A young orcess in the woods ((Open to all))
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A young orcess in the woods ((Open to all))
Hearing noises, the naked young orcess barely looks over the edge of the fox den, looking for the cause. Her eyes are bright, noting everything that moves. She squeaks softly upon seeing the undead move about during Mas but knows not the cause. She quickly tucks back into the cave and curls up in the den with the foxes. She thinks to herself, not in words, but rather images, “maybe I can venture out at mornings light.”
Re: A young orcess in the woods ((Open to all))
She climbs out of the fox den and looks around in the light of day. Breathing deeply of the fresh air as she wanders around picking fruit and berries. Suddenly, she sniffs at the air and pales. Something comes! She runs about trying to find a good hiding place, but the dwarf spies her anyways and starts chasing her around. They run all about the woods until she tires and stops behind a tree. He still finds her and seems confused by her lack of clothing as all she wears is some hide strapped to the bottoms of her feet. He offers her some old shirt and pants, which smell dreadful. At his urging, she grudgingly dons the pants that itch and chafe something awful. Then he drags her to a dock and tells her to touch it. The magic surrounds her, making her breathless and causing her to black out. When she finally comes around, she is all alone in the middle of a town with only the sellers around. Scared witless, she looks for a hiding place.
Ruk'nar and a New Sister
The sunless days of Mas should never pass like any other, yet in Galmair, you could hardly tell the difference—light or none, it was all the same to them. If only they knew…
Far beneath the streets, in the damp and hollow gut of the city, the chief of the Bloodbane Clan stirred awake before the clan’s raging hearth. The fire roared, and with it, his anger climbed from the embers—hotter, higher, hungrier. The shaman’s scent still lingered, faint and metallic, blood mingled with smoke. He had left some time ago. Around him, his kin slept heavy from toil and from the fights that came after. Even orcs, he knew, could not war and hoard forever. There was a rhythm to all things—a season to grow, a season to reap, a season to feast. Yet the Bloodbanes, like Radosh, were never meant for stillness or obedience.
A clan that grows must change. It becomes what survival demands. And so it fell to Ruk’nar, rising chief of the Bloodbanes, to bear that burden—to honor the ancestors, to carve a path forward through stone and blood alike, to lead in lands corrupted by greed and treachery.
Each dawn—or what passed for one in these depths—he felt it. The pulse of the clan. Their hatred, their yearning, their fire. It was raw, untamed, the purest truth of their kind. They were wildlings at heart, born from chaos and made for the hunt, never meant to kneel or fade quietly. Only the shaman’s mutterings and the whisper that coiled through Ruk’nar’s own mind kept the fury in check. Only discipline kept them from devouring themselves and any who crossed their path.
Mas would not end without sacrifice. Blood and bone must answer the call of the season. While the clan slept, Ruk’nar and the shaman warded their chosen lands of Galmair with offerings—fresh kills, blazing pyres, the smell of marrow and smoke to soothe restless spirits. In return, the city above was spared. The demonic swarms held their distance, their hunger sated by the clan’s devotion and deeds.
And the gods—perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of cruel humor—granted them a sister. Ruuna. Fierce and curious, spirit-bright as flame. She took from the hoard what she needed—food, warmth, patience—and gave more in return than any might ever know. It was she who softened the beast stirring behind Ruk’nar’s eyes in the longest, darkest nights. It was she who reminded him that even among monsters, there was meaning in brethren, and in fire that refused to die.
Far beneath the streets, in the damp and hollow gut of the city, the chief of the Bloodbane Clan stirred awake before the clan’s raging hearth. The fire roared, and with it, his anger climbed from the embers—hotter, higher, hungrier. The shaman’s scent still lingered, faint and metallic, blood mingled with smoke. He had left some time ago. Around him, his kin slept heavy from toil and from the fights that came after. Even orcs, he knew, could not war and hoard forever. There was a rhythm to all things—a season to grow, a season to reap, a season to feast. Yet the Bloodbanes, like Radosh, were never meant for stillness or obedience.
A clan that grows must change. It becomes what survival demands. And so it fell to Ruk’nar, rising chief of the Bloodbanes, to bear that burden—to honor the ancestors, to carve a path forward through stone and blood alike, to lead in lands corrupted by greed and treachery.
Each dawn—or what passed for one in these depths—he felt it. The pulse of the clan. Their hatred, their yearning, their fire. It was raw, untamed, the purest truth of their kind. They were wildlings at heart, born from chaos and made for the hunt, never meant to kneel or fade quietly. Only the shaman’s mutterings and the whisper that coiled through Ruk’nar’s own mind kept the fury in check. Only discipline kept them from devouring themselves and any who crossed their path.
Mas would not end without sacrifice. Blood and bone must answer the call of the season. While the clan slept, Ruk’nar and the shaman warded their chosen lands of Galmair with offerings—fresh kills, blazing pyres, the smell of marrow and smoke to soothe restless spirits. In return, the city above was spared. The demonic swarms held their distance, their hunger sated by the clan’s devotion and deeds.
And the gods—perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of cruel humor—granted them a sister. Ruuna. Fierce and curious, spirit-bright as flame. She took from the hoard what she needed—food, warmth, patience—and gave more in return than any might ever know. It was she who softened the beast stirring behind Ruk’nar’s eyes in the longest, darkest nights. It was she who reminded him that even among monsters, there was meaning in brethren, and in fire that refused to die.
Re: A young orcess in the woods ((Open to all))
When she meets Ruk’nar her fears seem to melt away. This is it, this is where she belongs. He’s young, but she knows he will take care of her and keep her safe. He’s much too young to be her father, but he’s here, somewhere, south of the Limes. All she knows is that her father is big and strong and traveled some to meet her mother, Larkeh, the Shaman of their clan. She is resigned to find him or his old bones, either way, she will have her answers.