Inferno_Ougi

TO A RAGUK, THE PANTHEON MUST BE FEARED TO FORGET IS FOLLY LOK LEYD LOK GAZIGAZH LOK GENTHARUZ LOK THE NAAKH-ZA-BARASH _________________________________________________________________________________ Grunt sat deep within the cave of Mokh-Leyd, his knees locked to the ground with his head bowed before three shrines and a fire. One, metal twisted in the misshapen form of cogs and machinery, black with soot. In the center, the largest shrine menaced with skulls and chains hanging from its wings. The last stood painted with blood, and tightly hung around it was various pieces of flesh, entrails, and gore. Bones of varying shapes and sizes protruded from the shrine. To the Raguk, they loomed over him, whispering words of judgement and giving visions of punishment. The Pantheon was not satisfied, no, not with the disappearance of their most loyal follower. There was a void in his heart, for none feared The Naakh-Za-Barash as much as Grunt. For after deeming his father unworthy, it took him--- or so Grunt believes. Thus, he engaged in constant prayer, out of both fear and genuine reverence for the spirits. This time was no exception, but it was interrupted when a rat scurried into the cavern, carrying paper in its mouth. Out of anger he grabbed the rat, and nearly squeezed it to death mistaking it for an intruder of this holy space. But his blood cooled upon reading the letter. Letting the rat go, he stood up, and looked about the cavern room. He looked to the pool of blood in the corner, that had once almost overflown. Now, it was only a foot deep. "THE RONK OB THORAL IS DRYING. THE NAAKH-ZA-BARASH MUST BE SATISFIED!" With a smile, Grunt marched to Providence, and gathered with the best of the Orenians, Ferrymen, and Blackvale alike. There, he met up with Kalruk, a Gorkil that had been converted to a Grizh-Kin, a Raguk, after being baptised in the Ronk ob Thoral. They rode to Sedan, where Grunt held himself in disciplined excitement rarely seen in uruk-kind. He heard the shouting and talking of the humans, dwarves, and even orcs standing behind the walls, steeling themselves for the battle to come. _________________________________________________________________________________ The battle was long and fierce, his armor being dented and marred with scarring--- yet unbroken by the end of it. It was a good battle, and he reveled in every moment of it, having switched his battle axe for a Haense-crafted warhammer he had looted mid-battle. Closing his eyes, he could vividly remember the moment he smashed a Haenseti's skull in with that very weapon. His bowstring was twisted, nearly snapping, having been used to loose many a arrow. Still, the Tripartite corpses that littered the battlefield had satiated his thirst for battle, and, much to his surprise, nary an Orenian was lost despite the odds. He felt uneasy, however, despite the victory. It did not come from the existence of survivors. Nay! This was only a drop in the endless sea of war!

((good formatting boy, very nice))

Aki'Raguk clapped and cheered, preparing to smash many a dwarven skull! Jorvin especially

Aki could not read. But he was coming, for Imp'Raguk the Second had given news of the missive, wishing to see Aki humiliate himself.

"dis git blah too much. maybe 'e can blah twiggee earz off." aki remarked, guzzling a barrel of fishbref's signature guzzoline (not yet released to the market)

wonks are

gonna start playing my wonk in solidarity

"Wub da skah?!"

The Mushroom Demands: A Shrogo Listens! Iggit bears witness to a message... A lone goblin crawls around the cramped confines of the cave, searching. His long, crooked nose, sniffed with urgency as he continues onward. Cave-scorpions, and other creepy-crawlies skitter about the cavern, avoiding the gobbo. "Eeeeeaaaaaaaaaargh!" he cries, entering a part of the cave that had opened up into a larger, wider area. Mushrooms galore populated the cave floor. It was a treasure trove for the young goblin. He had been searching for years for this, a mad-cap shroom! Without fanfare he dove into his bounty, hastily consuming as much as his heart desired. Having his fill, he laid his back against the cave floor and began to drift into sleep. "Arise, my child!" a voice boomed. The gobbo jumped up, and began to cower in fear. "You must find your brethren, and grow me my offerings!" "Uuurgh, eeeaaagh?!" the goblin whimpered, standing up straight as if possessed. In front of him stood a ghoulish creature, a walking mushroom with a face and a body. He knew who she was: Luara, as his father and mother had once told him-- the Bad Moon herself. It was clear: he was to find the other scatted and lost. "Yes! You have passed my first test, my child. Now go, bring the return of the Shrogo!" the voice commanded, bringing the goblin to his knees. In reality, Iggit was on the cave floor, shaking and frothing at the mouth. Nevertheless, when he awoke from his two day long coma, he left the cave at night a new goblin. No longer would he scavenge Almaris for a lick of shroom. Now, Iggit had a purpose. "The gobbos of Shrogo will-will return!" OOC: Looking to revive Clan Shrogo. Msg me on discord (Khakis#1709) if interested. I'm also in Raguk and Krugmar discord.

Clan Shrogo From a far away island, a land of endless war between goblin and olog tribes, rose Clan Shrogo. There, they found themselves living within the crevices of mountains and earth, venturing out at night to wage war upon their neighbors. They were a clan of pure goblins, as any larger being would not fit in the tunnels that they thrive in. Their skin, a varying shade from green to grey, has grown pale, and some of Shrogo have gone blind, while the others have enhanced ability to see in the dark. Sun irritates and burns their skin, making the goblins of Shrogo nigh insane once in contact. They are forever destined to live underground, and be given freedom by the night, but to them it is an honor that no other being will have. For their lifestyle within the caves brings upon the fungi, of which holds a special place within the heart of each and every goblin of Shrogo. Within the fungi comes knowledge. But in truth, it is insanity, which drives them onwards on their conquest. As a normal goblin would be cowardly, they are pushed on by the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms they venerate. When Shnub’Nub brought peace to the warring island they lived on, and left soon thereafter, he had sired children who would praise his name as a hero, a pioneer, a conqueror of the goblins. Years after, they would follow him to the land of Atlas. But their achievements back home will be unfounded in this new world, where their fate lays unknown. In Atlas, the children of Shnub found their place within Krugmar. Adjusting to their new life in the uzg, new generations of Shrogo were born into a world without fear of the outside. Slowly, those from Shroglund would die. The new Shrogo no longer suffered so intensely from the sun. Into Arcas, so too, did the Shrogo continue their integration into Krugmar. Forging an alliance and eventually a merge with the goblins of Ox, it seemed that the goblins of Shrogo had done well enough for themselves. But the siege of Krugmar had scattered the Shrogo across Arcas. Now, few remain. Fungus A sample of the many fungi that Clan Shrogo cultivates One of the most important aspects of Shrogo life is the variety of fungus which they grow and eat. Fungi are always loved by Shrogo, but of course a goblin will have his preferences. There is no fungus that a Shrogo would not eat, even willing to eat one one that they have seen kill one of their brethren. It is commonly unknown what kind of mushroom the goblin is eating, the important shrooms being named, grown and kept track of by the Mushobs or regular shroom farmers. Common side effect of eating various mushrooms include: - Light twitching - Convulsions - Bouts of madness - Insanity - Death - Poisoning - Paranoia - Weakness - Temporary - Permanent blindness - Nausea - Projectile vomit - Increased heart rate - Hallucinations - Drowsiness - Psychosis - Erratic emotions Of course, there are many, many more side effects. One mushroom stands above the rest in the heart of the Shrogo. While many are mistakenly carried along, due to prolonged exposure, the Mad-Cap is deliberately grown by the Mushob. A Shrogo believes that a Mad-Cap will give them some sort of super-strength, when in reality it drives them to temporary insanity and renders them incapable of processing pain or acting with regard for themselves.. All who consume them feel the need to move their body in any way possible, leaving them with erratic spasms. This loss of reason and sense makes them into drugged up machines of inexplicable anger. Some do not recover, staying forever insane or dying from exhaustion, although that outcome is seen as weeding out the weak. Despite how tiring the frenzy is, goblins of the Shrogo clan will always grow Mad-Caps wherever they go. A common sign of a Shrogo goblin settlement is large, overgrown colonies of Mad-Caps. Religion A Mushob of Shrogo, adorned in various Bad Moon motifs Back in their homeland, Clan Shrogo worshipped the moon and mushrooms as that is where they sought respite from the monotonousness of daily life. However, it was only until the goblin hero, Shnub’Nub, came and colonized their homeland that they learned the names of their sovereign spirits; Luara, Wolf of the Moon, and Betharuz, father of festivities. It is from Luara that the Shrogo shamans drew their organizations modern name, Cult of the Bad Moon. Through imagery of a crudely drawn, yellow crescent with a crazed face do they represent their primary patron. This symbol is seen as a sign of luck and good fortune, and is painted onto the outside of their homes, outposts, and cave entrances to denote that it is a home of Clan Shrogo. It is also placed on the Mushobs clothing, and in the rare chance that goblin would own a piece of armor it would be adorned there as well. If space permits, they will build wooden “banners” in the image of The Bad Moon. The Mushobs, the revered mushroom growers and spiritual leaders of the clan, will encourage the lower ranked goblins of Shrogo with both drugs and fanaticism. While zealotry is not exactly the focus of the clan, it does have its part in Shrogo society. Often, Gobbgoths are thought to be chosen by The Bad Moon themselves, and are expected to be heralded by the Mushobs. Of course, there are exceptions within the relatively short life span of the Shrogo. Anatomy A sketch of a Shrogo Gnobba An average goblin of the Shrogo clan is 4-5 feet tall, and 50-100 pounds as their bodies are adapted to living in the cramped spaces of their tunnels and caves. The diet of a Shrogo goblin varies from gobbo to gobbo, as the ranks of the Shrogo allow a goblin of higher standing to take first picks of what little meat and fresh vegetation they have. Alternatively they could choose to primarily only eat mushrooms, although that would quickly take a toll on their sanity and physical health. It is possible for a Mushob or Gobbgoth to be quite plump, depending on how they carry out their duties. Snotlings are commonly skinny and malnourished, used as fodder, whereas the Gnobbas and Hobgobbas fare significantly better. Still, those of Clan Shrogo are typically quite gaunt. As generations of Shrogo have been born and raised in the lands of Atlas, Arcas, and Almaris, along with interbreeding with other goblins, this is no longer the rule. The skin of the Shrogo is considerably pale in comparison to their krug-born brethren, and is so sensitive to light that it causes incredible discomfort with prolonged exposure causing pain. Thus, the Shrogo disdain sunlight, wearing thick robes to protect them from the painful light of the sun. While it is believed by the Shrogo that this was caused by the curse of Aztran, it is in reality a side effect of the Mad Caps that they so commonly ingest. The goblins of the Shrogo clan have also developed the ability to see better in the dark. This ability varies, and can not achieve total night vision, but it does stand above the rest of the descendants. For this reason their eyes are a vibrant yellow, almost like those of a cat. It is also the case that many Shrogo are actually colorblind due to generations living in the dark. A fair amount of Shrogo goblins are born completely blind, however this is the one exception to their ‘usefulness’ rule. Goblins who are born blind are considered to be blessed by Luana herself, allegedly granting them the ability to be closer to her in a ‘spirit vision’. Ranks and Social Structure Gobbgoth - Leader Grand Mushob - Spiritual Head Mushob - Mushroom Growers / Spiritual Leader Herdgobba - Military Leader Hobgobba - Veteran Warrior Loons - Shock Troop Gnobba - Grunt Snotling - Fodder Moonshunned - Exile / Enemy Green = Upper Echelon Blue = Middle Class Purple = Lower Class The traditions of Clan Shrogo have naturally changed and evolved over time. Those under the strict hierarchy of Shroglund are now long dead. Yet, remnants of it still remain. The Shrogo goblin social structures is a 3 tier system. The lower class is reserved for Snotlings and Moonshunned. Snotlings is a "rank" given to the slaves of Shrogo, and the young snotlings who have yet to prove themselves to the spirit leaders. The second tier of the Shrogo social system is the working class, ranging from craftsmen, to shroom farmers, to warriors. The third social class would be considered the social elite of society, consisting of the Gobbgoth, the Mushobs, and Herdgobbas. The Snotlings role in Shrogo society is to do any and all dirty work. They can be bossed around by anyone in either social class above them. They would typically be the ones sent out to scavenge enmasse under the supervision of a Herdgobbas. Their shroom use and food rations would be monitored closely by the social elite to make sure they are not being too greedy and stealing from those who might need it more. The Moonshunned are those who have slighted the clan, making them an exile or an enemy of the Shrogo. The middle class is the average Shrogo goblin, typically shroom farmers or tunnel miners, or possibly goblins who continue their snotling job of scavenging but now able to do so on their own. What sets them aside from snotlings on a social level is that they are allowed to consume shrooms as they see fit, yet are still obligated to listen to the Herdgobbas. However, the Gnobbas are more than expected to be able to hold a spear, as the threats back in their cavern homes were numerous. Loons are those that have won the right to ingest Madcaps before battle, sending them into a crazed battle frenzy. The social elite class, consisting of the Gobbgoth, the Mushobs and the Herdgobbas, are the leading pillars of Clan Shrogo. Herdgobbas are, in effect, the military leaders of Clan Shrogo, whose most important job is to not lead them in battle but also prevent them from fleeing. They must be disciplined enough to herd the more cowardly lower class of goblins. It is, however, typical that Herdgobbas control other aspects of the clan, such as distribution of equipment and food, finances, scavenging, and diplomacy. Mushobs are the spiritual leaders of Clan Shrogo. They "commune" with the spirits via various hallucinogens, the most prominent being the Mad Cap (Schnibea) Mushroom. Despite the general nastiness of the Shrogo gobbos, all Shrogo respect and revere their Mushobs. The Grand Mushob is the leader of the Mushobs, an incredibly important figure of authority. The Gobbgoth is the leader of the clan, typically arisen from the ranks of the Herdgobbas or Mushobs. Vocabulary The vernacular of the Shrogo clan is a crude blend of common and Blah. The Shrogo goblins are able to pronounce words more clearly than most, if not all, Orcs due to their tusks being so small. However, they still use words that are common amongst those who speak Blah despite not pronouncing normal words the same way as an orc would. For example, in Common one might say, “Let’s go kill those kids!”. This would loosely translate to “Led’z guh flat dem kubbiez!” in blah. A Shrogo would pronounce this sentence more along the lines of “Let’s go flat them cubs!”. As you can see, a Shrogo goblin uses words from Blah, but pronounces ‘regular’ words correctly. It is also important to note that Shrogo goblins are not the smartest and as a result of this their syntax might not be the strongest. Common Shrogo Blah words and phrases: Gobbgoth - Leader Mushob - Spiritual Leader Snotling - Undesirable or unproven member of society. Also used as an insult. Gnobba - Member of society who has proven their ‘worth’ Lop Luara - Hail / Praise Luara Moonshunned - An individual that has been exiled from the clan and oftentimes labelled an enemy. Skrap - A duel of honor, akin to a klomp, with both combatants inebriated on Mad Cap shrooms. Gobbo / Gobba - General word for goblin Homes One of the many caves that the Shrogo inhabited back in their homeland Given that they live underground, their homes are little more than holes branching off from an erratically built, winding tunnel system. The homes are small, and rather spartan in nature, only having the bare essentials inside. The entrances to their homes could literally be cracks in the walls with naught but a small marking carved into the stone to note ownership, or they could be loosely boarded up with a small shoddy door. Most homes would have many small shelves carved into the stone walls in attempts to grow their own mushrooms. Within large enough caverns, goblins of Shrogo will grow large mushrooms of a wide variety. This is often by mistake, as they can carry various spores and fungi on their body due to so much time spent around them. Those that have wide enough caps may have tents and lean-tos propped up against its stalk. Still, their interior follow the same principle of their humble stone homes. Warfare Even the cowardly goblins of Shrogo can be riled into a WAAAAGH, leaving their caves in pursuit of wealth, territory, and salvage. They brandish their viscous, crude spears, ready for battle. Shrogo warfare is guerrilla in nature, their main tactics being hit and run missions during the night time. The Shrogos lack a strong leadership as a whole, essentially relying on drug visions for guidance, and slightly less cowardly goblins herding the rest. Should they find themselves in the middle of a clan war they would usually be used as skirmishers or fodder, or would be sent in after the Uruks had broken the enemy ranks to simply cause havoc with their erratic swings and behavior. They are best suited to fighting in closed spaces, where their larger enemies become cramped and have no space to flank. For this, they use spears and pikes, and if fortune allows, a shield. In conjunction with this, Shrogo goblins will use bows and slings in order to soften up the enemy, if space permits. Their ranged weaponry are seldom used as there is typically not enough space to fire volleys, leaving many rather inexperienced in that aspect. However, they are better suited to working as individuals when it comes to projectiles, firing and retreating. Due to their lack of strength and mass, all of their weapons and armor are shoddily made, or simply not made by them. It is common for Shrogos to trade their shrooms for other services that can be provided by other orcish clans. They will also fashion helmets out of mushroom caps, although their effectiveness has not exactly been tested. OOC: Special thanks to Sykotic for originally writing this with me a few years ago and to dragonslayerelf for developing the clan long after I was gone. I found that my original Clan Shogo post was deleted off the forum for some reason and so I'm reuploading with updated information. I will say though that this is not 100% true to how Shrogo developed, as much as I wished it could be. My intention was for it to naturally evolve without me (as I had written it while I was banned in Atlas) and I'm pleasantly surprised to see that it had changed so much. However, I'm unable to reflect all of this, so this is updated to the best of my ability. If you're interested in playing a Shrogo, add me on discord Khakis#1709.

“Hannibal was a bastard. That's what my father told me, that's what his father told him, and now I’m telling you two.” ~ Camilius Helane to his two sons. Hannibal Pertinax was in the twilight of his years. As a young man, he had fought as a mercenary and a merchant of the Nottingham Trading Company. When the company was exiled from Adria, it had eventually been declared a terrorist organization by the Renatian Empire. With their main source of revenue gone, the company would disband, leaving Hannibal a vagrant on the run. By good fortune, he was allowed to stay with and live alongside a small Dark Elven enclave, going under the name Tarkus. Later on, he had sided with Renatus in the War of Two Emperors. Taking command of the army on various occasions, his little mark on history was made on the Battle of the Rivers. Hannibal closed his eyes, straining as sunlight shone on his head from an embrasure on the wall in front of him. “So many at Helena. So few after.” When the war ended, he was legitimized as a Horen. Yet, Hannibal was unhappy. For he had wanted more: he had thought his destiny to be that of inheriting the legend of his father, Antonius, a famed warrior and commander. Furthermore, numerous battles had battered and worn down his mind. Personally witnessing comrades fall, and slaying dozens himself— many he knew before the war— he had become prone to bouts of madness. A sword that does not swing is no sword at all, and so he refused to settle down after the war. He had fought on every battlefield, in every corner of Arcas. Still, Hannibal had yet to be satiated. Taking up arms once more as a mercenary, he had cofounded Ruswick with his fellow highwaymen, in hopes to revive his dream of conquest. Bloody raids against the nations of Arcas had once again labeled him a criminal and a bandit. He sired children with various women— nobles, or peasant women— he cared not. He cast away his eldest, a daughter, to a life of nobility, for he had no use for them in battle. His sons, he would take from their mothers when he learned of their birth, and train them in the mercenary settlement of Ruswick. Those that could not hold their own against another Russ, were beaten harshly until they could. When they were of fighting age, he would send them into the world as highwaymen and mercenaries. With every death in the family, there was no ceremony to be had. At least, not to Hannibal’s knowledge, for Hannibal did not care. There was little love to be had for the man, for he had none for his sons. What feelings there were for Hannibal by his sons were that of fear and contempt, for his temper burnt brightly and his forgiveness was dim. “What was her name…” He leaned back in his chair, placing an inked quill on the table before him. “I can’t seem to recall.” Upon returning to Hangman’s Bridge at the conclusion of the battle, Hannibal searched the battlefield, looting it for valuables. Stepping over a corpse that had been impaled in the chest, he squinted and leaned over. He noticed breathing underneath. “Look at this! The only way you’ll hit someone with your sword is by them falling on it.” Octavian groaned as he opened his eyes. “Bite it, you old bastard.” He spit blood into Hannibal’s eyes. “Right, right. You seem well enough. Get up now, find your brothers, before everyone else takes our share.” Hannibal pushed the corpse off of Octavian, sauntering off to gain his spoils. The youngest, Octavian, was now Hannibal’s sole heir. Hannibal had taken a moment to sit and think in the Ruswick Keep. What had his life been for? He was a dragon— so he told himself in his past. But now, he was aging, and in a brief moment of clarity, he knew that his mind was faltering and his body was failing. The delusion could not stand any longer, unable to pride himself on the leadership and swordsmanship he once stood out for. He knew what he was: a bastard. A bastard who had chased a dream of conquest and yet thrown away what could have made him happy. Any other bastard would have been happy to be legitimate, to have a daughter with a woman he had loved. Now, there was only a sword he could not swing, armor he could not wear, and the nameless graves of his sons. “Octavian!” He shouted abruptly, tensing up. Octavian immediately stood up. “I,” he paused. “No, wait, wait.” Hannibal’s words began to trail off. Octavian knew better than to sit back down, nor cut him off. He would get an earful and extra training, meaning less time to mourn. “Do you like fighting?” He shuffled in his seat. “Of course sir–” “No, you f***ing dog!” Hannibal roared, cutting off Octavian. “I’ve trained you too well,” he sighed. “No, no, no,” he struggled to find the words. “Would you prefer it if— if you stopped fighting? At least, well, I wouldn’t make you anymore.” Octavian knew his father too well. This was a simple test of his loyalty. “Of course not, sir.” Hannibal grimaced and paused. “Good answer, boy. Testing you, of course. Now, begone with you, shoo.” He waved Octavian away, refusing to look at him as he left. When Octavian left the room, Hannibal's breathing was ragged. Looking down, his left hand was covered in blood. His right arm was bleeding. Octavian sat in his cabin. It had all happened so fast, too fast for him to understand. He was returning home from the tavern when multiple Russ mercenaries stopped him. They forcefully brought him onto a ship, into a cabin, which, for all intents and purposes, was as nice as what he had in Ruswick. One handed him a piece of parchment folded in half, shutting the door on him thereafter. Sitting on his bed, he opened it, causing another piece of parchment to fall onto the floor. To my only legitimate son, Octavian Helane Sickness and age plagues me, the power of my body is leaving me and death awaits me. So, I declare that you are my only legitimate male offspring and successor, and that you stand to inherit all of my wealth, which will be soon delivered to you, in Aeldin Signed, Hannibal Helane, Champion of Renatus Octavian scrambled to his knees to find the fallen piece. Whereas the first was neatly written— assumedly done by Hannibal’s scribe— the second was clearly written by his father. The writing was barely legible, with the first half being inked and scratched out. I am sending you to Aeldin, wherever that is. Your brothers are dead, and I will be too. I’ve provided you with enough that you can survive there, or wherever your ass lands. You’re a fool if you thought I’d give you it all. You will serve me better by ingratiating yourself there. Bring glory to our name. And remember, I am not a damn Helane. Damned nobles like that name better. I am a Pertinax. You are too. Best remember that. Fear the Dragon. Octavian crumpled it into a ball and threw it at the other side of the wall. For better or for worse, he was leaving the reins of his father and Ruswick. “Bastard.” OOC: If you've read this far, thanks for reading. If you've only skipped to the end, thanks for viewing it I guess. This isn't a "true" PK post because for all purposes he has been dead for almost a century IRP (I am also banned). Thanks to Valecius for indirectly motivating me to write an end to Hannibal's story. I had a lot of fun writing this. Let me know what you think about the writing and such, I'm always trying to improve. Again, thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone I've RPed with or PvPed with. LOTC was fun.

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