The female spits in Hakak's eye, but hands him the gold. Take it, and may Zagresh take you!
Hakak laughed at the female. "Any other day I would kill you for that, but not before Fleshripper feasted on you. Enjoy the Flood Truce. We can see to the rest later."
Shakraal sees the boys make the necessary response, and nods ever so slightly in approval.
She leans in close to the offender.
"Pray we don't meet again. Else that day WILL be your last." Behind her mask, Shakraal's eyes waver momentarily.
"Unless you wish to accede to might and join us. Come to us when we are a tribe, and I might find a place for you by my side. You show spirit, if not respect."
Looking at the poor woman, clearly shaken from his comrades presence,
"It would be wise if we do not see you again, I fear the best case scenario for you is death, only worse things from there, I can assure you there are worse things"
With a smug look and an almost smile.
The female takes one look at Hakak and the others and nods. Shelur Beast-breaker will not forget your words. She presses her fist to her heart and gives the new-clan a stern gaze, then leaves.
Lanishra's slave grunts as Shelur leaves the fighting arena. You please the Slave Lord with your deeds and words. Even now, you bend others to your will. He snaps his fingers and gestures towards the axebeak. Immediately, his four dwarven pets descend on the corpse, they rip and tear choice cuts of meat from its flanks and over to the shaman, each with two large hunks of flesh in their hands. They crouch low, pressing their faces into the dust and lift the meat above them. Again, the voice of Lanishra grunts. He distributes the meat among the new clan. Here, feast upon the flesh of your foe. Eat of its strength, and take in its power. Lanishra blesses you with his gifts!
Choot grins and prays to his own God, "Zagresh, overlook my indulgence of Lanishra's bounty!"
Choot devours the fresh meat of the fallen creature.
Thoku nods as the female walks away "she could be a good addition..."he whispers to his group Aa the shaman offers the meat thoku takes a piece and grins. "all gods I shall honor for every true orc god gives power to our race " and he ears the fresh raw meat not allowing one drop of blood to fall to the ground
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"Axebeak. It's been a while." Shakraal shrugs and takes her portion. The war witch scans the thronging multitude at their various amusements, diversions, tests, trials and bloodsports. Mid-chew she breathes the festivities in.
"So. On to the next trial, eh mates?"
"Or the rites to become a Tribe. It seems the Gods have brought us together for a mighty purpose indeed!"
Thoku pounds his chest when Choot talks about them becoming a tribe
"Yes cousin, we should do the rites now for then when we complete and win in the other trails it will bring honor to all of us and not just the individual. I Thoku the bloodied avatar of Nulgreth will lead our tribe never allowing our blood to weaken and taking us all to victory. You all could be the advisers Choot you here the words of Zagresh in your head, Shakeaal with your eye for talent you could see that only the truly worthy will be in our ranks until we unite all in our vision of a united hoard, Karq with your knowledge of the arcane could be used to the path ahead, Kern and Hakak will be our beast masters and a lance to drive our tribe forward. Yes to the rites to glory and dominance over the land" He said with pride looking to each companion as he said their name
Kern takes a few bites from the axebeak in deference to Lanishra, then tosses the rest to Grell, who was the real victor this day.
"Well fought, Grell. Cousins, let us complete another trial. I believe our group is becoming rather well-known from these trials."
Choot grins at Thoku's seconding of his idea, borne out of the discussions of the night before.
"Yes. It is wise to have Zagresh advise in all matters. After all when all is dust even the Gods will be long dead while Zagresh surveys all that has been lost and that may be again".
Delicately he consumes the fresh meat using 2 hands and careful to not get any on his face or hands, maneuvering himself perfectly to avoid soiling.
"You will make an excellent clan leader Thoku, you have my full confidence. Kraq says after completely finishing his raw meat.
"Come, with Zagresh's blessings a Tribe we shall become. None can stand before the Destroyer".
"Destroying shows the greatest might," Hakak said, nodding.
"While the Thunderer draws my own respect above all others, Zagresh's blessings will ensure us a strong foundation for our new tribe. I concur."
[ooc]hmm, that's a hard one fore since my character would want the blood god ...bit I guess I am enough to be from him lol, so I'll go with the group, to make it easier[ooc]
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The roar of orcs in bloodlust can be heard beyond a small rise in the middle of the camp. The Trial of Whispers is clearly underway! The warriors march along the path, towards the rise. The closer they get towards the rise, the more warriors they see preparing themselves for the Trial. Some bathe themselves in mud soaking with the venom of countless snakes and insects to deaden their nerves to pain. Others wrap themselves in strips of water-logged cloth and then leather and then place themselves on bonfires to harden their skin and sweat out the weakness from their bodies. Others stand spread eagle and naked as their comrades beat them with clubs and fists. Still others drink endless heads of grog, believing that the drunk-filled haze will cloud their minds to the torment.
Choot knows that these drunkards have the least chance to survive the Trials. Zagresh does not suffer weakness, especially the weakness of alcohol.
They crest the rise and see a throng of warriors: males and females both, surrounding a natural cleft in the earth. Spiked pits spot the floor of the canyon, and the walls glisten with razors. Fire burns in places, and one section has been crisscrossed with swords. Three orcs are climbing the wall at the end of the canyon, their chests shredded by spikes. They stand at the top of the wall and roar in triumph.
Zagresh is pleased! A voice booms from the darkness of a cave, and out steps an orc of mammoth proportions. He is a vision of Zagresh made flesh himself! His limbs are tree trunks; his chest is as wide as a bull; his tusks are as long as a mammoth! All four of them, for the Dead-Speaker has shoved two long tusks through his lower jaw so they extend outwards past his chin. His and loins are bound in the fur of a great bear. About his neck, he wears a necklace of orc tusks. The skullpile of Zagresh is branded onto his chest. He looks out upon the crowd through a mask crafted from the bleached skull of an orc! In one hand, he clutches a great club formed from femurs lashed together by bands of studded iron. In the other, he clutches a cape of tanned orc hide attached to pauldrons made from yawning orc skulls linked by thick iron chains draped across his chest and back. Come! Stand before the Servant of the Destroyer and receiver your doom!
The three victors grin and pound their chests, then rush forward to kneel in the dirt before the shaman of the End of All Things. The losers march forward as well. Despite their shame, they hold their heads high, with backs erect and chests proud and firm. They are true warriors! Three losers stand staring the shaman in the eye. You have failed Zagresh! The Destroyer has heard your weakness, and roars with rage! He demands that one join his hoard! Your tribe is weak, for you have cried out like the tuskless! You have shown fear in the eyes of the End of All. Orcs do not know pain! Orcs do not know fear! We are strong! We are fearless! Slay your weakness! Slay your fear! Feed the Doombringer!
Without blinking, the three standing orcs turn on each other. They grapple and tear at each other with primal savagery. Fang and tusk sink into arm and neck. Bones break; Ears tear; Eyes burst. Finally, one of the losers is held by the other two. One eye swollen shut, his nose squashed flat to his face, his lip torn from his face. Still, he stares the shaman in the eyes and roars mightily.
The priest smirks and swings his club with both hands, knocking the heads off of the other two orcs in one mighty arc, much to the chagrin of the battered warrior. He rips the tusks from the fallen heads and yanks out the loser's tongue. He runs one tusk through the organ and both lips, forcing it to stick permanently out from the warrior's mouth, and effectively barring him from any form of speech. The second tusk he uses to hack away at a tattoo of a flaming falchion until it's a ruined mass of exposed flesh. I claim you as mine. You are without tribe, without clan. You are without name or voice, until you have earned them once more. You have been reclaimed from the Hoard of the Destroyer, and shall serve him in all things until he has brought Doom to the world.
The pierced orc strips until he is naked and then collapses to the earth, his face pressed deep into the soil. The shaman turns to the victors. These two he gestures to the corpses. Are yours. The Destroyer gives to you everything they are and were. This one He kicks the prostrate orc at his feet. Is nothing and has nothing. But it buys its life from you with these things. He points at the pile of gear. The three victors hastily grab the corpses and piled equipment and depart.
The Burning Angel spreads her foul waters across the blue! The Trial of Whispers is complete on this day! Zagresh shall not be honored again until her blood is spilled across the sky and the blue cave is dark once more!
The audience roars in approval once more and then disperses. The shaman remains with his own prize.
Choot approaches, "Mighty servant of the Destroyer, it is I Choot Othul acolyte of the God of the End of All. I beseech you grant myself and my worthy allies here the Rites which will make us a full tribe in the dyes of the Destroyer that he may be our patron as we go forth and crush all that fares resist his will!"
Diplomacy for good measure
"I am content with Rull for myself, but destroying as a Clan would be best overall, I will agree with your points of view."
Seeing as Choot and Kraq seemed to have made powerful impressions, Shakraal merely watches from behind her mask, proffering naught but the proper obeisances...
"Hail the Mighty Destroyer. May he sweep all before him and imbue us with his almighty power."
Come! The priest gestures to the Sun still burning in the sky. This talk is not for the Burning Angel's eyes. He turns and leads the group through a winding path towards a section of the of the camp grounds that belong to the Defiled Corpse. The scent of roasting meat fills the air, most of it is probably is orc, given the tribe. The warriors of the tribe look up, and nearly all snarl a challenge. But, they all cower backwards at a look from the priest. He takes them deeper into the camp to the very front of a ridge where the Sun's light cannot touch. Nestled between the two craggy ridges of rock is what appears to be a sleeping giant. The priest approaches and the giant's mouth opens impossibly wide. Enter, warriors.
He walks into the giant's gaping maw and down the beast's gullet. It's obvious the giant is a very well-preserved corpse. Choot easily identifies the necromantic energies animating the body. Deeper he leads them until they stand in what must be the giant's hollowed-out belly. He reclines on a bone chair and points at the floor. The survivor from the Trial of Whispers rushes forward prostrates himself before the priest.
You wish for Zagresh to bind you as one tribe? He nods. Thartor has seen your deeds in the Trials. You act as one tribe, even though you belong to others. Zagresh will blind your flesh and blood. But, the Destroyer demands balance. You create a tribe, he demands that you end one. Declare blood feud with a tribe. Bring one of their most valued warriors here, alive, and with his sacrifice Zagresh will bind you all, and the blood feud will begin.
DC was 20 (he was unfriendly because he's a nihilistic priest of a god of death, destruction, and undeath... and he just plain doesn't like people)
Highest roll was a 26. So, I treated all the other rolls (stated or otherwise) as aid anothers. That made it a 30. Success got you to Indifferent, then the other 10 over brought you to Helpful.
"The Twisted Nail attacked us, but proved weak and fell. We should make our feud with them to prove our victory comes from might, not luck. Then they will not forget our victory, but remember it with hatred burning in their hearts that in time we shape into terror."
Thoku nods at the words of the priest and gives a wicked grin when Hakak speaks "yes, The fools thought to end us and we broke them once. Now we shall shatter them underfoot and claw, let their blood make rivers in the mud to feed our orc lands and give their harts to the fire to feed the gods. We will shatter them and become a tribe..." and Thoku drags his claws across his forearm letting the blood pool into his hand he then looks up as if calling to the Blood god and the Destroyer. the blood in his hand ignites into flame leaving the smell of iron in the air closing his fist Thoku looks to the group "The blood feud with The Twisted Nail is known to the gods and must met and the life given to them"
Shakraal nods grimly as she stares into the flickering flames.
"The Twisted Nail placed themselves in fate's path when they broke the Flood Truce. I agree. Their proudest warrior shall be their shameful sacrifice…"
"I agree that the Twisted Nail will be our enemies. They have already broken the truce we are all currently bound by, so they will need to be crushed. "
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"Twisted Nail it is then, they are weak and shall prove easy prey for us. What should we call our tribe? Since we are dedicated to the Destroyer but have other traditions not represented I vote for something like Blood Lighting to combine Rull and the Blood God into the tribe also, any thoughts?" Kraw says as he looks to each of the soon to be new tribesman.
"Yes, we shall hammer that nail!"
"How about The Sanguine Storm?"
"Bloody thunder, Crimson lighting, ahahah the name can and will be chosen once we bring the dead one here "
"All of those are excellent names, let us cull these Twisted Nails from the gene pool and rid our race of their sickening weakness!"
"How about The Sanguine Storm?"
"That is a weak word," Hakak said. "Say Blood Storm. That is strong."
You have chosen a tribe. The Twisted Nail blaspheme against holy Zagresh. They pray to the Destroyer, and feast on the weakest of our people. This is good. They cull the sick and feeble from our tribes, and leave only the strong to breed. They strengthen our people. The Destroyer is pleased by these acts. But, Thartor sneers and spits on the necrotic flesh forming the floor of his quarters.
They do not conquer others. They breed with giants as equals! Their giant slaves are gifts! They are not taken in conquest, nor demanded as tribute. They mock the Destroyer! With visible effort, the Doomspeaker steadies himself. You may plan, or leave. It is your choice
At the end of this, you will all earn: +12 Fame, your new tribe, any gear on the peeps you defeat, and be second level
The Twisted Nail are one of the most hated tribes of Belkzen. All orcs have been known to resort to cannibalism from time to time, but the Twisted Nail do it exclusively. They are not the only tribes to do this, of course. The Defiled Corpse and even Dead Eye tribes are also cannibals. As such, the three tribes are usually forced to the edge of the camps during Flood Truce, and are forbidden to "hunt" while at the Flood Truce grounds. Any orc walking in to their territories are, of course, fair game.
The Dead Eye tribes are primitive savages, most of the numbers can't even speak, but communicate through grunts and gestures, much like the degenerate Twisted Nails. But, they, at least, keep their bloodlines pure--they breed only with orcs, or the occasional human and giant to strengthen the bloodline. The Twisted Nail mate with anything that moves making for an incredibly strong, but mongrel tribe.
The Dead Eye respect only strength.
The Defiled Corpse, on the other hand, see cannibalism as a sacred duty. Zagresh demands that they cull the weak, strengthening the orc species as a whole. Also, by eating their foes, they honor the strength they had and grow stronger themselves by feeding on the power of their blood. The Chief of the Defiled Corpse is quite crafty and he listens to the wise counsel of his shamans.
The Defiled Corpse respect strength and wisdom.
Neither tribe likes the Twisted Nail. The Dead Eyes hate everyone. The Defiled Corpse see the Twisted Nail as a perversions of their sacred ways.