of the warrior caste. Stockpiling everything left over as it can be stored. [2 R] The tribe finally begins to progress with technology, starting a research initiative in the holy site to find a way to open the large door. 2/5 R for T1 Explosives. [MOD] Due to Red-Eagle being preoccupied, the Blood-Mother treks south, accompanied by a gathering of 50 Stone-Faces and 70 tribesmen to settle more land in Woodlawn. (2 S, 1 P, 3 E, 3 C, 2 I, 2 A, 2 L) [MOD] The Stone-Father begins an in-depth investigation of the door leading to the stone tree’s inner sanctum. He fasts for several days beforehand, expelling any evil spirits that might cloud his thoughts before beginning. (2 S, 2 P, 2 E, 2 C, 3 I, 1 A, 3 L) [MOD] The Headsman travels north to map out and explore the blocks surrounding the museum, accompanied by 60 raiders. (3 S, 1 P, 2 E, 2 C, 1 I, 2 A, 5 L)

The Stone-Faces The Stone-Father stared out upon a crumbling mausoleum to the spirits of old America, a site of once wondrous mystical power now reduced to pebbles by the Great Event. It’s massive domed roof was split open like an ancient skull, allowing a great swathe of light to enter the forbidden stronghold. His visions were always correct, or so he believed. There was something ancient dwelling within, something blessed by the Relic itself. He looked about to see a spattering of newly set-up tents and abodes, complete with scavenged furniture and hastily-made wooden walls. The people he had inherited from Wohali were truly beginning to thrive in these new lands, adapting to the strange new gods which looked down on them atop pillars of concrete. He looked up at one of the stone trees once and could have sworn he saw something move at it’s crown, perhaps just a figment of his overactive imagination or perhaps a sign from the Relic. He nodded once to the men entrusted to him by Feenix and marched up the steps towards the crypt, his Speaker at his side yelling out words of encouragement to the high-energy raiders. Actions Population: 515 Resources: 8,500 C, 4 L, 3 M, 2 F, 5 S, 0 E, 0 AE, 2 R 120 Stone-Face Raiders: T3 Melee, T1 Armor 120 Stone-Faces: T3 Melee [3 M] The primitive foundries of the Stone-Faces continue to churn out well-crafted spears and tomahawks, readying their men to do battle against the horrors of the wasteland. 120 T3 Melee and 60 T1 Armor. [5k C] Another trade shop is opened up in the new territory surrounding the museum to sell new pieces of the old world found throughout. [750 C] Stockpiling 1 more supply. Also stockpiling remaining caps, because why not? [MOD] The Stone-Father is accompanied by 40 Stone-Face Raiders as they begin a much more thorough expedition into the old museum. The stone trees whisper of this sacred site holding keys to the past, and so it must be at least spiritually important. (2 S, 2 P, 2 E, 2 C, 3 I, 1 A, 3 L)

The Stone-Faces Stone-Father ‘Red-Eagle’ in ceremonial garb. The tribe’s Stone-Father stood at the center of the of the massive gathering, beside the raging bonfire which lit up the night with yellow sparks. Red-Eagle was Feenix’s first choice to replace their old shaman, a Tree-Father by the name of Wohali, who was thrown from the top of one of the taller stone trees. His shrieks affirmed his suspicions of Wohali being a traitor to the tribe, and so he was replaced. Feenix knew Red-Eagle would never fear judgement from the trees, for Red-Eagle had vowed himself to silence. The wizened shaman danced around the fire as the fire danced in-turn, smoke billowing up and out to different directions. Until finally, Red-Eagle’s dance was finished and plumes of black smoke blew northward. Feenix rose from the crowd, a great commanding voice echoing forth, “The Spirits have decided, and so it shall be. To the North lay the greatest of the stone trees, objects of immeasurable spiritual value. Once we gain the favor of these greatest of trees, we may conquer and pillage all that we meet.” The headman gives an affirming nod before continuing, “For those whose legs already ache in anticipation, come. Come and claim the lands which the Relic gives to you.” Actions Population: 505 Resources: 6,500 C, 4 L, 3 M, 2 F, 4 S, 0 E, 0 AE, 2 R 60 Stone-Face Raiders: T3 Melee, T1 Armor 60 Stone-Faces: T3 Melee [3 M] The primitive foundries of the Stone-Faces continue to churn out well-crafted spears and tomahawks, readying their men to do battle against the horrors of the wasteland. 120 T3 Melee and 60 T1 Armor. [1k C] Progress begins on constructing primitive wooden defenses around Jackson Park, with several shoddy watchtowers constructed to watch for enemy invaders. 2 levels of fortification. [1 L, 750 C] Stockpiling 1 more supply. Also stockpiling remaining caps, because why not? [MOD] Headman Feenix and 50 Stone-Faces head north to the museum and help occupy the area for the Stone-Trees, many unarmed tribesmen come north to join them and start on piecing together their own plots of land. [MOD] Stone-Father Red-Eagle assists 20 Stone-Face Raiders in exploring the remaining blocks around Jackson Park.

The Stone-Faces ‘Relic’ after her introduction during the World’s Columbian Exposition. As the Stone-Faces wound down into their new surroundings, it was clear to most that the spirits had relented in their fury. Headman Feenix had seen his people fight through hordes of afflicted abominations, seen them curl up and expire from dehydration, or simply up and die from exhaustion. Yet when he saw on the horizon the splendor of the old park’s ruins, his faith was returned anew. At the top of the hill, brilliant golden light reflected off of her gilded carapace, the weathered words of her pedestal read, ‘The Re---lic’. A god of retribution truly did exist, and her name was ‘Relic’, an idol of the Old World preserved to protect his people from despair. Feenix would clamber about his muddied home, helping construct the many lodgings of his tribe. Before long, the large mud plains were covered in many dwellings and it was clear enough that this land was occupied. After the preparations were finished, he had Red-Eagle take a small force of scouts north to examine the old world ruins which lay nearby. The mysterious domed building drew his curiosity ever since they had settled there, and it loomed forebodingly over his personal lodge on Wooded Island. Actions Population: 500 Resources: 11k C, 4 L, 3 M, 2 F, 2 S, 0 E, 0 AE, 2 R [5k C] The Headman makes work on a small market district for his new stomping grounds, better facilitating the flow of trade among the Stone-Faces. One Trade Shop. [3 M] Plumes of dense smoke rise high into the skies above the mud plains of the ancient park as the great forges of the Stone-Faces gain traction, equipping their people to defend their new land. 100 T3 Melee and 50 T1 Armor. [2 L, 1.5k C] Stockpiling 2 S to keep the people of the tribe well-fed. [MOD] A group of twenty or so men is sent north to scout out their surroundings and report back with findings about the giant museum which looms over their residence.

Application: Faction Name: The Stone-Faces Civilization Type: Tribals Faction Backstory: The Stone-Faces trace their origins back to a group of tribal raiders from the Ozarks, who hunted and stalked their native lands for centuries before angering their forest and being forced North by bark-skinned demons, according to oral tradition. The journey was long and arduous, and many of their traditions were lost in the process, but when they finally arrived in Chicago their tribal identity underwent a drastic transformation. In the Ozarks, the Stone-Faces were often mistaken for vengeful spirits by their rival tribes due to their bark-colored camouflage, and the tribe would often use this to their advantage in combat. So, when they discovered Chicago and it was decided that the massive spires of cement would become their new hunting grounds, the tribe’s Headman symbolically caked his face in ash and dust. The tribe would abandon the spirits of the trees and instead pay respect to the spirits of the city. For the following years, the Stone-Faces scoured the crumbling town for food and prey, mercilessly and efficiently striking down most scavengers and expeditionary forces they faced. The tribe eventually settled in the old ruins of Jackson Park, with many fearful scavengers learning to avoid the area out of fear for their lives. The ruthless guerrilla tactics of the tribe proved more than useful, yet it was clear as the years winded by that larger and more powerful tribes were being drawn to their new lands. Only time will tell if the Stone-Faces’ faith in their stone trees will be enough to repel the foreign devils. Characters Character 1 (Leader): Headman Feenix Character 2: Stone-Father Red-Eagle, the Spiritual Leader of the Tribe Character 3: Blood-Mother Sapodilla, the Matriarch of the Headman’s Family Discord: Vilebranches#8810

I like the idea of compressing the dark magic constructs into one single creature; as pale knights, dread knights, and dark stalkers were pretty similar in their previous forms. However, I'm not entirely sure that it makes sense for these three completely different magics to create the same end result of a construct.

Man, that's a sad. Have fun in Valhalla.

lordy lordy. lore guys ought to stop gimping lore for the sole reason of 'people will abuse it'. honestly i'll +1 anything if it means getting a chance to experience creatures/magic which i otherwise took for granted. don't really get the hateboners for DK's, all of my interactions with them in the past were positive.