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  1. IUDICIUM ACCEDIT Issued by the KONGZEM OF HAENSE, KINGDOM OF BALIAN, COMMONWEALTH OF THE PETRA, GRAND KINGDOM OF URGUAN & PROTECTORATE OF HYSPIA LET ALL OF AEVOS HEAR AND TAKE HEED, In this year, the blood of the faithless has been shed, and those who have raised their banners against their allies judged; for on this day, the blood of the betrayer has been shed, and those who have murdered their own liege expunged; for on this day, the blood of the cowardly has been shed, and those who set their blades upon children punished. And the world will weep, for more will follow. King Edmund of Aaun is dead. In his seat of Whitespire, he awaited the arrival of his crowned brethren of Haense, Petra, Balian, and Veletz in the hope that he might broker peace between them. The only banner he lived to see arrive, however, was the burgundy standard of Veletz, who joined the March of Stassion in the act of regicide, and so it was that King Edmund was murdered with the dream of peace on his lips. We have avenged King Edmund. The Stassionite ambitions of claiming the throne of Aaun were dashed mere hours after their grave sin was committed, and now their corpses pile the streets of Whitespire alongside the dead of Veletz, who had comported themselves as leal allies to King Edmund only to press their hand to Stassion’s knife. And so, on this day, a host of 7,000 soldiers of Stassion and Veletz were annihilated on the streets of Whitespire. We mourn the avenged King Edmund. But we do not share his means of peace. For decades, the League of Veletz has sought a great war to satiate their base bloodlust, and yet they have lacked the courage to declare it akin to true warriors. “Oh, how they invade us!” they cry, when our forces escort the Pontiff to release a hostage they had taken unprovoked. “Oh, how they harass us!” they whine, when they send a boy to throw himself atop Svetjlast. To make peace with those who hold their allies at knife-point is to make peace with a bear by feeding it your arm; to make peace with those who target children and pregnant women is to make peace with a vampyre by tithing your blood; to make peace with those cannot control their blades is to make peace with a rabied rodent. We reject this cowardice. We reject this dishonour. We reject this savagery. And so, we do therefore declare the formation of the COVENANT OF FIVE, a grand military cooperative comprised of the Kongzem of Haense, the Kingdom of Balian, the Commonwealth of the Petra, the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, and the Protectorate of Hyspia. Together, we reject the ambitions of the League of Veletz. They would call themselves Emperors, and yet in a mere decade they have rotted their own Heartland Accord from within and turned nearly every one of their allies against them with their incompetence. And so, we, the Covenant of Five, declare that we are coming to excise this tumour. W E A R E C O M I N G T O K I L L Y O U. HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Aleksandr II, by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Hochmeister of the Order of the Crow, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Slesvik, Solvesborg, and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia, and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald, and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Siegrad, Torun, Toruv, Valdev, and Werdenburg, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Astfield, Buck, Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, and Rytsburg, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector and Lord of the Highlanders, etcetera. HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Adrian I, by the Grace of GOD, King of Balian, Viscount of Pompourelia, Eflen and Anatis, Baron of Brucca,Valens, Malenos, Goza and Ciavola, Lord of Portoregne, Atrus and Monterosa, Warden of La Costa Rubinissima, Prince of the Holy Orenian Empire, Protector of the Heartlanders and the South, etcetera. HIS HIGHNESS, Cesar II de Pelear, Viceroy of Hyspia, Duke of Pacazu, Baron of Arenisca and Del’mar, Lord of La Dorada, Lord of Niseep, Gereon's Hold, and Ciudad de Plata, Protector of the Hyspian People, Patriarch of House de Pelear. HER MAJESTY, Catherine I, Queen of the Commonwealth of the Petra, Marquise de Val d’Estenou, Countess of Temesch and Moere, Baroness of Garmont, Valfleur, Vallagne-en-Petra, Artois, and of the Phoenixspire, Protector of the Meadows. HIS GRANDNESS, Garedyn The Emerald, Grand King of Urguan, Chief of the Mossborn, Seer of Hefrumm, Zealot of the Triad.
  2. DANZEN’S INFERNO An Account of Otherworldly Expedition 3 Mensis Tobialis, 2A 131 I am a religious man. Like my brother Lectors before me, I have always strived to maintain my virtue and to spread the word of KAMISAMA to the most desolate of lands. For decades I thrived with the purpose given to me - to lead my brothers and to collect knowledge. The Lectors and I spread what we had learned, and the world was changed for the better, or for worse. Regardless, many of my comrades perished or faded into obscurity. When the Lectors officially dissolved, my purpose became but a leaf drifting in the wind. In the years following the dissolution, I became isolated. I had witnessed a lifetime’s worth of acquaintances turn to vice, and I had lost faith in my fellow man. I reached the conclusion that the maintenance of one’s own virtue was more valuable than extending a helping hand. I had incorrectly believed that participation in ANYTHING would benefit some greater evil. Fate is gravity. Even though we may leap towards the heavens, we are ultimately pulled back towards the earth. The thread of fate is no different; we may try to defy it, but our end remains the absolute end. Only KAMISAMA possesses the foresight to truly understand predestination. Despite this, a year or so ago this day a being from the stars delivered unto me the means to continue the greater quest of the Lectorate - the acquisition of knowledge. Though not an Aengul, this being spoke truly and harshly. I longed for purpose, yet rejected the calls of others. In my hubris, I had believed that I already understood my fate and destiny - but with this simple fraying of the thread, my future was changed forever. With a coin toss and a thunderous crack, I was home no longer. Though I now know it to be an instant, this single step felt like days. I awoke upon a jagged outcrop; the skies were black as ash and the air lingered with an acrid scent - brimstone. Where had I gone, and how could I return? Seeking these answers and believing that height would grant a vantage point, I ventured forth towards a range of hills possessing many holes through a lowland of crimson bones. Smoke billowed from natural vents and, as I approached, I could see what appeared to be men. Yet, they stood still - ever so still. Ever closer, I came to know why they were as stone. Bound in chains, these desolate souls were pinned to a Lorraine and weeping in agony. Besides them, yokai howled and cackled with madness as they peeled flesh and crackled bones. I can only speculate as to the severity and length to which they suffered. I squatted in prayer, and to plan. Yet, as if cosmically aligned, my presence seemed to coincide with the awakening of the hills. Their pits no longer belched ash, but instead were adorned with the glow of a thousand red eyes. In but an instant the skies were swallowed by a sea of beasts who swept down and devoured the offerings. At that moment I had realized why the valley was littered with the remains of thousands. Caught amidst a feeding frenzy, I buried myself in the surrounding carnage as horrid screeches resonated throughout the land. Those who had perished before me likely had loved ones, and no doubt possessed dreams. An entire lifetime snuffed as it became equivalent in worth to a slab of grit tossed to a hound. They suffered in life, but what is suffering? Is it pain, or perhaps loneliness? Is it the dread of anticipation? I believe that suffering is life itself, and all the obstacles that one bumps into before the sweet ascent to the Skies; such was the miracle of Owyn’s Penance. It is for this reason, in death, those men did not suffer. After what felt like eternity, I emerged from my self-made coffin. The beasts had gone, and all that remained of the fallen was yet more bone for the field. I diverted course and now ventured forth towards the sound of flowing water. By the grace of KAMISAMA I had found it and, parched beyond comprehension, began to suckle at an ice-cold stream. A mistake for as soon as I felt respite, I had drifted to the realm of the subconscious. Upon awakening I reached the dreaded realization that my belongings had been severed from my person. After a brief search, there was but a singular explanation: I had been the victim of theft. Determined to find this thief, I followed the water’s edge, my visage adorned with my men-yoroi to hide my human nature. In time I came across a silhouette slithering through the depths - a yokai. It looked like a scorpion, albeit made of wax, and in one hand it bore a lantern of a chilling blue flame. Its stinger whipped about in the water as it emerged to the shore. Gazing down upon me it spoke: “Yours is not like the others… You were robbed by an Imp of Nem - a foul creature... I saw, but could not move. You arise in the Still of Judgement to cross my River, wherefore?” Though hesitant, I could not afford to lose this lead. I yielded and conversed briefly with the creature as it ferried me across the frigid waters. It spoke again: “You shall cross into the land of the dead - but know what you walk into. Your punishment is eternal, and it is noble that you walk into it. You are bound for one of the harshest punishments Iblees can bestow. It is a shame you were saved from Heaven.” It queried yet more, unresponsive to my own interrogations. I concluded that the yokai would not answer, yet told it that I was still alive and not a forlorn soul. It replied: “There must be a particular hatred for thee - to be here before death. I would wish you well, but such things are not possible within Drownedreik.” Upon disembarking my head swirled with the dread of Iboku. Had I truly been sent to the bowels of the deceiver’s kingdom? Had I ever truly gone on an adventure, or had I perished in sipping poisoned water? As if compelled, I persisted forth. Perhaps my belongings would confirm as to whether I were a revenant or not. The answer would soon be revealed as I came across a pit of imps. Akin to an Uruk’s camp, these creatures were engorging themselves upon the flesh of fallen men. They cried out for bloodshed and howled with malicious intent as if preparing a warband. Broz'Dak, an Imp who seemed to be their chieftan emerged and addressed his tribe: “BROZ’DAKZ, Mi haz the key to endless klomp! Mi haz key to land of flezh! Zhomo say so, mi bring to lower circle - BUB DEMON. Burzh Soul. Give Broz’Dakz many klomp, many meat! NUB FIGHT UNTIL BROZ’DAK RETURN!” As I listened from afar, I came to realize that this demonic creature of Krug had had on him my belongings; perhaps he sought to bring proof to the Demon he had spoken of. In a bout of good fortune, he left the camp by his lonesome. I followed from afar and, as we moved, I began to collect stones. I dug them into my clothing so that I might become adorned with spikes; such would help with a demonic disguise. Though my memory begins to blur, I recall the Imp coming across a great fortress of blackened stone. Two guards crossed wretched axes and the scamp before me sought to pass. The guards were unmoving and seemingly annoyed with the small creature, though the Imp was insistent on handing over my trinkets. With no time, I was forced to act and mantle the beast I had disguised myself as. As quickly as I emerged from the shadows, the Imp’s neck was crushed. Impressed with the ferocity of the attack, they granted me both passage and the belongings of the Imp. It seemed as if, at least here, the strong would flourish and the weak would crumble. They referred to me as a “Revenant” on account of my white garb. Even though I now had proof for myself that I had not yet been slain, the words of the Demon made me question whether my isolation and sense of superiority made me more akin to them than my fellow man. I wondered why they could not sense my human scent, though my curiosity swiftly faded. My nostrils flared as the horrid stench of souls being prepared for sinister purpose clung to the air. All around me poor beings were being tortured. Limbs were shredded and sewn back together; intestines were slurped like udon; crucifixions were aplenty. Though my script cannot convey the horrid nature of what I bore witness to, it was of such great magnitude that I began to falter in both disguise and confidence. I meandered down the many corridors in a daze. Eventually, a yokai in the form of a boar uncovered my identity - perhaps a demonic aspect of Brother Harold. Understandably it assumed I to be an assassin and he handedly blitzed my person, throwing me through a door wrought of iron. My ribs cracked and all I could do was await recourse as an onyx-figure descended a throne. I had tresspassed farther than I realized. The figure spoke to me: “You have been watched since you first arrived. Do not think yourself clever for fooling the Imps, or the Slaves. You were to be brought to me, and thus it was ordained, and thus you are here . . . We know you. We know your Kind. You know not who I am. I am In-Saabth, master of these wastes. Charged eternal by my mistress, I await her return. The armies grow under me, the flesh-sows bred for one thing . . . Your doom. Surrender to me, and I will use your soul to feed my armies when they march upon your world.” Refusing, I raised my bokken in my left hand defensively as I began to call upon the blessing of Machiman. The figure seemed half-amused by the defiance and it rose a great and bloodied morning-star: “Mmm . . . Before I commend thy soul to Iblees, give me thy name. Realmwalker. Know that you will be honored, immortalized, for the greatness you have given. I give thee human courtesy, do not take it lightly.” I conceded defeat, yet maintained the only defensive posture I could. My blade began to shine with light and I said my name: “I am Ugokoyama Danzen.” In-Saabth accepting this honorable surrender swung down, only to meet the Bulwark of a seasoned Templar. Seemingly taken by surprise, In-Saabth began to cackle with amusement before pressing harder. Too little and too late, my concentration began to fade as my power waned. The mace of the Yokai shattered my feeble wooden blade and smashed into my left forearm, flattening and tearing it clean off. My left eye too could not escape the wrath of the Black Demon. As I barked in agony a second thunderous boom rattled the room. An ample time as any - the last second - ordained by good fortune. Though the shock of a smashed arm soon subsided to agony, those few first moments I had emerged back on our homey with serenity. In-Sabbath was proven incorrect in his proclamation of fate. I write this now as a record of events leading up to my death. At the point of authorship, I had managed to stem the bleeding and pain with my leftover supplies and medical skill. Almaris is abandoned - everywhere I look is empty as I evade the patrols of Juli’el’s Tribe. Felder’s Rock served me as a refuge for these few months - I pray that its magnificence does not fade even after I leave it for good. I can only assume now that my comrades are imprisoned as slaves for the Mori mines, much like I witnessed within Drowned Reik. I returned to Savoy and ventured into the depths. Should my body be found in these caverns, I hope that this account may serve as a warning for the greater cosmic scheme. Then again, mayhaps this will be disregarded as the ramblings of a dreamer. Ugokoyama Danzen Arch-Lector of the Flaming Covenant Cohort, Shugo of Tetsugawa, Templar of Machiman, Practitioner of Shindo no Hamon and Penitent Brother of Owyn. OOC NOTE This is an RP account of a shunt experienced with the feat “Arcane Displacement”. The story and terminology is purposefully misinterpreted per the character’s experience, I.E. mistaking Imps for Goblins or the realm of Draudreich as Drownedreik. Given that this is a private account, it is requested that this information is not metagamed. This is also NOT a PK post, but written as a “what if” scenario had the character Danzen died in the caves between Almaris and Aevos while tailing the descendants. I thank Breeni and Shorsand for acting as my DMs for this shunting experiment.
  3. Heyo it's ya guy, back again with another post. After my post which somehow blew out of the water so bad I made myself a sped on the run with 20 different accounts of chromosome theft, I've been a bit MIA. But now, I'm back with a problem I would like to speak on. CAs (And the Wonks too) As a man who's played and angered most of the communities on this server, I know I'm a pretty disliked guy. BUT, there is still topics I'd like to put my piece on. CAs in general are the worst ideas on the planet. Yes I understand some races can be a bit...iffy, but seriously. Musin? Behind a damn CA? They are in most cases, 2 feet tall mice people who can't attack others because of their past. Are you telling me I have to make an application to actually do so? Same with the Wonks and Ologs. Ologs have been a staple for the Orc community for a long time. Yes, I know they're a bit overpowered. BUT, that doesn't mean you can't dumb them down for a player to use. Plus with how others play their orcs these days, they just seem like a more dumb orc with a tad more power. And the Wonks. My children of froggy, French descent. I never understood why they were under some kind of wall, all because they were frogs. And now, the last of them are dead because they were soft shelled for some damn reason. Perhaps if they weren't behind a CA people would play them. But alas, as the old saying goes, "It ees what it ees". Please bring back frog people I want to play one named Pierre who cooks Escargot and speaks super broken french cause that would bring good RP to cities, instead of this generic 'human soldier' 'elf cavalry' 'dwarven capitalist taxman' cliche.
  4. LORE PROPOSITION - TINFOIL ARMOR A Harian Tinfoil Warrior, Circa 1600 In a world where magic runs rampant alongside the growth of an ever present aura of paranoia, it is of the utmost importance to defend oneself against mind probing huns. Innocent men and women are becoming deceived by such vile magicians, leading them to believe that they are the opposite gender if not already resulting from their pineapple illatian pastries. Tales of such illusory and probing have spread far and wide, and thus the demand for magic resistant armor is high. As a result, smiths across the land, most notably Haskill of the Freeman’s forge, have taken to pressing melted tin to a papyrus thin state so that it may be molded with ease. With this invention, denizens across the lands may sleep in peace- and in tin, to ensure that their internal viscera is not morphed to that of a bestial creature. Tin foil equipment will allow the user to deflect magical influence and attacks without flaw depending on its crumpled state. Akin to sound proofing, the more crevices and bumps a piece of tin armor holds the more resistant to magic it is. For example, a smooth sheet of tin would be useless to magic whereas its crumpled counterpart would be impervious. Despite its extreme defense to magic, it's delicate and thin state makes it quite useless against any other form of attack. To provide balance to magic users, quite literally anything (bar magic) can destroy this armor. Arrows can pierce it, fingers can poke it, and more importantly, one could rip it by simply walking. Despite its detriments, however, tinfoil armor remains the go-to headwear for those fearing illusionists. Waldenian Soundproofing, circa 1364 To craft Tinfoil Armor, one must gather tin through roleplay means, melt it, and then press it into its thin state. Once this is accomplished, one must then carefully craft it through roleplay means. Should you roll anything less than a twenty in its careful construction, the armor will be torn. Once in combat, should the armor be damaged or torn, the exposed area would then become vulnerable to magical attacks once more. Mechanically speaking, it may be possible to statgen base chainmail to have hugely negative defensive debuffs (practically none) with its durability also being modified to be destroyed within two hits. Furthermore, due to its light nature, if a mechanical armor set were to be created it would hold no speed debuffs. The way one would determine whether someone was wearing tinfoil armor or not is purely dependent on their skin, which should look something along the lines of: Should this lore be accepted, I believe it will add an additional level of role-play not yet seen on any medieval fantasy server. This document is purely science based, and now that the current year is 1600, a time in which pirates roam, the need for tinfoil equipment is necessary. However, should this lore not be accepted, I truly believe people will still craft such equipment through roleplay means even if it woiuld not provide the additional magical protection as they would hold the belief that it truly does. I have kept this short and sweet, like an innocent child, for I believe I've nailed my points across rather effectively. For those who are too lazy to read, I shall summarize in a tl;dr. Tin Foil Armor should be magic resistant depending on its crumpled state (coating your armor in tin will not do anything unless it is pure tin!). Tinfoil headgear should prevent illusion magic and mind probing from affecting the wearer. To craft a single piece of armor, or the tinfoil itself, smiths must roll a perfect 20/20 in role-play to provide validity to the tin foil's stability. Tin Foil armor has no durability nor defensive buffs to ranged or melee.
  5. Preface: History of the Orcs "Betrayed! Betrayed and abandoned because we foresaw the doom? Betrayed though we suffered the most at the hands of Iblees... This... They would turn and run in the face of our adversity? Cowards. We will bring it to them. Yes, we will show them our suffering!" - Agzal the Titan The fires crackled around Krug’s ivory throne as he sat there slouched, his hair black as the sky above and his form bulky and strong, a stark contrast to the man before him. “Your Brothers have all accepted my gift.” He said with a visage of confusion, addressing Krug. The man had a kind face, and nothing about his person seemed threatening, yet Krug looked upon him with a sense of caution, apparent through his slow gaze. The man opened out his arms in question. “Why do you turn me down?” He asked with a raised tone. The formidable Father of Orc kind let out a slow sigh, sitting himself up within his chair. “I have never trusted you.” He said, his tone deep and rumbling. “Power does not come without a cost.” He added, before rising to his feet, his focus more energised as he looked down upon the man with scorn. “You would not want wealth or power, more than you could ever dream?” He snarled, his aura suddenly changing as he bore his teeth in anger. “I offer you the world, and you think yourself above your brothers?” He added, yelling with fervent anger. And so did the man reveal his true form, for he was in fact Iblees, that great and terrible Daemon that had fallen to the Mortal Realm. He roared in frustration as fangs and horns grew from his head, a swathe of emerald fire swirling around his form as his wings of devastation sprung forth. Without a moment to think, Krug launched into action. Unarmed and unprepared, he barged into the Daemon, his skin scorching and bubbling under the corrupted flames as he knocked Iblees off his feet for the last time. Chapter 1 - The Birth of Spirits During the War, decimation had swept through the lands of Krug, and as he fought, he lost many loved ones, only to see them brought back from death to fight alongside his enemy. Meanwhile, the Daemon, Apohet looked at the ongoing fight between Iblees and Krug, marveling at how the creature could hold his own against the powerful Daemon. He envied the power that had been shown in the descendant, and turned away. He went into a small area of the Seven Skies, hoping to keep his machinations away from the prying eyes of others. There, he poured a large amount of his divinely-granted power into one creation: what would later be called the Spirit Realm. It was quite separate from anything else; Apohet had made sure of that, not even being subject to time, as the Creator's world was. However, it was devoid of inhabitants, and he soon grew bored of manipulating a world that would never be seen. And so, he resumed his work. Apohet smiled as his second marvel awoke, or marvels. Again, his handiwork was slightly crude in appearance compared to the Creator's, but they were conscious. They were partners, intertwined in almost every aspect of each of them. Spirits, he called them, one able to manipulate space to an extent, the other having limited control of the temporal. Their appearances were both serpentine, space blue, and time red. Together, they birthed several children, each also able to control a certain aspect of the world, many coming in contrasting pairs, others more independent. The second generation was birthed from the less powerful elementals, and so they themselves were less powerful, finding that they were only able to control much more minor parts of the world, such as specific biomes, or things such as emotions or concepts. Feeling that these other creatures were somewhat unworthy to associate with them, the first generation beseeched Apohet, asking that they be allowed to separate. Apohet eventually agreed, and so created two separate planes, one for the first generation, and another for the second. Apohet almost cheered in glee as his world was slowly filled with his own denizens. But they too soon grew bored of the world's relative blankness, and Apohet had grown bored of watching them do very little. And so, he did something rather risky, and he made a small connection between his realm and the world, so that his creations could play. And play they did, using their power to make slight alterations to the world, all that their power allowed them. But soon, that risk had some repercussions. The dead that had perished in the battle against Iblees were flooding into the spirit realm. Apohet knew that the Creator would be perturbed, at the very least, at this development, and so he made sure that all dead passed through, so hastily that they barely even noticed where they were. He made sure this happened for the rest of time, and even now Apohet makes sure that the dead pass swiftly through his realm, to their respective afterlives. Chapter 2 - Transformation He who had not been swayed watched as Iblees roared for the last time, before the Daemon was banished to the Void for eternity. Krug stood burnt and bloodied, his skin seared beyond recognition, for the corruption of the Daemon had wrought a terrible transformation upon his form. The influence of Iblees had caused him to grow enormous tusks, altering the way in which he and his people would speak for thousands of years to come, and his skin cried in constant agony, corrupted to a hue of dark green. “And you Krug, the most hated of The Descendants, you shall always have the lust of war. You are strong? Well the strength shall be used against your brothers, used to pillage and murder! Your lust for battle shall be unsatiated and your descendants shall grow ugly and heartless.” - Iblees Although the fighting had ended, Krug’s heavy breathing continued as he looked around to his brothers. He saw not friends whom he had fought with, but targets through which to vent the deep rage that coursed through his veins, for not even the blessing of Honour was enough to quell his fury. His eyes glazed over in crimson as his voice shook the land, and his muscles pulsated with a newfound energy as he grasped his axe with intent. His Brothers watched in disbelief and fear as he began to slaughter those nearby, and in him they saw not their Brother, nor any deviation from the Daemon they had just fought. In acknowledging his overwhelming strength, they evacuated the scarred land with haste, abandoning Krug and his people to the torrent of bloodshed that was soon to come. Chapter 3 - Pilgrimage Many a year had passed since the curse of Iblees sunk into the heart’s of Krug and his people, and after genocide upon genocide felled the Orc population, their bloodlust began to satiate. Finally, and with an iron fist, Krug had subjugated all who had opposed him, and once again claimed the title of Rex of all Orcish people. Yet the looming return of bloodlust ate at the minds of the Orcs as they attempted to live their daily lives. As a result, the Orcish people adapted a strong work ethic in order to vent their energies and distract themselves, and a period of wondrous progression swept through the lands of Mor’Ghuun. Many wondrous designs were set around the world, such as the Gatzug, the enormous Arena of Champions, and the vast forests of the West were cultivated into the ultimate hunting grounds, Duulgador. As the Orcs built and fought for progression of their people, Krug fought an inner-turmoil that urged him to take action. One day, he gave in, standing suddenly from his throne and wandering off into the wilderness, alone. The thought that he had been unable to kill Iblees pestered him endlessly. He felt he had allowed this curse to burn within his people. He felt responsible; Ashamed, even. He was determined to find a solution, scouring Mor’Ghuun for many years in search of respite. Chapter 4 - A Voice Beckons Krug gritted his teeth in irritation as he arrived at the coast. He looked out to the ebb and flow of the ocean, and foresaw only tides of blood, the endless push and pull of the bloodlust that would trouble his people until the end of days. He roared with an awesome fury, the rage of his nation flowing through his voice. It swathed across the land, rumbling like an earthquake upon the dusty plains that surrounded him. The world fell silent, save for the crashing of the waves. Until suddenly, a voice spoke out within Krug’s mind. It was the Spiritual Element of Air, who had taken notice of Krugs profound bellowing. Apohet took note too, yet decided not to interfere on the interaction, watching with profound intrigue. Krug spoke out to the voice, challenging it out of caution and curiosity. In this moment, however unwittingly, he had connected with the realm of the Spirits, and fell unconscious. Soon he awoke, within a realm of clouds and sky, and before him, the Spirit of Air presented itself. They spoke for a time, and Krug developed a fondness for the Spirit, for the wisdom and power it came to represent. Krug’s intuition was strong, after all, it had revealed Iblees himself. He trusted in it even now to determine friend from foe, and acknowledged the Spirit. The Spirit itself was enamoured by Krug, and the concept of assisting him, and from this interaction was birthed the first pact between Mortal and Spirit. Apohet watched in astonishment as the Spirit conjured an impressive sandstorm for Krug on Mor’Ghuun, yet remained ever silent in observation. The Daemon wondered still where the power of this being ended, if he could not only contact his realm, but also utilise his children. And from this cooperation, Shamanism was born. Chapter 5 - The Cycle Meanwhile, decades had passed since Krug took on the tutelage of the Spirits. Without a guiding figure within Mor’Ghuun, the Orcs quickly degenerated once again into civil warfare. Many a mixed view was shared among the Orcish populace, and indeed the inevitability of conflict arose from these squabbles. Many of the direct children of Krug, those with the most inherent power, stood to represent their own ideologies and desires for the Orcish people, and followers began to flock to each of them as they watched in marvel of their confidence and sheer power. These children were named and identified by their talents and demeanor: Agzal the Titan, famed for sharing his Father’s strength. He came to birth a nation of complete Warfare, those who would raid and steal their food and material needs, believing that those of supreme strength were deserving of the world. They chose to succumb to their curse, and embraced it as a strengthening process. Dlimbok the Wise, famed for his insight in matters of internal conflict, of which a countless number arose. He in many ways came to mimic his Father at the time, splitting from the others in an attempt to find some semblance of peace from the Warfare. Saranak the Silent, famed for her unparalleled ability to hunt and overpower the enormous creatures that threatened the livelihood of all Orcs. Her’s was a nation of monster hunters, those who could assist smaller settlements and ultimately believed the great beasts of Mor’Ghuun were there for them to vent their blood rage. Balzug the Brave, an explorer with a vast nomadic tribe, who explored the lands to occupy their minds, believing that settling in one place would bring forth their bloodlust as they stirred in inactivity. After many years of internal conflict, the siblings broke off from one another, scattering from their original homes and settling across the land, accompanied by their respective followers. They came to establish formidable nations along Mor’Ghuun, having failed to co-operate as one united people. It would seem that the Bloodlust that ravaged their minds had once again destroyed their bonds. At best these nations would trade among one another and employ their services, but often times this semblance of peace was disturbed by the continuous force that ate at their state of mind. The Nations of Mor'Ghuun These Empires established great names, and came to represent each their own core values: The Empire of Zetzug, lead by Agzal, would come to be feared as the strongest nation of all, famed for their aptitude for combat; even among Orcs. Their pursuit for power was so great that they began to selectively breed the strongest of their people. However, this came at a severe cost. For when a creature must grow to such tremendous power, their energy becomes lacking elsewhere. From these Orcs were born the Ologs, those of challenged intellect, yet unrivaled ferocity. The Empire of Balgrak, lead by Dlimbok, would be renowned for their studious nature, and would construct a citadel of such architectural complexity and beauty that it would rival even the Dwarven people. These Orcs grew slightly weaker in their disinterest for combat, challenging one another intellectually, which nevertheless resulted in broken limbs. The Goorzag, Lands of Unending Hunt, lead by Saranak, would be famed for their hunting prowess and ability to cultivate the land and form impressive forests for hunting. They later became exceptional breeders, and formed an impressive trade company that was free to roam the lands, dealing in rare furs and exotic beasts of might and terror. The Tribe of Keztag, lead by Balzug, would discover much in their travels, developing impressive immunities, as well as medicines and narcotic arts. Additionally, they came to uncover many relics that would later alter their lives forever. Krug's Return Yet as the Empires continued to fight among themselves, a figure emerged at each gate, hulking and monstrous in form. It was the first and greatest Shaman, Krug. In each city he rose his staff into the air, and declared his iron grip once again on his people as an enormous wind swept through each city, and all bore witness, reminded of his unquestionable strength. He, the most powerful mortal in all the realms had grown to an unprecedented stature, and all were helpless to look on in awe, respect and servitude. His children would quibble in silence, but were smart enough to understand their inferiority. Still, his physical strength alone was too mighty to conquer, and so, with an iron rule, the first Rex of the united Empires instructed them all to make waves of war ships in preparation for their vengeance. The many Empires would soon assemble their own fleets, and would meet along the shore with Krug himself, who had promised them a sight to behold. And before long he delivered on his promise, for as the Empires boarded their vessels, an enormous wind swept in and forced the ships forward, onward to the lands of Men at rapid speed. Chapter 6 - The Death of Horen An enormous fleet arrived at the shores of the Human isles, heralding doom for all that would witness their arrival. Krug would be the first to step foot on the land, the fleets arriving too quickly for Horen to prepare his vast armies for defence. And so, the united Orc Empires swept through the land, razing entire villages and slaughtering the armies that had scrambled to defend their homes. Until at last they arrived on the lush fields around the city Horen called home. It stood tall and proud, blanketed on all sides by swathes of men adorned in armour, an amalgamation of soldiers and weaponry on standby for the War that would end the Orcish conquest, one way or another. Suddenly, Krug threw his arms into the air. As his eyes rolled to the back of his head, chanting of Old Speech began to escape from his tusken mouth as looming clouds of ashen colour began to blanket the sky, enveloping the city in total darkness. The sun had been blotted from the sky, and nowt remained to pierce the darkness but the hundreds of glimmering torches that adorned the city. Yet soon, a wailing sound began to pervade the ears of all present as the armies fell into silence, observing the terrifying display. A wind began to sweep through the land, and soon the lights that adorned the city were put to rest, signifying the hope in the hearts of all men, that had diminished in the face of such adversity. And the wind continued to wail within the sky, forming into an enormous hurricane of chilled, cutting wind. Both Orc and Men alike watched in total astonishment as it continued to grow, and the creator of this awesome display continued to chant, his tone fueled by the seething hatred at his core. Krug threw down his hands, pointing them to the city as his focus came back to the Mortal realm. With this gesture, the swirling winds crashed into the city, stirring up an amalgamation of men, buildings and earth. The rubble would stain with the blood of a thousand soldiers as the hurricane continued to swirl, turning a crimson red under the ashen sky. Within mere moments the city has been reduced to dust and stone, and a tremendous amount of casualties had suffered at the hands of that single Mortal known as Krug. The Orcs roared with delight as the dark sky began to break, allowing light to once again shine on the fields, exposing the destruction that had been wrought upon the land by their Rex. In their bloodlust they rushed forth into the city as a wave of iron, killing any that were left within the rubble; as far and few between as they were. Yet as the winds dispersed and the clouds opened up the heavens fully, the Palace was revealed within the rubble, stalwart and defiant as ever. Krug trudged forth with axe in hand, the same weapon he had used to strike against Iblees in his final moments. He stood at the entrance of the palace, looking toward his distraught brother, who looked onward in a steady terror. Krug let out a mild chuckle of astonishment, noting the fortitude of Horen to stand despite the destruction all around him. It was the will of his soul and his children's that had impressed Krug all those decades ago, and was the reason he loved Horen above all of his other brothers. Yet as Krug continued to look onward to Horen, his memories of the past quickly took him to the moment Horen had abandoned him in his fury, and soon that same feeling began to encapsulate his mind. He threw up his arm, and a gust of wind propelled Horen into the air, holding him against the wall as Krug marched forth, his heavy breathing much as it was on the day of his curse. He stood face to face before Horen, raising him on the wall so that he could match his own great height. Horen's eyes explored Krug's own as he writhed in discomfort, yet in him he saw not the warm gaze he had once witnessed. “Y-you are not the man I once knew… brother.” He said, assessing the deep scars that ran along the burnt and corrupted flesh of the Orc, now more reminiscent of the Demon they had once fought together against, than the man he had once loved as his own kin. “No, I was abandoned.” Krug responded, a pain unlike anything he had ever felt eating at his core as he used the power of the Spirits to bring Horen back to the floor, standing amidst the rubble beneath the hulking Shaman. “You will die as lonely as you left me.” He added finally, gritting his teeth as the Spirit of the Wind drew all air from Horen’s lungs, causing him to collapse on the floor as he struggled to breath. Krug watched in silence as the fear of death finally broke Horen’s will, his hands clasping at his throat as he attempted desperately to breathe. Yet as he squirmed, he brought sooner the end of his life, and within moments he fell to the floor, his body lifeless. Without hesitation Krug turned from the scene, leaving his brother dead on the ground as he turned to his people. The War had ended, and he instructed that no more Men be killed. They would be given the chance to recover, to enhance their strength. For despite having been betrayed, Krug continued to admire their unwavering Spirit. In them he saw his own people, and in them he left a rage that would fuel their people’s progression, just as they had done to him. Apohet cackled from within the confines of his realm. The city was destroyed by his creation’s power, and he found himself smiling. Impressed deeply by Krug, he made a decision, a rather brash one. Seeing that the descendants could indeed do great acts of Spirituality and Honour, he looked back to the passageway of the afterlife, and for the last time, tampered with his realm. He created what some would describe as a filter; allowing those with souls of Honour, Spirituality and Virtue to enter his realm. Knowing that his other creations may soon grow angry at the intrusion of mortal souls, he made the plane they went to entirely separate from the ones inhabited by the others. Chapter 7 - The Nation of Krugmar And so did the Orcs, the united Empires under Krug, return to the lands of Mor’Ghuun, where they would continue to battle with their bloodlust, and where they would work tirelessly to understand the realms of the Spirits. Krug has passed on his knowledge to his children, so that they would always have a guide in life, even with his own passing. Yet the wisdom of the Spirits was not enough to quell their unwavering frustration, and soon they began to prepare, for there were others who had betrayed them, and they too would suffer the fate of Horen and his people. All Empires were instructed to bring together their greatest Soldiers, Shamans, Hunters and Explorers, who would come to create a vast fleet of their own, tasked with the quest to traverse the lands around them, both in search of progression and also the domains of Dwarf and Elf alike. This array of Orcs would later come to refer to themselves as the Nation of Krugmar, and would face many a challenge in their pursuit of progress and destruction, a cycle they too would suffer, for such was the curse of Iblees. Yet as the fleets sailed over the horizon, a celestial object of tenebrous aura crashed into the West of the lands, stirring the forests of Saranak.
  6. (As I've been creating and PKing several personas lately, I've decided to make this thing here and put more effort into my personas. Enjoy reading!) John was born at felsen at the year of 1538. His mother was taken as a snaga when he was seven, and his father was killed by an orc raid when he was 15. He stands at 5"10, He is muscular and pretty smart. he hates Uruks, and wants to become an honorable man. He is stubborn, Pleasant and not too racist. Good with a sword, can barley use a bow. And now, his journy begins!
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