Fiyaleh

An isolated knight reads over the Urguani missive, nodding as they take note of the set terms. They remember the tale of the initial assault and their own disappointment with Vasiyeva far too well. “Zoundz like he did not even attend hiz own trial—either ah coward or zimpleh pretentiouz, but ridiculouz either way. Dezerved what he got.” They snort as they set the missive aside.

An orcish knight reads over the missive amidst the shouts and laughter of victory, grinning with each re-visit to the terms of surrender. “Finally! Now if onleh zhey can learn tah keep themselvez on ze right track, we can finalleh get zome zhaakin’ work done. If zhey don’t, well…hiztory repeatz itzelf. Death an’ zhaakin’ gloreh!” They laugh as they’re dragged away to join the party, plans for the future forced to wait in lieu of the celebration.

Zuni Gashmorn, Marshal of the Edict under Naffog, grins widely through their tusks upon reading the missive. “Death an’ Gloreh, indeed. Krugmar haz brought dizhonor upon themzelvez for far too long. Finalleh, it am time tah bring juztice an’ punizhment to ze murdererz an’ zlaverz of thiz land.”

The Marshall of the Crimson Edict, a steadfast ally and vassal of Urguan, reads over the missive with an excited grin. "Zo finally, ze day haz come. Finalleh, Krugmar zhall get ah tazte of ze hell zhey bring down to otherz. An' we, along with our Dwarven brotherz an' zizterz, will be ze 'unz tah deliver ze final blow." The Orcish knight sets the missive down, soon retrieving the impressive poleaxe that never truly leaves their side. A rumble stems from their gut, rising into a shout within their Order's castle as the blood runs high in their ears. "Death an' Gloreh! Aruuuu! Death tah ze zlavin' baztardz!"

Zuni Gashmorn, Marshall of the Crimson Edict, reads over a copy of the missive in their office. Having been present for much of the allegations against the noble family, and having witnessed their supposed cowardice and now suspected treachery, they nod fervently in agreement with the notice. “I zaw ze ‘un who failed tah protect ze girlz involved. Heard him complain about bein’ locked in hiz keep while zhey were taken. Zhaakin’ coward. If’n he waz ah part of thiz…” They pause, growling under their breath. “I am eager to zee ze rezultz of ze trial. Death an’ gloreh!” They pick up their pen and draft a notice to the rest of their Order—the very same mentioned in the missive. Justice will soon be served.

A knight reads over the missive from their castle office, their view of the sprawling mountains just out of sight of the capitol. Their gauntleted hands tremble as tears roll down their cheeks in remembrance of their old friend, one they had known for far too short of a time. The honors rightly bestowed to Rhewen offer a growing light of hope amongst the grief, and the orc soon rises to speak with their comrades about the statue blueprints for the newly appointed Paragon.

A normally reclusive orc stumbles mindlessly out of the cavernous home of the Dwed and into the surrounding wilderness near Karmesinfels. Their brown eyes seem to dim to a blood red as the voices and world around them fade away. Memories of their time spent with Rhewen, however tragically brief, shatter suddenly as if struck by their old friend’s axe itself. The now-silent forest, seeming to hold its collective breath, is interrupted by a wailing howl that splits the trees—literally, it seems, as a tall pine begins to wobble from multiple blows to its steady trunk. The horrific sound is almost inhuman, laced with anguish and rage, and does not cease until the tree finally collapses under its own weight. The figure of the orc remains at its base, their bloodshot eyes taking in the aftermath of their first full bloodlust in what feels like eons. With their throat tremendously hoarse and their fists torn up in bloody splinters, they shakily slide down to sit against what remains of the pine. Their mind reels, exhausted from grief and their rage, with only one proper thought repeating over and over within. Today, we’ve lost another good one.

Zuni Gashmorn, Marshal of the Edict vassalized under Urguan, reads the announcement at their desk with a tusky grin. They begin drafting letters at once to their fellow guild members, calling for drinks and attendance of the coronation. “Ze Tax Man becomez ze Tax King. Fantaztic. Long live Urguan an’ itz kin.”

Zuni Gashmorn reads over the official announcement and grins through their tusks at the planned festivities. They begin preparations for the event at once, thrilled for the chance to celebrate companions old and new alike.

Marshal Zuni Gashmorn grins at the missive, chuckling in remembrance of their soldiers describing the cha-cha slide. The cowardice of the Orenian armies are not surprising to the veteran, but they still hold amusement after all these years. “Death an’ glory, brethren.”

Zuni Gashmorn reads over the missive sent to their desk within Karmesinfels. They grunt with approval and recognition upon seeing the blood-soaked signatures march across the final page. The glint of their gauntlet in the afternoon sunlight serves as a reminder to the call for arms, and they take up quill and ink to draft a response for their own people. “Zat is ‘un hell of ah grudge. An’ ‘un I’d love to be ah part of. Death an’ zhaakin’ glory, brethren.”

Zuni returns to the Clinic where she laid Marrow to heal, her heart wrenching in her chest at the sight of his too-still body. Her movements are heavy and sluggish as she checks his pulse and picks up the letter he left for them, letting it flutter back down to its rest. Tears well in the Uruk’s eyes as she bows her head, praying to every god she knows to take care of her brother, before she slowly departs to inform the others. ”For everything there is a season. Keep safe, until we meet again, bruddah...”

From somewhere far away from the realms of Arcas, or perhaps high above, a battle-scarred Tigrasi warrior watches the waves of history swirl around her people. Gaze lit with moonlight and sorrowful, she still holds pride for her people and their now-old allies. She murmurs a prayer, unheard by the realms of the living, but hopeful nonetheless. “May the winds of time favor you, my brethren. May peace cut through your despair, and may you come out all the more stronger for it. I only wish I could lend you my strength, one more time.”

I love this idea!! It would be great to have playable centaurs in the game, and with them being CA the server could prevent or at least track any lorebreaking. I also love the idea of them being more peaceful creatures, one for cultural reasons and two to prevent powergaming. Definitely hoping this goes through!

Great post, big ol’ plus one from me. As a temporary/ex-halfling and general RPer, I wish all groups would make a fun and informative post like this one. It’s nice to get a glimpse into the lifestyle of a race or settlement and get a lot of information from the current population’s point of view. Great job, guys! ?