Vilebranch

Chief Researcher of Execution Methods, Skorkon'Ugluk, sings a prayer to [REDACTED] as he prepares his implements for the Mass Culling which is yet to occur. Below his calloused feet looms a bubbling cauldron of magma, a mile in diameter, waiting for its next meal. "Dey did diz tu demzelvez. We muzt cut away at da infektiun before it conzoomz uz all. Krug help uz all."

Upon the steppes west of San'Velku, the mounted figure of Skorkon'Ugluk broods beside the sacrificial altar of Qarkah. The muffled screams of an elf sound through the bronze statue, echoing out in the form of an awkward bray as he burns to death in the cramped metal chamber. The orc's gaze turns to the treeline,

"In da blah ob owur anzezturz, 'Burn it awl. Burn it awl tu da grownd.' Burn da weaknezz from owur kin. Burn da weaknezz frum da land. Burn da weaknezz frum da lezzur razez. Onli azht diz am done, can zometing hozher mayk way."

"HA-QARKAH! HA-SCATHACH! HA-URUK!"

Confirmed terrorist, Sylvanor Nightbane hears whispers of his deeds from his child intel-gatherers. "Heh. The people of Yong Ping would do well not to forget what happened that day. Such is the fate of all who would oppress 'Ker and house uruks." He pulls up his hood and disappears back into the crowd.

The notorious bandit, Skorkon'Ugluk, gasps at the missive. Without recollection of his involvement, he simply offers a shrug as he brushes his bull. "Zureli it am juzt agh natural for an orc tu tayk frum our lezzurz. Livez muzt be taken agh offered tu da zpiritz, or elze we tu zhall zukkumb tu irrelevanz."

He looks up from one bull to another, this one constructed from crude brass as a fire rages beneath to heat the metal. It's eyes glare back at him with hunger and hate. "Qarkah makez demandz. Mi muzt zubmit. It iz da will ob da Uzg."

The Ugluk Clan

The Bronze Riders

“Hakathza-Karz, Gulathza-Hari”
Follow your Horns, Carve your Path

   Across the blasted plains of Almaris, the thundering of hooves and the rumbling sound of warcries may be heard. The orcish horde moves with ferocity and passion, trampling all in their path under an ocean of bovine feet. The glint of sunlight reflects off bronze and gold; a stygian banner fluttering in the wind. Behind them trail their hoard of riches; precious pottery and metalware carted by the massive bulls for which their clan is renowned. For centuries this clan has been relegated to the footnotes of orcish history, lingering in the pages for especially learned scholars to debate over. They are the Minotaurs, the First Vanguard, the true successors to Balzug’s tribe. They are Ugluk.

  The Ugluk Clan are a semi-nomadic culture which subsists off of the bounties of their impressive livestock and from frequent raids upon their enemies. To be an Ugluk is to be a warrior, first and foremost, with all other aspects of life coming second. This is not to say that Ugluks are incapable of the arts or craftsmanship. To the contrary, Ugluks are renowned for their love of all things which bring passion to one’s life; whether it be through song or paint. Lastly, Ugluk culture is dominated by the ‘Two-Hornz’ philosophy. This doctrine holds that by competing with one another and creating conflict, all uruks will grow and prosper as one unit. The ‘Two-Hornz’ are headed by the patron spirits of Ugluk; Karazept and Qarkah.

Passion

   All Ugluks are expected to have a secondary profession aside from combat. This profession is expected to be something the uruk is truly passionate about and can bring the individual glory and growth in their own way. The fascination with passion and artistry runs so deep that Ugluks have been known to adopt professions deemed as taboo by the rest of uruk society, such as poetry and music. Common instruments used by the clan include the guitar, the jaw harp, and the bahzjan; a large and primitive banjo-like instrument made from gourd. Poets and songwriters weave intricate tales from the deeds of other uruks, believed to be a major aspect of the ‘Two-Hornz’ doctrine by building the reputation of others. Goldsmiths and jewelers melt down the loot of raids into effigies and totems while clothiers strip down expensive garments into accessories and status symbols. All things obtained during raids are repurposed in such a manner that the original value is lost and made anew by the passion of the clan.

Philosophy and Spirits

   ‘Two-Hornz’ is an idea based on the concept that all individual actions have a reaction within the collective uruk conscience. When an uruk becomes lazy, his spiritual imbalance leads to other uruks becoming lazy and nothing gets done. When one goblin decides to speak in common, another orc decides to abandon Krug entirely. This karmic back-and-forth is what leads urukim to having such unpredictable natures and is largely unavoidable. The solution to this problem manifests in a number of ways, such as punishing negative behavior and rewarding behaviors which lead to the betterment of society. However, the only ways to actually prevent spiritual imbalance once it has already occurred is to either mutilate one's own body or to sacrifice the bodies of non-uruks to the flames. These are the true horns of Ugluk philosophy; to better yourself through pain and conflict, and to better society through the ritualistic slaughter of the lesser races. The sharp horn and the long horn.

   Another important aspect of Ugluk philosophy is their relationship with killing in general. Ugluks have been practicing the ritualistic slaughter of weak cattle for centuries, and apply the same logic to the culling of other races. To kill a weak non-uruk is seen as just and right in Ugluk culture, and to kill the strong outside of warfare is to doom the orcish race with substandard opponents. This logic applies to all except children, as they have not yet grown enough to be able to prove their strength.

   Karazept is the Spirit of Scarification and Mutilation, a lesser spirit under Krathol. Karazept appears as a man covered in scars and an animal skull for a head. Praise of Karazept is common even within other clans, as he is praised through the ritualistic scarring of flesh. The preferred form of scarification within the Ugluk clan is through branding, generally the same brands used on their cattle. These brands are made to mimic the simple glyphs of the ‘Kad-Kidari’, the ancient tongue of the Ugluk clan believed to have originated in the days of Morghuun. Zealots of Karazept may even mutilate and scar the bodies of non-uruks, allowing them to be free so their marred bodies might spread the word of Karazept. Karazept represents the first horn of Ugluk; the idea that you may become stronger by experiencing pain and conflict. Stories are told from the lines on your flesh, and these scars tell other orcs of your deeds and accomplishments.

   Qarkah is the spirit of Culling and Immolation, a lesser spirit under Leyd. Qarkah appears as a massive bovine construct of brass filled with righteous flames. Qarkah is worshipped through the Brazen Bull, a brutal execution device believed to be given to Ugluk by Qarkah as a sign of respect. This device, a large and hollow bull constructed from bronze, is just large enough for men and elves to fit inside. A fire is lit beneath the device as the victim is boiled alive in their own bodily fluids. Steam erupts from the nostrils of the bull, mimicking the sound of a screaming cow. Qarkah represents the second horn of Ugluk philosophy; the belief that urukim are strengthened and bettered by the culling of non-orcs. Warfare is the blood of Krug’s kin, and if one nation is felled by the might of the Uzg, then others will inevitably follow.

History

“Burn id, burn awl ub id. Nub ztup untyl dere kildrun wyll unleh remembur de flamez, nubfyng elze.”

- Pok’Ugluk after defeating the Dwarven/Salvian Alliance in the city of Salvus

   The History of the Ugluk Clan is long and storied, with some claiming descendance from the ancient tribes of Morghuun. It was said that in these times, among the nomadic tribes of Balzug’s nation, there existed a clan of orcs which had mated with the Minotaurs of the ancient plains. These early ancestors were devotees of Qarkah, and eventually brought this practice to Ugluk in the lands of Aegis. For these reasons, the bull has been the symbol of Ugluk for centuries, and Minotaurs are seen as especially sacred by those who claim it’s blood. An Ugluk who kills a Minotaur is immediately dissociated with the clan, for he has stained his blood with dishonor.

  In Aegis, it is said that the third kub of Gorkil was born. Ugluk was the fiercest of the three, yet his intelligence was unimpressive. For this, he was looked down upon by his family. But where his brothers had strategy or artifice, Ugluk had raw passion. Ugluk sought out the spirit of combat, Maukumgoth, and became one of the greatest warriors the Uzg had ever seen. It was in these times that Ugluk bound himself to the feuruk Kiol, one of the last remaining kinsmen of the Bull-blooded tribes, and passed on the blood of the minotaurs to his children.

  In the Clan War, Ugluk’s children fought valiantly and earned the title of Vanguard for their victories against the legions of Rax and Dom, fighting alongside the Gorkil auxiliaries. For their service, the descendants of Ugluk were given their own clan and fort. Under Pok’Ugluk, the clan prospered for centuries as they brought ruin upon the puny city states of Aegis and Anthos. Here, Pok ascended to the rank of Targoth under Rex Mogroka’Gorkil, continuing to prove his glory before the rest of the Iron Uzg by sacking the ancient city of Salvus and famously burning it to the ground. This act angered many within the Uzg, but through fear and strength he was able to inherit the role of Rex from Mogroka’Gorkil, becoming the third Rex in orcish history. This cemented the reputation of the clan for centuries as they continued to grow and prosper.

   Pok led the Warnation to sack and raze many lands in Anthos and Asulon, such as Haelun'or and Malinor, before ending his Rexdom short with a brutal insurrection at the hands of the same Lurs which had fought alongside Pok at Salvus. He had become feared, and that fear spoiled into hate. For his second Rexdom, he took a more careful approach, yet he was prevented from attaining the glory of his previous years. Following these years, the clan continued to hold strong until the Clan War against Braduk in Athera.

  After frequent disagreements with Pok, Mokrag separated himself entirely from Ugluk with the creation of Braduk. The warriors of Braduk staged a century long war upon the sands of the orcish sub-continent, culminating in the decimation of the Ugluk Bulls and the death of Pok’Ugluk. During which, the Ugluk Clan was sundered once again by Malog’Yar as he split the clan with the creation of Yar. Pok’Ugluk’s only remaining sons, Ugkop and Ubba’Ugluk, continued to live in hiding for many years until the birth of Drokon’Ugluk in Vailor. Drokon, with the help of his uncle, Ubba, took back the respect of their clan by defeating the Braduks in honorable combat and leading their small clan through Vailor.

  For many years, the disappearance of Drokon in Axios had left the clan in disarray and without capable leadership. Only when Krugmar needed him most, did Drokon appear once more and take the title of Rex from the pretender, Kulgarok’Dom. Drokon, as Rex of the newly remade Warnation of Krugmar, went on to lay out the construction plans for the grand city of San’Torr and lead the Warnation to victory against Orenian forces in the Coalition War. Following the War, Drokon became aloof and short-tempered as he quickly turned into a hated tyrant. The False Rex, Kulgarok’Dom, had placed a horrible hex upon Drokon as he led the life of a horrible tyrant, murdering many of his kin in an attempt to maintain order. Soon after, with the disappearance of Kulgarok’Dom, his spell upon Drokon had weakened yet the stain upon his honor remained. Drokon’s last orders were to disband the Ugluk Clan, ordering them to change their names to Gorkil out of shame. With that, the uruk descended into the lair of the vicious Dungoth, dying in single combat against the horrendous beast.

  Since these days, the name Ugluk has remained but a distant memory, spoken by only the most reverent of Gorkil warriors. Their practices and traditions were adapted by many across the Uzg, reminders of what once was. Yet the cycle of time is a cruel master and bands of horned warriors are seen growing their reputation, desperate to earn their freedom and right to existence.
 

Traditions

   The Ugluk Clan has a great many customs and traditions which it passes down among their members. Firstly, should an orc desire to gain membership in the clan, he must first prove that he is not a new-blood by proving he has killed at least one non-uruk, usually done by presenting a skull or hand as proof of the deed. Once this is done, the hopeful recruit is given his first brand before moving onto his first trial. The first trial is the Trial of Endurance, usually accomplished by some feat of immense fortitude; whether by spending a great amount of time surviving in the wilderness or by proving their tolerance for pain with a horrific injury. Once the first trial is complete, the recruit may consider themself a member of the clan.

  The second trial is either the Trial of Wit or the Trial of Fears, at the discretion of the recruit. The Trial of Wit is fairly simple, the recruit is tasked with going out on a journey for inspiration and coming back with a poem based on what they have found. If the Bullgoth is displeased with what they find, they may make the hopeful repeat their trial once more. The Trial of Fears consists of the ritual consumption of the Cimmerean Black Lotus, a potent hallucinogen which manifests the victim’s deepest and strongest fear before them. Once it is manifested, the recruit must make peace with this fear and conquer it on their own, only then able to shake off the effects of the potent drug.

  The last and third Ugluk trial is the Trial of the Bulls. In the third trial, the hopeful is expected to choose and break a mighty Ugluk bull with nothing but their bare hands, first vaulting over the mighty war beast before properly breaking it to their will. These jumps signify the uruk’s understanding of the fundamental concepts of the ‘Two-Horns’ system. Ugluk bulls are famously violent and large, so the uruk must muster up all of their strength to outplay the mighty bull at its own game. As each of these trials are completed, a brand is added onto the uruk’s flesh and once all three are completed, the uruk is considered a full-blooded Ugluk.

  Like most clans, Ugluk is headed by a Wargoth, known to the clan as the Bullgoth. Below him are the Lopal-Eaturz, scholarly warriors who have consumed great amounts of lotus and have been enlightened as a result. These warriors serve a similar purpose to the elders of other clans, preserving the legends and history of the clan while leading its new members towards greatness. A special duty within the clan is the position of Azhkarz, who is responsible with leading the clan spiritually by ensuring the ‘Two-Horns’ are followed and Karazept and Qarkah are sated. Beneath them are the Blooded members, followed by the Kalvez, and then those who have yet to be inducted.

  Following a battle or raid, it is common to see Ugluks celebrating with whiskey and food. On particularly momentous occasions, Ugluks may serve up what they call a ‘Zmokin Bezzie’. This meal consists of a cow fed copious amounts of cactus green before being slowly roasted alive in a smoker so it may inhale its own fumes and properly saturate the meat with the narcotic. A popular way to divine the favor of the spirits is through a simple card game of Ugluk Blackjack, a game which has been spread to many underground casinos and taverns in the past. Other, more detailed card divinations are also popular. 

bro change the name there is only room for one cimmerian on lotc and his name is Volgarr



: )

Orcs stay winning pog

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.

Skorkon'Gorkil shakes his head, a gob of spit flying from his mouth and into the sands. "Diz iz a bunzch ob bull. Nevur would mi gruk dat mi'd peep a tik when Urukz bow tu trecheruz Gazat. It wuz nub enouf dat we am forzed tu forget da legazi ob azh ob da hozhezt Rex'z tu evur liv, but now we muzt throw awey owur metuhlz agh welkom ztoutz intu owur Goi! Nub'hozh!" The orc crumples up the missive and barks out a curse. "Zo muzch for da digniti ob our raze.."

Skorkon’Gorkil, former Dominus to Skalp, offers a sacrifice of iron and grog to the old Rex and aide his ascension to Stargush’stro. There were few moments where he would lament an orc’s passing, as he recognized to die is a great honor. Yet the Gorkil could not help himself from thinking of what could have been, and blaming himself for not going down with him. “May he finulli rezt eazi in Ztarguzh. Da Zpiritz gruk dat he earned it.”

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