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  1. 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 OOC Note: This particular roleplay instance is restricted in-game knowledge, not to be meta-gamed. A step through the threshold and Cunimund felt his foot plant, but saw the arch of his foot span towards the visible horizon. His breath caught as he visually experienced himself lurch forward into an archway filled with colorless black. In a split second, he felt a hand against his chest hold him in place as he and Um'thraka shunted through to a new plane. A second after, Cunimund felt himself lean forward half-expecting to fall and his breathing become agitated, excited. The elder Ork appeared next to him, still with his arm braced against Cunimund's chest, unflinching and unaffected by the sojourn between the mortal plane and where they stood now. The first step after the sojourn tossed fresh embers and smote wood up as if the earth beneath him belched the fiery remains of a forest fire. Cunimund's breathing grew exasperated as black dust choked him; his eyes welled with tears agitated by the odious air beneath a forehead already smearing with dust and debris. He closed his eyes and batted his lashes as ash blew with forge-bellowed winds and danced across the ground in front of him in little dust devils and harmattans. The surface of the ground both Cunimund and Um'thraka stood on spread unevenly, alternating in color between pitch black and a rich, striated orange one might see when an ember is fed a blown breath. The firmament above them ran the same alternating colors; the two of them had shunted into a cavern. Um'thraka bade Cunimund to follow, having found a solitary exit from the chamber they just arrived in. The two approached the mouth of the cave by shuffling against the cavern walls towards both sides of the opening. A dull, grotesque drumming echoed into the cavern they shared; its sound low enough to indicate a far distance. They both peered out and onto an expansive plain whose sky glowed a sickly pink and towered overhead starless and unremarkable. The Ork grunted and jabbed a thumb to the horizon where the sky and the open plain met. Cunimund's face sagged with the weight of forlorn and regret. Two-hundred yards from them marched a wicked host. The demons that comprised this host varied in size and in form; some marching on two feet while beasts of burden pulling unwieldy siege engines dragged them on four or eight feet. Some carried polearms and zweihanders with two hands while others carried smaller arms in four hands total. Their bodies were scored with eldritch tattoos and jewelry, some had grotesque horns and appendages of bone jutting out from their heads.
  2. A NEW STONE RAISED NIUJUS KLUKA HARVIAGH ♪♩♫♩♪ Artorius travelled around a great lake, his stomach giving out roars and grumbles as if it were a hungry wolf. The young man went underneath great and tall trees, over bridges, over little rivers, and over mighty hills. Upon reaching the great shire of King Cyris and his fellow halflings, Artorius began carving a stone in their wood. From the great stone, a great circle was cut. Artorius continued to carve into the waystone so any of his travelling tribe members could read its history. I call upon you, my brethren, my kin. I call on you to return and band together for our future and for our children. I call upon the great Cingedoz of this land to raise our banner in pride, and let us embed ourselves into history once more! Meet at the great waystone and let us meet. Let us speak of our future plans atop the great stone and hill by the shire. Let us speak of our future as if it were bronze! Adsor swesoroz ok brātīroz , adsor! DISCORD: https://discord.gg/GtYAYWtWDF
  3. THE CARVING OF A NEW STONE ♪♩♫♩♪ A young boy journeys through the high mountains of the north, his father's blood still coating his evergreen cloak. They called his father "The Red", for the colour of his long mane. Now all that remains of him, his memory, his blood, is all on Artorius Ambiorix hal’Cingedoz, "The Red's" son. Artorius still remembers the roar, but is unsure whether it was his father's or the bear's that slayed him. He attempts to forget in the cold. But the nightmares always return once he hides within the fur for warmth. They always return, leaving him awake, terrified to close his eyes, afraid that he will spot his father’s mauled corpse again. Yet the boy continued, moving far over the mountains, finally finding refuge and shelter within the forests, no longer within the barren lands of snow. He hunts, with his father's spear. Though the forest is a whole mountain range away, he still fears the bear and carries his father's shield with him on every hunt. It became worse. He could not even hunt anymore. Every creek caused by the great wind guiding the trees would cause him to jump and look behind his shoulder. He moved on to fishing. With fishing came patience and peace. He found himself a good rock by a river and began to think and meditate. Artorius began to build a stronger mind. He forged his thoughts to be as tough as steel and as beautiful as bronze. Thinking was all he had done between fishing and cooking, and as a result, his nightmares had stopped. The boy even began to go hunting again. Step by step, he began becoming a man and a warrior. He saw every challenge before him as a trial to prove his worth to the Creator. He began to explore. His young mind was now not blocking his childish instincts, and his level of curiosity was unbeaten. But for every city he had come upon, his joy faded and faded. For in every city, village, and little river, there was no great stone or Cingedoz in sight. His biggest challenge was set. He was now to find and reunite his people.
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