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Jan 21 2018, 09:56 PM
The Doomspring TribeLocation:
The realm of Felnova on the isle of Nimravus
. Settled on the Kotukk mountain range, east of Felidae. Culture:
The life among a Doomspring tribal in times of peace consist of working, training and hunting. There is little farming, however some animals are kept in pens within the village. When the tribe isn't training or working they may also be reveling, partaking in tribe wide feasts at the longhouse. The Longhouse is a place of congregation, where the orcs either partake in religious ceremonies, tribe meetings, feasts or can sometimes act as a trade hall.
The strongest and most militarily distinguished of all of the warlords is oftentimes chosen to become the chieftain if the previous chieftain and chieftess has died. Women are regarded in the same esteem as the men, both genders receive the same training, this also applies to chiefs and their succession. The first child of the chieftain is expected to inherit their parent's position if they have proved themselves on the field of battle. These children are rarely taken away from their training, enduring gruesome sparring sessions through all hours of the day.
Heirs often supersede their parent's abilities around their thirtieth year, although due to the fact that orcs are immortal they will typically only take their title after their parents have been slain in battle. There are acceptations however, sometimes a chief will step down for their child, other times the offspring will challenge their parent of their gender in a duel to decide ownership of the tribe. Any member can challenge the chief in fact, but a hide is not laid out.
Infighting between orcs is a daily occurrence as most disputes are expected to be ended with violence. The taking of another orc's life is somewhat more rare and is typically restricted to more serious offenses. The most serious insults include claims of heresy, the inability of the accused party to defend one's family, and the endangerment of a warparty by one's actions. If an orc is insulted in such a manner the hide or skin of an enemy is laid out at the entrance to the village or camp and the two disputing orcs will stand on the hide and duel with ceremonial daggers until one either remains alive or remains within the hide.
If the accused wins any claims of weakness shall be disregarded, however if heresy was the accusation he or she shall face the warchief/chieftess to state their case. If the accused does not show up to the duel then they are to be banished from the tribe, as cowardice is not tolerated, especially not such blatant acts of cowardice. If both survive but one loses they shall be deemed inferior unable to even die honorably and are expected to regain their honor among the field of battle. If the accuser does not arrive to the duel they shall have their ring finger taken from them and regarded less than a coward and forced to live among the outskirts. Hierarchy:
Chieftain: Dulgrub Drow-Eater
Chieftess: Uma Shatter-Spine
The goal of the Doomspring Tribe is currently to breed and grow their numbers to one day take rule over Nimravus. Their biggest project to date is to mine out their cave in Kotukk to span miles, where their clan will one day fully inhabit. Village layout:
The orcs inhabit the side of the Kotuuk mountain, east of Felidae. Their sphere of influence currently spreads to the very start of the Eromlog jungle. The Cave openings are protected by a wooden palisade wall which also contains many of the tribe's huts and buildings. Anyone below commoner status either lives within the mine or some choose to live outside of the palisade walls in hide tents. Anybody above the head shamen designation lives behind the walls in their own tents. This is currently a temporary arrangement until the mine is large enough to house all of the tribe.
Within the walls is a huge blacksmith shop where orcs cart any ores found from the mine to the shoppe. The slag is melted away and the metals are re-purposed into armors weapons and tools. A large hide covered kitchen sits against the longhouse and a root cellar is dug in the back, where any meat is stored for future use. Currently however trade specific buildings cant be found within the walls as the tribe is still expanding, upgrades are still required.
The weakest of the orcs live on the far outskirts of their territory and brew grog from yeast, molasses and sugar grown on the border of the jungle. These individuals stay far away from their kin because they're aware of their weakness and it is their shame. However hunting parties or war parties do sometimes take refuge among these interlopers for a night or two. Where their strength lacks their intelligence prevails and oftentimes these farmers act as watchmen and will light a signal fire if there is sign of an enemy approach. It is typical among these farmers to use their intelligence to tame the local beast population and use as their weapon.Military:
The tribe's military is often broken up into smaller militias operated by strategic warlords who demand nothing put pure loyalty from their servants. Underneath the warlords is an elite class of orcs whom are decorated in the most heavy armors and best weapons of the clan. The warlord's forces all have their own specific function, some for ranging and reconnaissance while others serve as the backbone to the army.
The army is almost completely composed of lightly armored infantry, with weak weapons. Horses have not yet been tamed and flying mounts have not been tamed. Spies have not been trained and there is currently a lack of warlords.Current status:
Jan 19 2018, 08:13 PM
SETTING: Xaeri, 5 hours south of K'Rizael by foot
WEATHER: The weather is fair
CHARACTERS INVOLVED: Beaver: Lithrix Lanchnam -- @Nidelia
: Zabaione -- @[Zenderkarian]: Aki
Dressed in a grey wool jerkin and brown breeches Lithrix Lanchnam wandered the stone carved streets of K'Rizael. The early morning sun shone through his honeyed blonde hair, resting messily upon his shoulders. He clung to a long a leather sack was tied at the top. He used this device to put some weight on as he navigated the confusing labyrinth of side roads and alleyways. Upon his back a knapsack rested, closed with a crude bone broach, next to which housed a sack with several sticks poking from one end.
Lithrix's tail flicked impatiently from side to side with a a scowl cast upon his lips. The city of K'Rizael, infamous home to the mythkin was a very endearing city however this city had left a bad taste in his mouth. His night prior was spent searching for an inn that served ale. After finding one he quickly found out there was a three drink limit, when he left the he searched for a gambling den in vain, getting lost among the winding streets almost immediately. There he looked for a brothel, stumbling into a building where performers danced on a stage.
Upon seeing the dancers his tail began to wag and he attempted to enter before someone stopped him asking for a ticket. Defeated he ended up going back to the inn only to get lost for two hours having to rent a room in a different inn, where they had not even sold alcohol. Now that day was upon him he wandered aimlessly attempting to salvage some sort of silver lining to the city. K'Rizael was a place of learning, emphasizing the arts and magic. Two skills Lithrix did not possess nor was interested in.
Suddenly he came upon The Key Ingredient, an Alchemist shop by the looks of the phials in the window. With a stubborn sigh he took a swig of liquor from a wineskin and meandered into the shoppe. He began inspecting the flora on display. The shoppe seemed to be empty and he got to browse in peace for a few moments. He was inspecting a strange red glowing root when an old man emerged from the back with a large smile. "Hello! Welcome to--"
He started cheerfully as his face distorted into a grimace.
Lithrix arched a brow. "Ah the Delfeen Elfblade Root, very pretty colors, quite."
He said in a condescending manner. The creature took a whiff and shook his head, mumbling. "And smells of a brewery to boot."
It was at this moment Lithrix decided he was not a fan of Myth Kin either. His tan and brown dingo tail ceased any movement and he took a deep breath in sighing. "Actually this one was looking for some Brynebundle leaves."
Lithrix managed between clenched teeth.
The old man looked bored, "Oh you know a some of the native Flora. How good for you."
He muttered. "Whatever the case Brynebundle is low in stock at the moment, a local college has conscripted me to provide them with several ingredients. The college uses Brynebundle leaves in a tonic to attune their focus."
The alchemist ranted before affixing his eyes back on Lithrix, and scoffing about to open his mouth for another derivative comment. "Why the fuck would they use Brynebundle as a tonic for focus? Simple Alura roots, milk of the Diem and Stannis taproots would have proven much cheaper and far more useful than that ancient concoction. Let me guess it's that ten plus ingredient potion they use in Scylla?"
Suddenly Lithrix was more aggravated at the shop keep than before. "Let this one guess you suggested that potion so you'd get more money out of em?"
The Myth-kin was astounded shaking his head hastily. "Nono! When they originally conscripted me they told me they needed supplies for that ridiculous concoction and I told them the very same thing you just told me. Exact recipe too... When I pressed it as well they simply took offense and said there were plenty of other alchemist shops around this quarter. I'm sorry sir I mistook you. What with your appearance... I had no idea you were an alchemist." "I'm of a different pedigree than you, old man. The difference we share is that this one is the type that goes out to gather his own herbs and roots, instead he doesn't keep gardens on the roof of his comfy city home. And this one is no true alchemist he mixes what he needs to keep going."
Lithrix said leaning on the counter."Listen I am most sorry to have offended you, forest kin. My name is Bulbosa, if what you say is true I may have a job for you."
Lithrix pushed off of the counter and folded his arms. "Lithrix listens."
He said introducing himself. "Well that college has been draining me dry here, yes they offer fair prices and consistent business but my gardens are becoming depleted and stock coming in has been moving slow as of late. The caravan is a week late and I fear for their fate. The college has been pestering me to deliver, and I fear they may break our contract." "What is it you require?"
Lithrix said smirking. "Well I'm in need of frostfang about fifteen of them, with the roots unharmed. They only grow in snow capped locations, which is the problem, there isn't much access to the frostfang plant here. Apparently they grow abundant around I'ree Se'ath. I can reward you handsomely. Five hundred Jaden sound fair?"
Lithrix's ears perked up, he was about to tell the old man to piss off in the next breath. He smirked. "500 Jaden, seems fair, but this one will will also collect Brynebundle because he like other natives know the import of a healing powder and how valuable it can be to the native people. Ten jaden per leafcluster."
The clerk thrust his hand out and the deal was sealed. Lithrix rushed out the door and began down the stone paths toward the southern gate of the city. At the entrance he came upon a street urchin, he reached into his coinpurse and found two silver jaden, the last two in his pouch, "Hey pup!"
He blurted, flicking the coin toward the kid, which he dropped at first. "Thank you sir!"
The child said sleepily. He smiled, "Now don't miss this one."
At that he flicked his last jaden toward the child which caught him more by surprise than the first, although he managed to snag the piece of silver in midair. "50 jaden?..."
He bit the piece of silver and inspected it, before Lithrix gave him a wink and sauntered on heading south.
He walked for nearly five hours and he was still two hours away from the famed frozen lake. Coming to a halt, he took a swig from his wineskin and surveyed the area. Suddenly he saw a grouping of red berries, he padded closer squinting. He knelt and inspected the plant. His eyes went wide. Brynebundle! He began pulling the leaves from their stems. He had a handful in an apothicary's satchel and he was working on another handful when suddenly his ears perked up, he heard a sound to the south... Suddenly he began to sniff the air, rising slowly. He took a swig of alcohol and sniffed again, picking up his long wooden stick slowly. He stood erect, waiting.
Jan 19 2018, 12:20 AM
Name: Dulgrub Drow-Eater
Appearance: Standing at 7'11 and a whopping 300 pounds Dulgrub's skin is a tough greenish-gray. Covered in very severe looking scars Dulgrub's flesh is marred from head to toe in injuries his right cheek having a large chunk of flesh missing from an animal with three claws. From his left pectoral to his shoulder, neck and side of his jaw he has a very large and disfiguring burn mark. His bottom row of teeth stick out of his mouth and curl over his upper lip in a perpetual snarl. His hair is black, shaved on the sides with tribal tattoos showing and the top of his head is covered in deep black braids. He tends to either wear fur or bone garb gathered from fallen beasts.
Personality: As the resident warlord of the Doomspring Tribe Dulgrub retains a certain level of ferocity among his clan as he does in battle. Austere and violent Dulgrub demands nothing but fear and obedience from his tribe. There's very little goodness in the heart of Dulgrub, at least as far as the conventions most of Felnova holds dear. Dulgrub does however adhere to a strict code of ethics adopted by the rest of his people. Politics between Dulgrub and his tribe rarely end in a discussion he prefers to handle disputes with a fight. For all of his brutish tendencies he does have a certain level of intelligence that tends to exceed most of his tribe. Dulgrub is an excellent strategist and is willing to stand the presence of certain sentient beings, as long as they prove able warriors and do not come off as weak. As his title suggest he is vehemently racist against the native drow and more generally the elf people in their entirety. It is a primal hatred and impossible to overcome.
Abilities: Proficient in most every weapon put into his hands Dulgrub is a vicious warrior. Hunting is among his favorite sports, harvesting body parts is a close second. His thick skin makes for a perfect natural armor and very little pain is felt. Dulgrub's strength is unrivaled and his speed legendary. Berserker's rage.
History: Born on a mountain camp atop Ramaloke Ridge Dulgrub spent the moment he was born honing his battle skills taking his first like around the age of ten. His tribe constantly descended the mountain and raided the villages of Vystriana The Order of Raven was a constant foe of theirs. The Order of Raven began to hunt for their camp sending spies up the Ramaloke mountains to discern their location, after the first couple of search parties were dispatched the order determined by the missing parties the tribe must be among the Ramaloke mountain range. In year 13028 the Order of Raven amassed a war party and began to ascend the mountain. The life of the Doomspring tribe was focused around battle, sentries littered the mountainside and horns sounded all the way up to the camp. Rocks were rolled down the mountain and arrows peppered their attackers. The order eventually penetrated the walls of the camp and after some heavy casualties among the tribe they prevailed. Their previous leader dead Dulgrub was named head warlord that night, already having distinguished himself in various raids the decision was finalized when he saved the lives of the right flank by cutting into the enemy's lines in a berserk rage cutting down ten men single handedly causing a conflict which would have been drawn out much longer to end in a swift victory. That night he was granted the honor of War chieftain and he made his first decree.
Dulgrub knew several Avians escaped and would return to Albronel in full force. A legion would befall them and he knew this location was compromised, he said as much during a council and told everybody to loot the corpses of the fallen and take whatever they could carry. Many of the orcs believed this was Dulgrub's cowardice and he was challenged immediately. He dispatched seven of his kin that night and made a speech. His speech explained that this move was not cowardice but bravery. They would thrive within the Continent of Death where the legions of man did not preside. The Continent of Death would now have a new force to fear. The tribe seemed to like the idea and they vacated their old camp. It took them a year to make it to the coast, steal boat and sail it to Nimravus, holding the crew captive to operate it. Dulgrub fought through the Eromlog Jungle and settled in the Kotukk Mountains, east of Felidae in a labyrinth large enough to house the entire tribe. The mountains were rich in minerals and since the day they arrived they've only mined out deeper tunnels, spanning half a mile as of 13030.
Jan 17 2018, 04:36 PM
Name: Patrin Chantri
Appearance: Standing at 5'4 Patrin is slightly taller than most of his kin, with his long brown goat-like legs a well built foundation for his stature. Typically dressing in deep purple or dark green tunics his legs remain bare. Countless pieces of jewelry adorn his fingers and neck. Bracelets hang from his wrists and most of his tunics are even embezzled with gems. A pair of large curled horns sit affixed to his forehead, peeking from his deep brown short, sideswept hair. His chin sports a brown goatee matching his brown eyes. He's of an athletic build.
Personality: Patrin is no interloper in the Faun community. Much like his kin he sees the bright side of life, constantly laughing and singing. His biggest flaw is his mouth, he has no conception of social hierarchy and his timing is rather inappropriate. His wanderlust is insatiable and when he's not practicing his music on his way from one town to another he and his people can be found in pubs playing for drinks or food. Serious is not an emotion Patrin knows, even when someone close to him passes he plays them a tragedy, drinks and celebrates their life. He is optimistic that the spirit realm is a wonderful place far exceeding the wonders of this current life.
Abilities: Over the many years this life has granted Patrin he has learned a wide array of ballads. He has the ability to make plants grow with the addition to some verses to colossal heights, far exceeding their normal size, this is usually used defensively on things like roots and thorn bushes, sometimes however it is just for fun. Most of his spell ballads are used to increase the performance of another's such as the ability to give energy to a weakened spell caster or the song of power which fills anybody in earshot with a boost of vitality. Patrin's songs and incantations are not always so black and white however, with the ability of creating a ward or inducing healing only being half of his arsenal. His abilities far exceed this and can beguile a charging enemy into tears or entice an aggressive creature into merriment. Hunting is also among Patrin's abilities, however he does keep seeds he can grow at any time.
Trades: Song, dance, a proficiency in any common instrument, Archery
History: Patrin's history has been a nomadic one. He was born in a traveling caravan among a dozen other Fauns and his first words were said in a sing-songy manner, as it was what his young ears were most accustomed to hearing. By the tender age of four a lute was first put into his hand. He learned to laugh young and laugh hard. A Satyre was also among the group and took it upon herself to play with Patrin. Her name was Shelta and she was constantly playing lighthearted pranks on Patrin, when she wasn't playing more intricate pranks on the rest of the Chantri. Patrin only ever left his kin several times out for various reasons, but he always wandered back into the company of his family as they traveled from town to town, realm to realm. The group had even served in some minor wars, playing their ballads of strength and singing the wards of protection. Life for Patrin has been an exciting adventure, jolly and pure. His adventure also shows no sign of slowing down.
Jan 16 2018, 12:21 AM
PLAYERS INVOLVED: @Fyfergrund
Xaeri, northeast to Kerguelan in an untamed wilderness.WEATHER:
The weather is fair, however the seasons are changing and a nip is developing in the air.TIME:
Set fourteen years in the past in the coming of winter.CHARACTERS INVOLVED:
Lithrix Lanchnam, Oinari.
Winds bit through the dense northern wilderness, moving the enormous pine and poplar trees with ease. The clouds darted about with haste, the sun attempting to squeeze in what little time it had left between these pockets of cloudlessness. The non coniferous trees began to to turn color some preemptive in their design to inevitably find their home among the underbrush. The whole world seemed to force itself onward, fall was hardly upon the lands and already the forest floor already took on a scent similar to Cloudreach. With each inhalation the hairs in one's nose felt apt to stiffen, scratching ever so gently against one another. The small creatures of Xaeri were even making an attempt to forget the warm summer months, squirrels could be seen hoarding their findings and nights became increasingly dangerous, predators grew more bold as the days passed.
A single man walked the underbrush; a male, not mature in age enough to be called a man, he could hardly be considered a man at the ripe age of seventeen. This boy, whom was mostly boy at that shared features which would rather quickly dismiss him as human; could feel these ever familiar patterns, coming on early as well. He however did not adopt the same pressed habits as the rest of the forest. Navigating the underbrush forlornly with little attempt at hiding himself in these woods. It was clear the instincts of his kind had not kicked in. Summer had only hardly ended, by the boy's expression the identity of summer had not stamped its influence as expected. He padded, slowly through the forest.
Upon closer inspection the boy's naked feet were not his only lack of clothing, he in truth had very little to cover his body. A bone chest plate strapped to his body, along with bone gauntlets and shinguard adorned his appendages. A leather sash covered his nakedness. His yellow eyes peered from of a downcast gaze, his eyes shone even through the light of day, no white could be seen in his eyes. He was stocky of build, broad shouldered, muscle and fat hiding his large skeletal figure. He stopped at the base of a foothill, bone adornments clanking against one another. He spun his head, looking around, variably sniffing. Two tannish ears resembling that of a medium sized dog propped up from his his honeyed mop of hair, alert. With each sniff his ears adjusted in a different direction as he stood motionless. His yellow eyes darting from one end of his line of sight to the other. He stood tall as wind hit him in his face. His upper lip raised in a chagrin expression as unusually large, sharp teeth peeked from the inside of his mouth. The boy's frustration seemed to bleed from his face as the wind danced and whirled, whipping at his sash. His ears remained extended, scanning every sound.
The boy jumped as a loud bang exploded just feet behind him. He twirled, hands gripping a long bone tipped spear held in a defensive battle stance. His eyes spotted a fallen tree limb not but a yard from where he had stopped. He eased his grip on the spear and sighed with relief. He looked up on the tree when he was caught off guard by a large gust of wind seemingly from nowhere, it knocked him on his side. He looked toward the tree's canopy once more.
There was another object falling from the tree, this one was a blur. A body fell upon the boy, sinking large claws into his fleshy ribs, without thinking the boy spun the butt of the spear into the side of the creature's head. A large grey feline reeled back roaring before another gust of wind threw the boy's spear from his hands. "Dn'aeikyn!" the boy spat back, by the time he could scramble to his feet the large feline was back on him. Gusts of wind surrounding its grey, muscled figure a talisman hung from its neck. His ribs bled fast as the Jailen licked its maw. The mountain lion-like creature darted a couple of feet back and growled as it took on a pouncing position, moving slowly. The boy's spear now between him and this creature. The boy crouched down himself adopting a similar stance on two feet. His tan and brown, canine tail uncurled sticking out straight from his back. His hand went to a pouch containing javelins and he drew one. The cat rushed him suddenly and he threw a javelin, which was thrown in a random direction before the wind seemed to die down. Not a moment sooner the cat was on the boy again.
This time sinking his massive jaws into his arm thrown forward in a defensive block. He felt tooth and bone connect as the cat raked its claws across his bone breastplate. The winds began to pick up once more, the boy let out an animistic yelp as the first bite was deflected from his bone arm guards. The cat bit again re positioning his jaws finding a hole in the armor. The boy used his off hand to shove a set of dangerous looking claws into the beast's face. The beast clenched its jaws in agony and then let go as the boy attempted to bring his claws to the cat's face again. He caught the animal in time, now it was the beast's blood he could feel as his claws dug into the Jailen's left eye. In another moment the boy was airborne, his right shoulder slammed against the trunk of a tree and he rolled to his side. The air in the immediate area seemed to be still. He reeled back winded as the creature put its maw against the earth and laid a paw over its wounded eye. It roared in agony as the boy whined softly attempting to find his footing. With help of the tree he stood up. When he noticed the javelin several feet behind him. The cat pawed at its face once more, turning its attention to the boy and letting out another roar, furious. The boy felt the winds begin to stir once more.
Pain, hot pain washed over the boy shooting from his ribs to his arm, where flesh had been torn away. The wind began to stir even more as the cat charged. The boy's legs moved faster than his mind as he reached the javelin, the cat was almost on him now, he spun around and threw a rock at the beast, who was anticipating a projectile. The rock was thrown hundreds of feet by a large gust of wind as the cat pounced on the boy. The wind was gone.
Blood drenched the scene, covering the boy's bare face, seeping into the grass beneath him, a steady growl could be heard between the two. A gust of wind blew in from the top of the foothills. A weak snarl emitted from the cat, now impaled by the boy's small rock tipped projectile. The javelin pierced clear between the jailen's armpit as the weapon's head poked from its shoulder blade. The boy was stuck underneath the cat's weight as it scraped along the boy's breastplate futilely. The wild boy let the weight off of the javelin and thrust his head forward, catching the cat's neck in between his teeth, using both hands to push the creature away. Blood spewed from the neck of the beast as its throat was ripped from its body. The animal twitched, it was done. A bloody mess; the boy sat up straight breathing heavily before inspecting his left arm. There was a gouge and some flesh hung, but the creature had failed at sinking its jaws too deep. Its bottom row of teeth had caught on the bone armband it wasn't going to be fatal. He then inspected his ribs.
I'm going to have to tend to these.
Haven't I fought enough this week?"
The boy breathed and found his footing. He walked over to the jailen and stared at the size of its claws, before pushing the javelin through and placing it in its holster along with three other look alikes. He rose breathing softly when his ears began to rotate again. "Fucking prides..." The boy burst out into a sprint toward his spear and reached it as several tree branches in the distance began to slam to the ground.