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A Lost Uruk Shanty A barnacle-encrusted glass bottle was washed ashore and catched the cutrosity of a fishing goblin. He opened the bottle with great effort, and the pure smell of the sea invaded his senses. inside, there was a small and mois piece of parchment, with words followed by a written melody that went like this: Mi grukked mi heard the Old Yar say "Keep her, Krughai, keep her" Tomorrow ye will get lats pay And it's tik for uz to keep her keep her, Krughai, keep her Oh, keep her, Krughai, keep her For the voyage iz long and the windz will blow And it's tik for uz to keep her Oh, the wind waz foul and the sea ran high Keep her, Krughai, keep her She shipped it green and none went by And it's tik for uz to keep her Keep her, Krughai, keep her Oh, keep her, Krughai, keep her For the voyage iz long and the windz will blow And it's tik for uz to keep her Mi luv to sail on this rotten tub Keep her, Krughai, keep her All grog allowed and rotten grub And it's tik for uz to keep her Keep her, Krughai, keep her Oh, keep her, Krughai, keep her For the voyage iz long and the windz will blow And it's tik for uz to keep her We swear by rote for want of more Keep her, Krughai, keep her But now we're through so we'll go on shore And it's tik for uz to keep her Keep her, Krughai, keep her Oh, keep her, Krughai, keep her For the voyage iz long and the windz will blow And it's tik for uz to keep her

THE WARFORGE OF KRUGMAR _______________________________________________ The sounds of hammering can be heard from the center of Krugmar, heat blasting out the door of the forge. Grunting and singing can be heard, going beat or beat with the hammer. The heart of Krugmar is beating. Whenever war rages, we can see the demand for tools, armor, weapons, cannons, ammunition, increase tenfold. As the cannon fodder rides into battle with glory and honor, we want them to have full trust in the blade in their hands. Even out of wartime, we prepare our soldiers for their next WAGH, as Krugmar is an armory in practice.This story has been told many times, by many mouths, heard by many ears. We must produce. We must create. We must prevail. What The Warforge Provides From the warforge, quality items will be supplied by our manifold smiths. Our job is to take care of all gear needs of the Horde and its close allies. An Uruk asking for gear will not be charged by any means. Our forge will supply any new smiths with quality metals, with many opportunities to learn arts, some examples being Warforging and Haruspexy. We will not expect you to use your own resources to build, but we expect that any Horde resources must be used for bettering the Horde, one way or another. We are an open forge, therefor other bruhdahz will be wurkin in it. SIGNED, BRUNLE KRUGMA'GORKIL [The symbol of a scorpion riding a toad would be stamped here]

These pages are extracts from Fagh's notebook, the writing looks more carefully done and with less smidges than other previous notes. Diary of Fagh 16th The of the Grand Harvest, SA 160 Never knew much about our spirits until some years ago, and I didn't know much about how others view spirits: when the Mothsam accompanied me for the first time to Rahtu-ma, I only knew of our way, our culture, and it was taught to me that it was all that I needed for it was the will of Krug. Also, from my understanding, our Rex and Rahtu-ma do not get along very well, so the decision of is own advisor to expose me to that culture was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Why? Maybe because I asked him for some foreign understanding, but he could have gone with the elves, who have great shamans too, like Ember. Instead he chose Rahtu-ma. Atemu-Ta is what they would call the Pharaoh of their people, the leader and a powerful Netjer, which is apparently a couterpart of our shamans, but more religion-oriented. He is a very serious elf, but has always been polite and helpful to me, and even though our cultures may differ greatly he made the effort to make me understand and learn. Mind you, I'm still going to follow the will of Krug, and will always consider him greater, but it was also polite for me to pay respects to the gods he was so thuroughfully explaining to me-ah yes, Rahtu-mans consider them gods, not spirits. this was a distincion that Atemu deemed very important. He firstly taught me of Tetu, a Sphinx that protects their city against their spiritual enemies, then of his wife Kalthet that helps more in times of war: even through our differences, we at least have a common enemy that they call Isfet and we call buurz, but it's just chaos with different names. He then brought me into this fancy shrine to a goddes tho them most dear: Ahura-ma, the goddes of freedom, which her priesthood hepled to abolish slavery and servitude. We also don't have slavery anymore, and I'm too young to remember a time when it was still done, but it's not as big of a deal as the Rahtu-mans. Their gods, as our spirits, are not always in agreement with each other, and an example of this is Ahura-ma and Hestor, the god of purity and healing: the first believes in freedom above all, and would prefer to kill rather than imprison or take away the freedom of anyone, even the buurz, but Hestor seeks to purify and eventually capturing darkspawn for sacrifice, wich takes away their (not so deserved in my opinion) freedom and goes in contrast with the basic principles of Ahura-ma. He then brought me into this very fancy shrine, it had tall walls and the roof painted as the desert night sky: it was the shrine of Ka-tau, their most important god, lord of sunlight and creation. The huge statue depicting him had a flaming staff they called Ankh. which means life to them. It was very curiuos to me, seeing all that similarities and differences between our spirits and their gods, none of them less tue then the other, but clearly given a different importance. He then showed to me the shrine of Hestor, with fountains of clear water and a countinous, faint sound of cow hooves. She is a bovine purifier, and a fierce enemy of buurz. This is also why the shrine was well protected, as it was the primary target of attacks from various chaos forces. We also have a spirit called Scorthuz, that is more of an unforgiving buurz hunter and has water as his symbol of purification and cleansing. I will seek on learning further of that and more, for my neverending curiosity, the sake of communing better with the spirits and for maybe appease Theruz, the spirit of Knowledge and intellect.

A leather-bound tome lies unattended. The pages are stark and clean, suggesting a recent publishing, or attempts at preservation. You pick it up, curious at the title- what are Long Pigs? The answer is likely not what you hoped. To Cook a Longpig Authored by Barbog, Grubgoth of the Iron’Uzg Translated by the Orcish Cultural Revival And Purity project (OCRAP) For too long, brothers and sisters of the Uruk-hai have been left in the dark by the master butchers and Grubgoths of Uruk society. Perhaps these were never meant to be left secret, or forgotten by the masses, but as times and traditions change, so too has our knowledge of the past. Whilst many brothers may still seek out and butcher the longpig like in days past, there is a distinct lack of etiquette about it, and the dishes prepared (if they can even be called such) featuring longpig are woefully inadequate at best, and a slap in the face of Glutros at worst. I shall do my part in redeeming my misguided brothers, sisters, and any who fancy a decent meal of the most coveted meat. TO BUTCHER A LONGPIG As we all know, there are many types of longpig in the world. From the gamey, lean cutlets of the Mali, to the chewy gristle notable in Dweddish meat. Each variety of longpig brings unique textures and exotic tastes to any dish, but all maintain similar anatomy- and thus, similar cuts. Below is a detailed sketch, drafted by a close friend and confidant- whom I paid in meals, of course! The following parts have been carefully labelled and separated on the drawing; Head, ears, jowl, snout, neck, blades, shoulders, hock, back-fat, arms, hands, ribs, flank, belly, loin, rump, lower hock, leg, shank, and feet. Please take careful note of abnormal, non-descendent races. As one might expect, the belching Wonk or the limber Hou-Zi will undoubtedly be cut differently, as their anatomy grows further from traditional longpig cuts. The Musin shan’t be more than a snack. TO MAKE A MEAL OF LONGPIG Whilst cooking the meat itself is none too dissimilar from a hock of lamb or pig belly, one must be careful when selecting your sides! Longpig has a very distinct tone, and, due to its exotic nature, should not be wasted on unfitting dishes. My personal recommendations are as follows: HUMAN - As time-tested-and-true as beef or pig itself. While certainly a cut above livestock, if not just for the hunt involved in procuring this meat, I personally feel that you have better options. Truly, Longpig is meant to be a rare delicacy, and the abundance of humans leave this rather paradoxical- and the tastes and textures themselves are certainly nothing to write home about. If you were to create a barbaric or uncultured dish, then human meat suits perfectly. Burgers and bacon, perhaps, but leave serving longpig before a king to the Mali or Kha. ELF - As much as they may protest when alive, when you get down to the fundamentals- the flesh itself- they’re really all quite similar. Indeed, the tender, gamey, supple meat of the Mali are among my favorite dishes. I cannot speak highly enough of the feasts I have turned the odd botanist or researcher into. Perhaps it is their natural femininity, or their inclination to bookish things, but elves have an unrivaled, juicy tenderness. The finest of red wines, and the most expensive, outlandish sides could never be enough to compete with the meat itself- but perhaps they may make it better by comparison. DWARF - As the stout, tough race toils hard in their mines and are born with muscles taut as stone, so too is this reflected in their meat. If you wish to cook evenly and deeply with this longpig (or shall we call them shortpig?) , then a good tenderizer and elbow grease is required. I can assure you, though, that they make a most excellent brisket if you do, and there is no better iteration of pulled longpig meat, than that painstakingly torn from the Dwed. HALFLING - While it wounds me as a friend of the Weefolk to have to record an entry that may be mistaken as encouraging their slaughter, I only do so in the highest regard as an objective chef. They are, as one may expect, quite similar to the flesh of the human that some allege they originate from. They have more ‘earthy’ notes to them, which some have suggested come from the divergence of ancestry. This pairs well with heady beers and hard liquors. Should you come across the meat of the half-men, I can only suggest one thing; avoid the feet. They are tough, covered in calluses many, many layers deep, and unlike shucking a clam, does not reward you with good grub. WONK - Their anatomy is, quite simply, repulsive to most casual consumers. Even the meat itself is slick and slimy, and the only cure is to char it into a brick- a cardinal sin that no true cook should ever commit. You have two options when it comes to the Wonk as longpig. You may either attempt to recreate certain seafood dishes with Wonk meat, leveraging that sliminess as one might the slippery raw squid, or slick watery vegetables. This, in my opinion, is the best choice for most of the Wonk’s body… except for their hock, leg, and shank. These are fatty and have a texture somewhere between soft fish and poultry. Best when sauteed and stewed! Fun fact: Wonk legs do not stiffen up as fast as most animals upon their demise, and may even twitch when heated up in cooking! HOU-ZI - An odd choice- and I say that proceeding the Wonk! Whilst there are similarities between the Hou-Zi, and races such as halflings and humans, they are an entirely different beast- No offense to Hou-Zi intended! Truly, they ought not be hunted for their meat, as it is rather bland and chewy in the most unpalatable way. Instead, the true delicacy of the Hou-Zi is in the mind… And I say that in the most physical sense. Chilled Hou-Zi brains. Do not question it, merely enjoy it. KHA - Whilst Kha are very few and far between these days, I would argue that only makes the already-exotic taste of the meat feel only that much more so! Truly, in days where Kha would roam our borders in droves, were days where the Ilzgûl blessed our civilizations. There is something so… utterly indescribably, in the juices of Kha meat. I cannot stress this enough- this meat NEEDS to be served rare, if not raw. Any dangers of undercooked meat are well worth the suffering when beer-basted Kha precedes it. MUSIN - Musin themselves have little meat, and are best served as a side of their own. However, should you find yourself with many little mouse-meals, you may find that they are best incorporated as half-dish. Meals such as a mushroom-and-musin kebab, or a chunky stew, would be a wonderful use for these little snacks. SEZZIKBEKK - While their bodies are quite unappealing at first glance, they hold much meat in their more ‘avian’ parts- the thighs, breast, and (on some specimens with less-twisted appendages), wing-meat. Whilst these may be used as a replacement for more common fowl, such as chicken or partridge, they truly shine when deep-fried. Indeed, while I find few things more delicious in this world than Krugtucky Fried Chicken, I have found their equal in Fried Sezzikbekk. TO PLATE A LONGPIG This will, of course, vary by the meat itself, and how you cook it. Humans, halflings, dwarves, and the like will be suitable as plain affairs- one would not be remiss to see human sliders on a plain ceramic tray, and for good reason. For more ‘exotic’ meats, then rest assured, I recommend firmly to play this up in their presentation. Sauteed wonk with a smooth Teriyaki sauce, Musin kebabs wrapped in palm leaves with carefully-threaded skewers connecting the cutlets, and Deep-Fried Sezzibekk stacked like a tower, with garlic powder and shredded kaktuz sprinkled from high above. All of these are presentations I have seen with my own eyes, and they never cease to entertain and enthrall even the most well-fed of critics. Go with your intuition here, but I must repeat from earlier; do not waste your longpig. The taking of a life is much more special here- a cow or chicken are penned and dumb, and the act of bringing one to your table is of absolutely no note. The battle that wins you a prime dish-to-be of longpig, however, means that the meat itself deserves a higher level of respect. Perhaps you may attempt to recreate aspects of that very battle in your plating, but at the very least it makes an entertaining story to share. AFTERWORD Whilst my advocacy for the consumption and proper preparation of longpig cannot be understated, I do not intend for this book to inspire my brothers and sisters to become butchers for the sake of sport. It is the very act of a well-fought battle that makes the meat taste that much more succulent, the comedy of serving a belly cut deep by your friend’s arrow, that is to truly ‘make the meal’. To turn them into common chattel is right-out. Livestock has grown complacent, boring, and dare I say, a turn-off to many chefs. Respect the intent behind serving longpig, by not abusing the source the Ilzgûl have so generously provided. They are the sustenance after a battle, not some simpering beast to be penned and bred for grub alone. But, above all else; Cook well, my friends. -Barbog

The fe-Uruk grunted with effort as she swung her legs over the fallen tree, traveling through the jungle was a grueling task normally, but the recent thunderstorms mixed with the sweltering sun to create a truly humid hell. The Uruk’s heavy foot splashed through a creek, scattering the minuscule fish, she paused for a moment, catching her breath as she squatted low and drank from the stream, She could hear the hundreds of birds and insects calling out in the jungle around her, nature's orchestra filling her with with satisfaction and mirth. She felt almost at home among the wild places of the world, her bare feet pounding the earth, wind in her hair, sweat sliding down her skin. Her stomach growled and she stood up, now was not the time for relishing simple pleasures, she had come as a predator, and nature was commanding her to hunt. Trudging from the stone bed of the creek, she climbed the red clay bank and entered the muggy jungle once more, she walked slowly as she carefully measured the nearby trees, finally she spotted a young, sturdy tree, near the thickness of her muscled forearm. With a grin she unslung her hefty war axe, spinning the weapon a few times in her hand before going to work. The steel head bit deep into the green wood, with a hearty thunk. Her scarlet skin stretched over powerful muscles as she felled the tree, and with a contented grunt she sat on a boulder and began her work. The sun was hanging low in the crimson sky, the Uruk hoisted the crude pike over her shoulder. It stood twice as tall as the female did, a sharp point had been cut on one end. The small limbs had been hewed clean, and the tip hardened in a small fire. Now armed with a proper weapon she travelled east through the thorny thicket, and towards the Steppes that bordered her jungle homeland. She climbed over fallen trees, cut her way through thick underbrush, and carefully scaled down limestone cliffs. As walked through the emerald soaked landscape she thought of home, the modest dwelling she had claimed, the warmth of her fireplace, her small but well stocked kitchen, and of her adopted daughter Jenny, a gangly young human, with long tawny hair. She longed for the comfort of the city, yet another more primal part was revealing in the humid scenery. She knew the winter season was coming, and while her home was warm throughout the year, it made hunting and gathering a troublesome prospect. The Uruk was pulled from her thoughts when she stepped to the jungle's edge. In front of her lay a rising full moon, a vast open plain lay before her, with soaring mountains further east. She walked through the waist high grass, letting her hands lightly graze the feathery tops as a tenacious southern wind picked up, causing rippling waves to form among the grass, her hair swishing like a banner or flag in the breeze. Her ears twitched as she heard the distant bellow of her quarry. A deep primal urge began to boil in her blood as she gripped the pike tightly. She headed south along the border of the jungle and the steppe, staying down wind as she began to find more signs of her prey. Immense patches of grass had been torn from the ground, and mammoth piles of dung marked this as the grazing grounds of the Prairie Dulk. She spotted a dust cloud rising further east as the herd moved towards a gorge to bed down for the night. She crouched low and began to move from boulders, to the small sturdy trees that managed to grow in the rocky soil. She knew she had the wind in her favor, all she had to do was get closer to the colossal beasts without being spotted. She slid smoothly to the ground, crawling on her belly as she inched over the crest of a hill. There laid before her was a herd of Dulk, seventeen of them as far as she could tell. A Prairie Dulk was no woodland beast to be brought down with a simple hunting bow, these were the Kings of the Steppes, somewhat comparable in size and shape to the War Rhinos of Uzg, their thick grey fur and rough armor like hide was one of nature's best defenses, while their powerful legs and long ivory horns marked death for any of those who were fools or unlucky. Kuku had to consider her options carefully, the females would be pregnant now, and she didn’t want to upset the balance of nature by taking the life of a yet unborn Dulk; However, fighting one of the young males was asking for a gruesome death, while a heffer Dulk will protect her young even at the expense of her own life, if given the chance she’d retreat to safety so long as her calf was safe, the males on the other hand, seemed to crave fighting, often spending their days battering each other, or trampling a starving wolf into the dust. Suddenly the moon crested the cliffside, and as if the spirits themselves were guiding Kuku, the moon shown upon an elder Dulk, his fur was near stark white, with lengthy scars snaking over his leathery hide, marking him an old warrior of the herd. The female Uruk’s breath caught in her throat, as she knew this elder was meant to battle her, one of them would die a warrior's death this night, she was sure the spirits had brought them together. As if by magic, clouds covered the moon, plunging the Uruk and the Dulk herd in darkness once more. She began a long, treacherous climb down the cliff that encircled the gorge, creeping around the bulk of the herd like a wolf stalking its prey. Finally she drew near the imposing creature, even when laying down the Dulk’s shoulder was taller than the She-Uruk standing, but Kuku pressed on. She could see mighty muscles along his flanks and legs, and obsidian colored hooves that were as wide as her hips, no doubt one blow from them would send any hunter to an agonizing death. She inched forward and came to his almighty head. His amber colored eye watching her closely, the beast, was awake. Kuku swallowed hard as she saw the Elder begin to shift, it’s monstrous form shaking with effort to bring the Dulk up, it had been watching her for some time now, yet it hadn’t alerted the herd. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the beast rose to its full height and towered over the seven foot tall Uruk. It dipped it’s head low as if in respect and Kuku made a silent albeit urgent prayer to Freygoth, the Uruk Spirit of Nature. With a roar that threatened to deafen the Uruk the beast lifted it’s head, the herd had begun to stir and the young males snorted and rose to their hooves in confusion, not yet aware of the intruder among them. The Elder pawed the earth, ripping small boulders from it, his ebony hooves plowing the earth as he prepared to charge. Kuku hefted the pike from her shoulder, ramming the butt of the crude weapon into the earth to secure it, she leveled the spiked end at the Dulk Elder’s throat and crouched, her left foot placed upon the rammed earth and pike butt to steady it. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her blood boiled and hands gripped the rough hewn handle so hard, her red skinned knuckles turned a deep violet shade. She watched the Elder in slow motion, it’s hooves gouging the earth, it’s eyes wild with nature's instinct to kill. She knew today may very well be the day she dies, crushed under those black hooves, or worse yet, impaled upon the torso length horn. She thought of home again, the smokey bar where she spent many a night watching spars in the fighting pits, and drinking with her friends and family. She thought of the many memories made, and prayed to the spirits that she would have more memories left to make. She redoubled her focus as the earth shook, her teeth rattled in her skull, the titantatic mass of fury and muscle was bearing down upon the she-Uruk. The pike slid along the thick fur and toughened hide, she watched with dread as the crude spear tip missed the titan’s neck and impacted it’s right shoulder. The pike bent in the middle as the Elder impaled himself before shattering into splittners, she didn’t have enough time to react as he swung his head, the beast narrowly missed Kuku with it’s horn, though his gigantic head collided with her and sent her hurtling back a few yards, there was a sickening crunch as she landed and she felt a few of her ribs break. She nearly lost control of her bloodlust when the pain washed over her, gritting her teeth she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up into a low crouch. Agony washed over her as she struggled to breath, a trickle of blood spilt down her maroon lips and dripped from her chin, but she had been trained by the best of Krungmar’s warriors, and she pushed the pain into the back of her mind and stood tall once more. Kuku unslung her old friend and the axe’s blade shone dimly in the scattered moonlight. It’s familiar weight and the smooth wooden handle brought her comfort. The earth was trembling once more, the Uruk gripped her weapon tightly and made ready to die. The Elder wheeled around, the end of the pike jutting from it’s shoulder as thick blood slid down it’s furry leg. He puffed great breaths that shook the grass in front of him as he roared another challenge at the Uruk. She rose to her full height, the axe held with both hands as she screamed back at the beast. The two began to run towards each other as the wind picked up once again. There were no thoughts, or memories of home now, her mind was blank as her training and battle instincts took over. Her long muscular legs carried her quickly towards the great monstrosity, she raised her axe high over her shoulder, and at the last moment, twisted expertly away from the gleaming spike. She brought the axe down with a mighty blow, her rippling tendons bulging with effort. Kuku could heard the Elders thigh bone snap as her axe bit deeply into the beasts leg, she could feel the muscle and sinew tearing, the Dulk’s injured leg had given her a small opportunity, the limp had left him open to attack on his side and she exploited it to the fullest. The Elder bellows in pain, unable to stop the forward momentum his head digs a large trench as he crashes to the ground. His herd begins to snort and paw at the earth as they watch their herd member fall. The female Uruk circles the beast, watching as he struggles to stand, she comes to a stop near the Elders head to look in his eye. She can see the distress, and pain in his gaze. He looks away towards his herd and lets out one last thunderous roar, there is a long moment of silence followed by the sounds of the herd moving away from the battle ground, heading towards the high mountains. The Elder breathes deeply one last time, he knows his time on Almaris has come to an end. He had led his herd through many harsh winters, protected them from wolves and hunters, and he could at last find rest. Nature had granted this old Dulk a worthy death. The mighty beast closed his eyes for the last time, and awaited his peace. Kuku raised her axe above her head, praying a thank you to all the spirits, but especially to Freygoth for giving her this successful hunt. She knows that as she takes from nature, she too, will one day return to nature. The axe sinks cleanly into the beast's throat, and the breath eases from it’s lungs. The Female Uruk relishes the feeling of the Elders blood spraying on her, taking a moment to catch her breath. She looks out over the Steppe, the clouds parting once more to reveal a grand grass ocean, and in the far distance lays her jungle homeland. She tugs her axe from the Dulks corpse with a sigh as the blood dries on her skin. Her fight might be over, but there is still much work to do. She thinks to herself with a small smile, the howling of wolves can be heard, carried on the chilling night breeze. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you for reading through this short story! I've begun writing again as a way to practice and improve, so criticism is welcomed. I need to state I have the express written permission of Satyrdays to 1) Write about Kuku, 2) Post this to the forums. With that out of the way I also need to state that this story in no way relates to the server, this is just a fun short story about a hunt, it DID NOT happen in roleplay. Thank you once again and I should be posting (Hopefully) One short story a week!

(Music) An orc sits before a pyre of flesh and bone impaled with a family heirloom, from his place he plays a small hand-drum with bloodied palms. He was weak - not physically, but mentally, and spiritually, lacking honor - this orc was untouched by the curse, not that of Iblees’ doing, being unhinged anger, but instead the curse of utter ignorant obedience, the omens had shown that the stars would align, though no immortal was to credit such signs, instead - the orc knew truth, his very own ilk, be it brother or grandmother had laid such hints before him, and as an orc of little purpose, he knew his only option was to heed the words of a long since unspoken maw. He had ingested copious amounts of shrogo mushrooms and cactus green, leaving his senses overwhelmed, he could feel the wind gently pierce his skin, as if it traveled right through him - a tingle overcoming his physical form, leaving him in a relaxed state of sedation. The smoke from the pyre began to shift, as if it was it’s own entity, swirling and distorting, smoke rings often floating within the air like a lone music note held unto it’s utter climax in which it would finally dissipate, leaving the stage for yet another in its wake. Soon colors saturated his vision, the orange hues of the pyre warming earning the unaltered focus of the drum-playing uruk, it was almost as if he played for the flame itself, as it formed to /dance/ with the wind that coincidentally would pick up as the drumming grew more intense.. Eventually - the uruk realized the otherwise silent audience that was the forest around him, was hushed no longer, beneath the echoed drums, crackling pyre and whistling wind, was a soft hum radiating from the trees, plants and fungi spread throughout, such a sound played in well with the feeling of utter static which had consumed him from the stomach down, as if his own vessel spoke back to the whispering jungle. Before he the orc could take in his surroundings, he began to notice fractals forming upon his beige hide, showing themselves where the moon and fire shed light, changing in unfathomable ways, getting smaller and smaller, larger and larger not one shape was alike, and not one shape was anything he had before encountered. Finally, a faint ringing began to fluctuate around the uruk, one which he felt within his horned skull.. The pyre began to change yet again.. Though this time, not in sync with the drumming which the uruk had somehow fought to maintain throughout this state of altered consciousness. Beneath the pyre within the dirt sat a stone bowl of scarlet ichor, which he had drained in offering from his very form, to accompany the gift of flesh from those slain and left within the pyre as fuel alongside the now charred oak and marrow. The blood began to bubble whilst it’s shade deepend, and whilst the uruk seemed unphased, a cold chill came over his spine, nearly halting his playing.. Although, as to ward off those he did not seek to entertain, he kept on for instinctual survival. Soon, the pyre had began to fade, leaving only orange coals in its absence, one’s which flickered and distorted similarly to the fractals upon his arm.. Which - he had finally realized, were not constrained to just his body and the remnant pyre, but now - they were displayed all upon the observable landscape.. And whilst this was something to leave him within awe alone.. His calls were finally received.. Something seemed to rise from the bowl, mixing within the less violent smoke rolling from the vanquished bonfire, more distorted than the shapes which warped his very reality.. But soon it became clear, as if his eyes were opened by the entity.. whom revealed itself; A figure now stood before him, phantasmal and unbound, manifesting in place of the stone bowl, a familiar uruk stood before the overwhelmed. Above this orcish brute’s image was a rhino, one missing an eye, not unalike the uruk it towered behind. The drum playing Uruk (Ixula) lifted focus now unto the figure, ceasing his playing finally.. It was now he was truly frozen, unable to speak nor think freely, it was when realization came, that he understood who had displayed the omens and every bone within his body were consumed with simultaneous dread and shame. Tears welled within the eyes of the weakened uruk began to drip down his tan skin, recognition sprayed amongst his scarred and grizzly visage. His own father - long since fallen, stood now before his offspring, with a cold, disappointed and yet - plainly stare, one sharp enough to make any child drop this head. His father was a beast of the Horde, having fought his way through Vailor and beyond - losing an arm in battle for his clansmen of Braduk, whilst too bringing valorous honor unto both his Braduk, and Dom ancestors, even if not simultaneously doing so. He had given an eye unto the spirit of Ixli for forbidden knowledge, bled himself to near death for Enrohk and slain hundreds of drui’ in the name of Leyd, this brute had accomplished much, even if unblessed by the rest of the spirits for his disobedience - this uruk was everything that embodied the pride, yet restraint, dominance yet honor, that every orckin sought after. And so his failure was immense, to be the son of a great orc, with nothing accomplished for himself, two centuries had been his thus far allowed existence, horns sprouted from his cranium, and yet still - no honor nor greatness deserving of such a crown. Tears continued, whilst words remained choked upon - all which he could muster, was a broken and scratchy - “Popa..” limbs far too heavy to lift from the goat-skinned drums, his spine locked up and leaving him beneath his superior ancestor, whom finally spoke.. “Weak..this is what they say.. Your brothers have died outside the walls fighting for honor, whilst you’d prefer to rot from within them.. Do not call unto me if you do not seek change.” The spirit spat out, pacing now around his son, the image of the rhino following. “You bleed not fire, but instead lard, you grow fat and lazy, leaving your bloodlust to control you, whilst your slaves do your labors.. Be this the way of the orc?” The spirit shook his head at his own question, extending his blade-arm out to the chin of his successor, one which - while immaterial, felt colder than the night-air which bit down upon the unmoving uruk’s flesh. “You are Ikrizh, born of blood and ire, made to conquer and sustain, your honor is your shield, and your wisdom your sword, and yet you’ve replaced it for the warbow which is your bloodlust, hiding behind the walls, whilst allowing luck to place your shots fatally upon the enemy.. And yet you are no Lur who masters the art of such weaponry, you are a pig with an elf’s toy, and be it as it must - it has weakened you..” “I am all things you can be, and yet none of them. This is your doing, your failure, but too is it your redemption - I was conquered in the end, half a millennia of war with the immortals left me free to their lies, I consumed their lessers like you do cactus, and it began to take my strength, and my sanity.. This is not your path.” He called now, standing before his son with a small pile of charred bone procured from the pyre. “You are to grow past this, we live not to honor the immortals, but to unite our ancestors for union, hear throat bound songs, feel the heartbeat of their drums, and do not lower yourself to them, for we are ORCS, and bow to none but our own curse if allowed to consume our very being.. You will praise none but those who walked the path before you, they will show you the path to honor, they will reawaken all that has been lulled into slumber, and your senses with it - shall return, you will not forget the ways of Kulgarok that I have taught you, the druids will one day know of your strength, and soon after the spirits, immortal and ancestral, will know your truth, even if the former ensures nothing but turmoil in its wake..” The bone turned to ash then, blowing off in the wind.. “You will sacrifice your slaves, and begin.. Call unto Ixli for the wisdom a final time, grant him an eye, for even a small glimpse of their wisdom is costly, after this - every honorful kill will be given unto Leyd or the ancestors, you will not bow to none other, and be you to disobey - you will die long before your horns kill you from the inside out.” “Your fire shall burn longer with each honorific trait upheld, every heart offered, and through the scars you gain, you will display truth, you will become a mural of strength and valor through them, and use them as experience to avoid your next meet with Kor, do not fail me kub.” The orc finally ceased - old blah rang through the younger’s mind like water from a stream, he had only grasped it’s meaning from his upbringing, but held onto such teachings so that he could forever understand and speak to his ancestors - even when such words are not returned. Ixula now knew his purpose, freed from dishonor for a final time, he would begin to consume the knowledge his father once did.. Leaving his pyre after his senses returned.. The uruk began, knowing watchful eyes were held unto him at all times.

A crude parchment hung on a wooden post, which seemed to be an advertisement. ~Gukdan's Spirit shop~ I am here to offer my skills as a smith, and a shaman. I have decided to use my shamanism to create items of great proportion that only the worthy men and women can buy from me. The sorts of things you could ask for all depend on the spirit you wish to use in the item, if you are in the dark about Spirits, then here's the list. A list of names and their meanings were scribbled underneath: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/112681-the-spirits/ Where you can find me I will more often than not, be roaming around Sutica, if you wish to ask of my services then you should attempt to find me there. The price you should expect Most items will cost about 600-1000 minas, with some possibly going to 300, depending on it's 'enchantment' What I look like A less than perfect drawing was scribbled on the page, but it wasn't half bad. P.S, Don't get too crazy with the 'enchantment' requests.

*a sloppy hand-written note with large letters is posted outside the uruk walls* (Forgive my blah, still learning.) Mi and klan gLoGoL are luukin fur hurze breedarz. Fur furdar infurmation blah wub nArgUlg'gLOgAl. alzo luukin fur blaksmeth az well.

Cactus Green (( The following post is read in a Gobo's journal. Written in English for ease. )) Cactus Green. Cactus Green was given to us by the will of the great spirit Betharuz. The purpose, to mend our spirituality and become closer to the spirits and our great ancestors. But yet, despite this great purpose, very little is known about this gift. We use it during rituals, and gatherings but we don't really appreciate it. Such a gracious gift from our guiders being so under appreciated. This heedlessness will disgust the spirits, and they'll grow upset in due time. We shall show gratitude to the spirits, and take more pride in this gift, to explore it and understand more of it. So, me took it upon meself, out of my respect, appreciation, and will to the spirits to find out more about this important gift to us. Doing so, will allow us, the Orcs of the War Uzg, to use this gift more efficiently, to create a better bond of communication between us and the spirits, allowing us to fulfill their biddings and trials. As soon as me could, me began to grow many cacti. Me think me may've pleased the spirit Ublulhar, because quickly my cacti began to grow, and prosper swiftly. From small ball cactus, to large, proud tree cactus. After many days of trying and testing the fruits of my labor, me found out something interesting. Cactus Green comes in two varieties... Sativnubobo ((Sat-eev-nub-oh-bo)) Cactus: Smaller, ball cactus Grows: In small groups/bundles Traits: Lighter colors Faster growth Easy to burn into cactus green More cacti in bundle = more green Effects: Increased concentration Perfect ratio of creativity and productivity A calm feeling Head high Cerebral Relaxed Relieves stress Combats depression Sativnubobo comes from the small, bundled up ball cactus. The more cacti, the more product you can extract. This cactus green gives more of a calming feeling, and a head high. Perfect for social activity, and rituals due to how it allows you to still be able to think clearly. Uplifting and energetic, this cactus green is perfect for day time use. Indibublog ((In-duh-bub-log)) Cactus: Large, tree cactus Grows: In large, singular plants Traits: • Darker Color • Longer growth • Larger plant • Harder to burn • More pungent smell Effects: • Laziness • Increased appetite • An entire body high • Very deep relaxation • Helps sleep • Pain + Nausea + Stress + Anxiety relief Indibublog comes from large, tree cactus. Rather strenuous to extract, but entirely worth it. This type of cactus green is much more potent then its Sativnubobo counter type. This cactus green gives a very deep, relaxed and mending feeling, a body high. Preferred for night time use due to it being able to be used as a sleep aid. Relaxing and euphoric, this cactus green is perfect for night time use. Such an amazing realization. Orcs, Gobos, and even Ologs of the like have been using cactus green for many centuries now, and to think that this has just be discovered now... But not only does it go deeper than just two archetypes. Each archetype does have its own massive group of special types. Not only just different effects, but different colors, tastes, flavors, etc. Me've compiled a small list of certain strands me found... (( Very short list of Orcish strains. Just for an example. )) Gorkil Wisdom Cactus: Sativnubobo Traits: • Average Sativnubobo traits Effects: • Sharply increases focus • Calming • Relaxing Gorkil Wisdom, the perfect type of Sativnubobo for rituals and gatherings. Allowing you to think straight and rationally, but also give the user a nice relaxed feeling. This strain gives no cotton mouth, but does give the user slightly dry eyes. Lur Ambition Cactus: Sativnubobo Traits: • Average Sativnubobo traits Effects: • Very Sharply increased focus • Very energizing • mind clearing Lur Ambition, nearly the opposite of Indibublog. Gives the user a very energized, and mind clearing feeling. Able to think extraordinarily clearly, and focus without having that lazy feeling. The user of Lur Ambition will be able to accomplish many things while on it, while with other strands you'll just be tired etc. Pushdug'buub Cactus: Indibublog Traits: • VERY pungent smell • Very potent effects Effects: • Dry eyes • Awful cotton mouth Pushdug'buub translates roughly to "Stinky pig". Quite the accurate name due to the very pungent smell of this strain. The effects of this strain are very strong, but it also gives you awful cotton mouth and dry eyes. Intended for singular, nightly use. Thunder Krug Cactus: Indibublog Traits: • Has enough potency to kill a small Halfling • Incredibly strong effects • Small purple pieces Effects: • Strong effects • See colors • Cotton Mouth The legendary Thunder Krug. Has the potency to kill a small Halfling. One of the strongest Orcish strains and is incredibly hard to produce. Often maintenance and the perfect atmosphere for the tree cactus is needed for this strain. Too much of this and you'll find yourself falling into a long, deep sleep. There's still much to find about this gift from the spirits. Me'll do more searching of this. *The following were some excerpts from a Gobo's journal* Final OOC Notes: In no way is this supposed to be 'trolly' or anything The whole reason for this is to add more in depth Roleplay to cactus green. Maybe even decrease some of the "420 blze it" trolling and add some sociable passive-Roleplay. Hopefully even add some market buying/selling business Roleplay. Will add more strains/information later. Suggestions please!