Hidden 12 days ago Post by Chenzor
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Exactly a hundred years have passed since the continent of Helaeth saw a new influx of peoples arrive. Like most who find their way to these lands, these peoples were lost or fleeing. Some did not survive. Actually, most civilizations seeded upon the continent has faded away, failing the test of time. Some still stand. Some are too young to be deemed a success or failure.

And then the calamity came.

One fateful night, as the peoples looked up into the night sky, they found it absent of cloud. A myriad of stars lit up the dark beyond this world, but there was something else missing. Something important.
At first, it came as a long rain of stairs, shooting across the sky, visable from every corner of Helaeth. "Where is the moon?" most sentient beings asked as they witnessed the lights in the sky. Soon, they would receive the horrible answer to the question as the moon slowly crept into view. It was distorted, broken into a thousand pieces like a piece of glass. The pieces that fell from it became the shooting 'stars' that now rained across the sky.

And then ... The pieces of the moon came upon Helaeth.

Fragments of the once beautiful body in the sky began to hail all over the continent. Every night for ten years the skies lit up with the falling of fragments upon the world, and every year at least one piece was big enough to land upon the ground in a fiery explosion.
Some pieces wiped out entire villages, some reduced entire mountains to dust, but eventually the raining of stairs seized. Every few years, another fragment would find it's way down to the continent, in less of a destructive entrance, but powerful nonetheless.

As the peoples and civilizations of Helaeth began to inspect the pieces left behind, they realized the lunar fragments held intense magical power. They were scarce, but became a valuable resource. With it, anyone could wield magic and shape the fragment into whatever they wanted. However, this power was finite and after a while the fragment faded away into dust. As such, the hunt for Lunarite as it became known as intensified, and entire civilizations went to war, rose and fell over the craze for this new resource.
After a hundred years however, the craze has ended. Lunarite still exists, and still fall from the heavens every few years, but the initial wake of fire that consumed so many peoples has died down.

Now, a new wave of peoples find their way to Helaeth in one way or another. Some come from underground, most sail across the seas, some simply wake up in a new land with no knowledge of how they came here.

These new peoples ... Are you.
But who are you?
Hidden 12 days ago 12 days ago Post by Dinh AaronMk
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Le Opsy was posted here
Hidden 12 days ago Post by Dainerim
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Dainerim groaned as he woke up to a fealing that was very similar to having his head banged against iron a hundred times.
He remembered fighting the dragon before waking up somewhere, on a small clearing in a nearby forest, with trees looming taller. Than him. That thought however, brought him to think about Zaernoth
Dainerim regreted ever moving forwards to face Zaernoth. The black dragon hadn't been so friendly, far from it indeed. With tail and a vicious flap of it's wings, he had been crushed against the wall into a barely recognized mess.
Unsheathing his dagger, he stabbed at it's wings and with a roar, it tossed him into it's mouth and swallowd him hole. Not before he cut it's tongue with his frost sword, he made sure. It hadn't crunched him, he still had a bit of strength left.
:
The fight had been brief and it was clear the dragon had been stronger than him by a billion times. He had lost his daierin, which was a fire sword that could defeat the strongest fire crafted from the previous dragon lord's heart which held most of the fire it possessed.
He was surprised to find his wounds gone, but better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he guessed
As he stood up again, he remembered where he was and glanced around calmly. He hadn't been happy the last time his soul had been tugged to another area, another place.
But really, who cared? He would either die horably, get mangled somehow, or have some sort of thing happen to him.
Stumbling as his heavy weight forced him down, he looked inside the large bag oddly hanging from his arms and banging against his stomach uncomfortably,, he saw his daierin, food, water, a peace of paper, and several other bags that held his armors and weaponry
Willing for his daierin to get lighter, he felt better as the bag got noticeably lighter. The fire wouldn't be activated until he willed it, but with a strong enough wind or a strong enough jet of water, it would extinguish.

As he stood up and started scouting the area, he noticed a large boar charging through the area towards a panicked looking short person that yelled as he saw him.
Going still, he moved as close as he dared to the boar and put his daierin right into it's back.
It grunted, falling back and slamming him to the ground. With a small grunt, he rolled to the side and stood up
As the short man looked at him, he asked guardedly, "Is there a nearby town?"
Hidden 11 days ago Post by Bright_Ops
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The screaming finally ceased.

Breathing a hollow sigh of relief as he casually flicked his wrist to spray a line of red across his cabin floor, Lord Silverpine's unnaturally glowing blue gaze watched the broken bundle of meat and blood squelch on the wooden floorboards. With the red mist fading from his mind, the warlord tilted his head to the side as the bloodthirsty thrill faded into a neutral expression as he inspected the fruit of his labor. The corpse had, before undergoing Lord Silverpine's administrations, been one of the humans that they had picked up during the raid on the West Port Docks.

While abducting people had not been originally part of the plan to steal some ships to take to the seas, a quick review during the trek to West Port of his followers had reveled a truth that needed to be addressed: None of his followers had ever sailed on the open sea before. Since the entire point of taking to the seas was to land on a far distant shore, securing some experienced seamen proved to be rather vital to their future efforts... so when they were raiding the port, securing some experience crewmen was added to the list of things that needed to be taken intact during the battle.

Of course, as was generally the case when it came to raiding parties, more was taken then was strictly needed. A number of people had been 'conscripted' that had no prior experience with the arts of sailing. Some of them had skills that would be useful for their new home and thus the fact that they could contribute nothing to the trip was excusable, but there were a handful that had no skills useful to the Regency at all... well, not many.

Ever since he had transcended mortality to become a knight of death, death and bloodshed were apart of Lord Siverpine's very being. While the living needed things like food and water in order to survive, Jasper hungered for the destruction of others like a man would desire a well cooked leg of lamb. In this regard, men like the former mayor of West Port proved their worth by stating his hunger without him having to start hacking into either a loyal follower or one of the pressed ganged crew members required for the functioning of the ship. Plus, the occasional torturous murder served as a wonderful motivational tool for those members of his crews who hadn't originally come onto the ships willingly.

That said, useless sacks of meat were starting to be in short supply. As Jasper finally reached for a cloth to wipe down his blade to clean it of blood, his head perked up as he heard a cry from up in the raven's nest.

"LAND HO!"
Hidden 10 days ago Post by Lauder
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The West Underwood Trading Company




The landing site was dead ahead as the three small ships, made with wood stained dark and their shadows imposing as small rowboats were lowered into the shallower waters and sent with them those who would start the first colony in the name of the West Underwood Trading Company. The dark elves moved quickly, however, even when they breached the waves, none moved except for one, shrouded in a dark cloak with her white hair pushed to one side. This was Lord-Trader Haelee Hune, the lady who had been charged with founding not only a new trade post, but establishing a stepping stone for more conquest in the name of the Underwood. Such a task brought a smile upon her face as her metal boots hit the wet sand.

Another dark elf brought her a flag bearing the blackened crow, to which Haelee had taken within a greedy smile. Others offloaded the rowboats, once emptied, the small craft were pushed back into the waters and made way back to the ships. Haelee, looked into the the treeline ahead of them before she stabbed the banner into the sand in front of them, the land now belonged to the Underwood and as such belonged to dark, all-seeing eyes of the Oracle. There was a moment of silence amongst the preliminary landing party as the Lord-Trader turned to them, reaching her hand forward and a male dressed in servant’s clothes walked forwards and handed her the handle of her blade, pushing it out ever so slightly.

Taking the blade from the scabbard, Haelee pointed the fine sword towards the treeline, still facing the landing party. ”We have claimed this land in the name of the company, Underwood, and in the name of the Oracle! A land still uncharted, rich with potential plunder from the land and potentially with slaves to be sold back to the mainland! Our venture her today will dictate the future of our employ and as such, I alone shall lead this charge with you, my assembly! In the name of the Oracle, the Empress, and the Magistrate we shall make this land into the crown jewel of the overseas!”

Her small motivational speech earned her a rousing round of applause, stroking the alrighty mighty ego of the Lord-Trader even further. She stepped towards the treeline as the next landing party began to disembark, the laborers and other necessary craftsmen they would need to survive. There would be little time to merely gaze into the unknown.

”Set up camp, tomorrow, we shall begin our conquest of this new land,” she ordered before looking back to the flag. Lord-Trader Haelee Hune would do all that she could in order to increase the profit of the company and show that this venture would not be in vain, though only the Oracle would know the future for them.
Hidden 10 days ago Post by Dinh AaronMk
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Hold your shivering, and draw close the blankets. Sit and be still, for here is how the world came to be.

In the beginning, there was nothing but void, fire, and water. In the vast sea of emptiness, its deep crystal depths was the realm called Nadania. It held nothing, and was nothing. To its north rushed sea, Agaelia. Its rough waves were bright as silver and foamed; heavy and salty it rushed west through Nadania. On the south of Nadania, there was the fire: Pyrosyna.

Nadania, though vast and shapeless offered no resistance to either fire or water, and both forces met. In a crash the universe was filled with a mighty volcanic roar as sea and fire met. The two forces fought one another in violent conflict. Splashed over and under one another in long suffering spasms and devouring. They battled up other one another. With waves of water and fire racing up and up. Waves rose like pillars into the dark sky, as the illumination of the sparks from Pyrosyna shot towards heaven with the screaming and yowling of fire works. In the mad chaos of their battle, the fire got the upper hand as the brilliance of its embers rose into the sky forming flares of stars whose light was hot and boiled the great seat away until it was steam and cloud that softly spread over the battlefield as it quieted and settled. In the wake of either combat were vast deserts of ashen gray landscape illuminated by the weak fires of the stars overhead.

In the haze the ground cracked and sputtered as the latent hear brooded and fermented. Over distant horizons the endless fire sea of Pyrosyna sputtered and burned on. While opposite the endless depths of Agaelia churned and lashed against the sea. But the vast emptiness was beaten, and the baking embers over head warmed the world. The clouds released from the confrontation rained upon the sooty earth. The rain drops boiled and steaming from the ashen ground and rose again as mist in the sky. The great lashing dunes of the elemental battle were eroded.

As the dunes flattened, the shoulders of great giants shifted. Lifting their heads from the blackened earth rose the great Blando Pelliedo Grondas, the White Giants. Two by two they emerged from their dunes as the rains washed over them. Standing naked in their great bleak and gray world they looked out at the the new creation of the world and realized its emptiness. They gathered together, and realizing the bleakness of the world sought to build something out of it. They reached to the ashen ground and brushed aside the mud and the slop and pulled out the clay. In their hands they molded and formed, creating the world around them.

They created great mountains, built celestial palaces. They set to the sea of the north and the fires of the south and laid out great bridges. They brought fire to their mountains and opened forges. They brought water to the troughs and filled great seas. They reached for the stars and brought down great shimmering gemstones and metals which they spun into the veins and bones of great creatures, packed them tight with clay and forged life. They worked with a silent innocence and love for all that they touched and their works filled the sky as it did the ground. They sat at their benches, their heads in vast clouds and hammered into creation great works. In every move they made they put in their love and their life.

For eons they worked. Until so much of their love and life was spent that the great giants fell back from their tables and died. Their creations mourned them. Their bodies were buried in the great earth. From their bodies came a last creation as they rotted, green life came into existence and astonishment came to the world. The halls of their palaces were filled with luscious forests. The taming of the seas became home to great forests of kelp. And the premier of their creation, the dragons looked down upon it all.




The first boot touched the ashen shore with a muffled thud as the long boat came to a stop. Around the sailors an eerie snow was settling over the landscape. Behind them was held a silent sea. A light wind blowing from over the horizon held a gentle lapping of the waves but nothing more as the longboats unloaded unto the shore. For the better part of three days the detachment at open sea had prowled along the coast of this island in search of an ideal landing spot. They had in the end found it at the furthest tip of a great bay, guarded at the one end by a large island. Exhausted and legs wobbly from months at sea the sailors and marines finally once again felt dry land.

“Santiago.” hailed a sailor. He turned back to the men getting off the boat and in a dour tone spoke, “Once you get your land legs back take a group of men and scout the surrounding area, establish a picket.”

The sailor, dressed in a loose fitting shirt and a leather tunic nodded. He leaned on the long pole of a pike as he staggered ahead a short distance and fell down in the cold sand to rest. Moving quickly the commanding sailor helped men and equipment get onto land, pulling the boats further ashore so what little tide there was would not pull them again out to sea. After several minutes passed of walking and stretching many of the marines and sailors were just losing their sea legs and a patrol was sent out. Many of the others moved by habit to move up to the dunes and highland overlooking the beach to find cover from the elements in the immense oaks, mangrove, and fading palms of the shore line.

Things moved along as more and more boats landed ashore. The commanding sailor fell in with a recovering group of men as they helped them along. From these boats came various ill and famished sailors, pale as a winter's gale and their gums bleeding. Scurvy. Helped by the doctors and surgeons of the ship they were moved up on their stretchers to the high beach where they laid out and a fire lit to keep them warm.

“If we do not find some fruit soon, I fear for them, don.” said a surgeon in gray formality, “They are well advanced.”

Scurvy was by no means an unknown ailment, or one hard to treat. Everyone knew this. But it lifted a weight off the old surgeons chest as he brushed his graying bird and turned to look back to the sea. Adrift in steel gray waters still as a mirror's edge sat five immense hulks. Three packed levels of canon deck and perhaps enough stores to sail around the world, though none have thought to try it; many things aboard a ship has a tendency of going sour. But he looked at those boats not as a promise for some great deal or potential but as a nursery for plague and disease which had long haunted them over their trip no matter how much they tried to chase it off with gunpowder and burning incense. Of the original number of the crew, fifteen to forty men each aboard each ship had died many more convalesced by one disease or another, least of them was scurvy. There were plenty more aboard the dank decks feared too sick to move still.

“I already put out the orders for a patrol. If we find any fruit in the area they'll be the first to receive it.”

The surgeon nodded and his eyes shone with a hint of gratefulness. He wandered off to tend to his patients as the commanding sailor stood to look out at the operations coming to shore.

Many things were coming to order. It had to, the officers of the fleet had spent the last two days making a plan of operations for when they would find a suitable spot. They had sailed past plenty of coast and wave-breaking cliffs since finding this land. They knew little of what might possibly be here, though more than a few ruins of fortresses seemed to have been perched high above the ocean cliffs. Their walls looked as sturdy and bleak as the gray granite escarpments that met the waves. On this island though they did not see much of the sort from the sea.

From the great boats was launched one more longboat. The sailor stood erect and crossed his hands behind his back as he saw it make its approach. A great red banner flew from it. A golden canopy covered the hull. He could see the shine of full armor dress as the men aboard shone in the eerie low sunlight. The oars of the boat beat at the waves as it crawled in towards the shore where the men now were working. The sounds of axes struck the breezy air and the first trees were beginning to gall. Clearing was under way and soon would rise the first of the tents. The sailor knew a number of engineers would be at work surveying the area to begin work on initial fortifications; who knew what lived in this land with them now.

As the dressed boat neared close to shore the sailor stepped back onto the beach and towards the wash to greet it. He came up to the waves just as its bow hit the shore and the first armored boots sunk into the moistened gravel and sand. The wood growled as it pulled across the wave washed pebbles as the men aboard stepped out. The sailor bowed low to the commanding figure who stepped onto land.

“Don deGrand.” the sailor greeted the tall lithe figure under the wide brim of a flapping hat, struck with a long gray feather, “Welcome to a whole new world.”

The lithe man, his skin sun kissed and his features sharp and emaciated through hardened stretched skin smiled down at his officer through bright blue eyes. “The pleasure is yours.” he said softly, “You were the first to land.”

Laughing the two grabbed each other by the forearm and pulled each other close. Sir Gabraldi, or Domi Gabraldi Samprosio SantoSillisia DiCorlone gazed out expectantly at the land they had come to. His eyes were filled with the religious fervor of finding the moon and setting it free again, where ever it might be. This land, he thought to himself as he scanned the shore looked as though in better times it would have been a tropical paradise full of heavenly birds with the potential for much wealth. But under current conditions, the mood was dampened and the possibilities were scant. He may be able to put potatoes and corn into the ground and expect to feed his men with that much. But to again taste coffee and rich Sanerican Oranges were a luxury long dormant even now. Men lived, but they did not thrive. All were forced to be monks. These days were good for Heaven, to receive so many pure souls who did not need to wade the fires of Hell for so long to clear their souls and minds before they stood on the gates of eternal resplendence or blissful reincarnation. But what joy was there in the meantime, except drunkenness or suicide?

In contrast to the lithe gentleness of Domi Gabraldi was his minor officer, the commanding sailor Fussolino Falango Rumero diCapal. A short stacked figure whose graying features were bruised and scared from a number of fights and scuffles on the grand endeavor he was on. His black beard salted with hints of white and gray and growing wild. His pale gray eyes shaded under the visor of his polished helmet. He wore his musket on his back, a long precise Perto sword at his hip on which rested a heavy gloved hand, while at the other hung a pouch of already wrapped packs of powder and shot.

The two strolled together up the beach as sailors and marines worked around them. On their expedition they had acquired many different hands. The expedition itself was no longer simply one from and for Sandovarra. While the king still financed the effort, even more so as it produced tribute for his court, manning it was no longer a prerogative of the court itself. Disgraced nobles or overzealous schemers still come to the expedition to seek redemption, but they do not fill the entire ranks. From shore to shore the expedition established many foot holds, or many offices and consulates in foreign lands. Under the red-gold dragon banner of the King of Sandovarra many were offered council or guidance, or hooked fully into the expedition as it seized principalities for trying to excise it. As such, the laboring hands of the expedition were numerous in size and shape. Men and women blue-blooded and not came to be a part of the expedition and they toiled and labored here on the beach to set the next step in its long mission. Children even had been born to it, and these Expediodarra helped pull the labor, doing the simple things.

Fires were lit to help against the alien biting chill and the two officers surveyed their future encampment. Gabraldi was pleased to see they had found such an ideal bay. The distant small island at its mouth was not far off either and could be seen as a thin strip behind the great masted ships. At a future point, such an island would become an ideal location for fortifications. From that point guns could look out over the steel gray waters and hold off hostile ships. In a more ambitious future, a chain might be pulled up from the sea to seal the water off and break the hull of any hostile vessel seeking to land in their bay. And from the inland they were guarded by the forests and wilderness where any attacking army would have to struggle against first before he could muster an army to hold them at land. The site of a river mouth opening into the sea opening the potential for an inland route for any advanced detachments sent inland. He counted up his possibilities, and thanking the divines that there was nothing yet to contest their presence. A more perfect position he could not think of.

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The Underhall Clan - Turn 0


There! Light of day! Another cave-in had shut them inside the ancient tunnel network of Dvergadypi for the second time this month. Thorfinn Underhall grit his teeth furiously. Oh, how he vowed to have those puny excuses for builders whipped! To call yourself a Brownbeard and yet failing to reinforce a simple tunnel? They shamed the whole clan, they did!

A few strikes of pickaxes later and there had formed a small hole for the tiniest of the dwarves to crawl through. A few of them did, keeping an eye on the situation outside in case there awaited another rockslide there.

“Clear!” came a muffled shout from the outside. Thorfinn nodded at his miners. “Break us through,” he commanded and the miners dug through stone and shoveled gravel with blood-pumping intensity. They were tired - that much was clear as the outside day. However, every dwarf in the tunnel knew that the larders already were scraped bare, so there was but a question of time before the population would begin to starve.

Finally, the rubble was cleared from the entrance and Thorfinn stepped outside. While the people that had followed him to the entrance exclaimed their praises and celebrations, running around hugging frozen trees and kissing the snow, Thorfinn took a deep breath of sorely missed fresh air and turned to inspect the gates to his underlands. Once, they had been proud and towering, like those of a castle, with pillars of stone carved to resemble dwarven workers holding up the mountain, and an arching dome for a roof which integrity never threatened collapse.

Now, one would be lucky to even see the remains of those statues’ feet. To think that such a mighty and ancient kingdom could have fallen into such disarray in only a few generations. It was almost as if…

“Yarl Thorfinn!” cried an approaching entourage. The patriarch turned to see battered farmers from the lower villages come running and limping on occasion.

“Halfdan, cousin! Is that you?!” Thorfinn exclaimed back and approached. Their condition brought the attention of the others dwarves as well, and quickly a few ran into the tunnels to fetch bandages, medicine and stretchers. There were a total of six, led by the correctly identified Halfdan Macdoug-Underhall, thane of the farmer’s settlement Dougsdahl. He had been wounded in the arm, but was bruised in comparison to some of his followers.

“They were too many,” he explained, “we were overrun a day ago. A few of us tried to escape back to the tunnels, but we were cut off.”

“Who attacked you?” Thorfinn asked. “Have the ancient horrours of the woods returned?”

Halfdan shook his head. “We saw them not in the dark. They were like ghosts.” He extracted a small jewel from his pocket. “... It may be due to this.” He dropped it into Thorfinn’s palm and the yarl gave it a lookover.

“What is it?”

Halfdan shrugged. “We do not know. All we know is that the warrior who dropped this seemed terribly eager to get it back.” He pointed to the sky, where the fractured moon barely still hung. “Our scribe suggested that it may be remnants of the Moonfall ten years ago.”

“Oh, that horrible business?” Thorfinn mumbled and turned the jewel around in his hand some more. “What does it do?”

Halfdan shrugged again. “Nobody knows. It could be some sort of family heirloom or currency? Why else would the warrior want it back?”

“Could it be a weapon?” a third dwarf suggested. It was Donald Deepstone-Underhall, warchief of the Underhall battleborn. Thorfinn pursed his lips. There was something about the stone - something about it whispering in his mind.

“Wouldn’t say that,” Halfdan mumbled, “they never hit us with it.”

“But it could be magical, no?” Donald suggested.

While the two of them discussed the properties of the stone, Thorfinn walked back over to the gate to Dvergadypi. He eyed the foot of a long-crumbled statue and cast a glance over his shoulder. A few were curious as to what he was doing, but most were following the increasingly heated conversation between the thane and the warchief. Thorfinn placed his hand on the statue and imagined as much as he could a statue of a mighty dwarf holding up the roof of the tunnel entrance.

In a flash, the stone in his hand became dust, and the stone around the statue became like a soup. Thorfinn stepped back, and all the dwarves turned to see what the source of the suggest commotion was. Rock and stone smashed together and sand twisted itself around it like a cloud, polishing and carving details into its shape. Before long, there stood a proud, mighty dwarf of stone in place of the crumbled pillar, beautifully holding up one side of the neglected gate.

The dwarves were all speechless. Donald and Halfdan came running over to Thorfinn and each grabbed him by a handfull of his furred shirt. “What did you just do?!” they demanded in unison.

Thorfinn blinked and pushed them away. He looked around for the stone, but found only dust under where his hand had been when he cast the spell. “It was magical… A stone of wishes!”

“A what?”

“Do you not see?! I wished for there to be a statue here, and the stone granted the wish! That’s why you couldn’t see the assassins in the night - they wished to be invisible!” Now it was Thorfinn’s turn to grab the other two by the neck of their shirts. “We need to find more! Dvergadypi shall be restored to its almighty glory - for the honour of Gereg the Stoneshaper!”
Hidden 6 days ago 6 days ago Post by Nate1008
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Ragora Lizardmen | Turn 0


Lizardmen colonists were working away, hauling the little supplies of lumber, stones, and dried straw to construct small simple huts. Hunters and warriors patrolled the area while the rest of the boats arrived on the beaches. "We don't have much food left... We must ration out resources!" called a council member inside a small, crude long-house. "But that will decrease the populations happiness! They cannot work if they are starved and depressed!" called another. "Should we send scouts to see whats out there? We could have neighbors!" another argued. "Calm yourselves!" Thrall interjected. "Infrastructure is our main goal right now. We don't know whats beyond our border and we don't have long until nightfall. Focus on the construction of huts and fishing docks for now. We will improve the populations happiness by giving them homes, rationing our food supplies to ensure they do not starve, and prepare scouts later to search for proper habitable land and resources... Be ready to salvage the buildings and boats for the move." Thrall finished. The other council members applauded in agreement.

The construction of multiple huts were already finished and more were on the way. Some hunters discovered stones with few precious metals and abundant amounts of fish. The rest of the boats landed and more supplies were being unloaded into the stockpiles. Thrall and some Warriors were patrolling the encampment to watch over the progress and check the supplies.
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The Bloodhowl Clan


Grimtak looked out over this kin, strewn around the shore, exhausted and bruised, some among them still coming ashore, their boats and rafts now little more than wreckage. He felt a tinge of sadness and shame that they had been reduced to this, he wished that they could turn back and aid those they had abandoned in their battle against the elves. But the truth was that they were lost the moment the waves and the winds carried them out of sight of the coasts. Is this what the spirits had intended for them? Does that mean they are not dishonored?

All that remained was an elven ship, too large to approach the shallow bay it still sat out in deeper waters. A final testament to their origins, and perhaps a beacon to their presence. Soon dusk fell on them and an agreement was quietly reached the spend the night on there to recuperate and gather themselves for the days to come. Grimtak made other plans, he was born in war and he saw action he wanted taken. Together with two of his old comrades, he rowed out to the boat on little more than a big piece of wood. Then they did what needed to be done; they set fire to the vessel that had been built with the blood of Orcish slaves.

When they came back, their people had gathered on the shore to watch the fire. Some smiled, some stared, some cried Why?, Mukdrak and Runda, the would-be shamans, danced a wild dance around their own fire. Grimtak met the gaze of the elders, those who had been born as slaves, those who had been born with elven names, those who had been the first to raise weapons against the elves. Rokar, as he had named himself, looked at him with scorn "One day your rash actions will bring you dishonor, Grimtak". But they left it at that, apparently more offended by Grimtak's own decision-making than the action itself. Grimtak and his comrades did not hide their actions and walked proudly among their people, long wet black hair clinging to their green skin.

At dawn, they cleaned away their presence on the beach as best they could and marched in-land with what they had left, following the river to find safer lands than the exposed coast. It was a long march, but they soon found fine grasslands and a great forest expanding before them, finally coming upon the great lake that the river flowed from. The blossoming spring made it look all the more like a dream land. Is this what the spirits had meant for them? Nestled between the forest and the lake, they began to make their home.
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