Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 23, 2017 21:44:52 GMT -8
The Outlands
At the edge of the known world, this wasteland stretches into the uncharted lands of a once mighty Empire now reduced to sand and ruin. In it's place, this great region is now home to nothing more than dangerous beasts and warring tribes of brutal, warlike humanoids that are collectively known as the Greentide. Consisting of the brutish Orcs, snivelling Goblins and more, the Greentide accounts for all those malevolent, tribal creatures who wish for nothing more than to fight and conquer. There may be many types of so-called Greenskins with varying biological differences between them, but all can be characterised by a skin-tone ranging from muddy to bright green. Only one thing is for certain in these forgotten parts: do not continue unless you're looking for a fight.Geography The region's geography is relatively simple, with thick and near-impassable mountains separating it from the rest of the continent, while a seemingly endless and featureless desert surrounds the rest for as far as the eye can see. The actual Outlands, which have a width of several hundred miles, consist of mostly barren canyons, desert and low mountain occasionally interspersed with rivers, strips of greenery and the dilapidated ruins of ancient sandstone settlements. Besides this, one major feature remains: a huge, active super-volcano that blights the map with a large, blackened smear. Consistently releasing magma into the surrounding canyons, this volcano is known to the Greentide as the Heart of the World and most tribes avoid it if they can.
==================== Thread Guidelines
Welcome to the great IC megathread of green orciness!
This thread is designed to be a big, IC region for Orc roleplay between characters and tribes. Expect lots of smashin' and conquerin'!
Though these guidelines are not enforceable as rules, I thought maybe the partakers of this thread location could all agree to stand by a few guidelines to make the roleplaying here more fun. As we know, the site enforces a rule of NPC counts for armies which help bring some order to large-scale conflicts between political entities. In this thread, for those roleplaying as tribal bosses or warlords, we could agree to do away with some of these for the sake of roleplay - but ONLY in this location and with the permission of our fellow players.
- Each Greenskin character who wishes to be a tribal leader may have one hundred NPC points to play with as he wishes without needing a group, even if it's only you. Each player added to your Greentide faction can raise this by another hundred, similar to actual forum group mechanics (you may wish to consider actually creating a group for your tribe, too).
- Even if you have the amount of characters needed to do so and can technically do so according to the rules, I would ask you refrain from making an actual forum nation meant to ICly represent this region and all the Greenskins within unless the majority of characters/players with Greenskin characters agree to this. Nothing's stopping you from migrating with your characters somewhere else to set up an entirely new nation, though!
- Please respect the fact that "The Greentide" refers to all the greenish-coloured miscreants as a whole, not just your particular idea. Similarly, due to the nature of the sandbox, there are more than one 'breed' of Orcs/Orks/Goblins/Snots/Gremlins/Ogres/Trolls/Etcetera, with biological and cultural differences depending on the player who made them. Though generally, characters from the same tribe will probably be the same breed unless the tribal leader says otherwise, so respect that if you plan to make a character for another tribe to start with.
- Outside interference from other races/nations/groups is allowed but discouraged - you'll probably get smashed! Also, please don't come in with overwhelming forces of thousands and murder us all. I mean, we can't stop you but it would ruin our fun; we're not hurting anyone here... Except each other!
- Try to be somewhat original with your Orks. Being inspired by is fine, but other members of the forum probably don't want blatant Warhammer Orks running around screaming "WAAAAGH!" and everything.
- As per the suggestion of someone in the OOC thread thingy, the Greentide often use teeth as a major currency. If you want some money, you'd better go smash some heads.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 24, 2017 13:48:58 GMT -8
There were few passes that reliably led through the mountains and into the Outlands, as dangerous as they could be. The smarter Greenskin tribes who lived around the edges of the region fought over them for the right of control, for every so often a rich caravan or patrol from the outside would attempt to pass through into the wasteland for a variety of misguided reasons. Chief amongst them was exploration, but every so often an overconfident Lordling from outside might lead his troops through to 'claim' the territory and bring with them supplies, armour, weapons and more.
One of these tribes was the Axetooth tribe, a small and relatively long-lasting tribe recovering from a string of major defeats in battle that led many of their remaining members to desert them. Those who still followed their tribal leader controlled one such pass on his behalf; a rather unsavoury position for any Greenskin, because the best fights were always further inland - as was the best loot. The job was one of boredom and frustration, waiting for victims to sally through so that they could fall upon them from all sides and take what was likely to be a meagre load not nearly enough to satiate the greed of the tribe's warriors.
Then one day, an opportunity came that was not just exciting, but incredibly rare! Two hundred armed mercenaries, escorting a caravan some several hundred more strong on a mission of exploration and prospect. Once they entered sight, the sneaky, climbing goblins passed over razor rock, cliffs and bottomless crevasses to get word back to the Axetooth camp. When it arrived, the excitement spread like a wildfire from Orc to Orc and before long, the warriors began filing out to the sides of the pass where their traps had been lying in wait for weeks. No more eating of their own dead, no more rotten meat from carrion or vegetation from the riverside; they'd get a damn good meal, a damn good fight and possibly enough treasure to make even the greediest of them happy for a time. They did not wait for the word of their Boss, for what possible reason would any Orc have to deny them the opportunity of this attack?
The first group there was a group of nine Orcs wielding spiked clubs, hammers, axes and any other brutish weapons they could fashion out of the material accessible to their tribe. The tenth was their superior officer, a veteran warrior called Magotar Doomslayer whose armour was rare in that it was not just made out of metal, but had enough spikes to make any of his underlings think twice about double-crossing him. Similarly, his weapons were two large axes he affectionately called "Hacker" and "Slasher" and had enough strength and weight behind them to chop any would-be challenger down to size.
"Keep your damn mouths shut, or I'll break 'em," he growled at his men, crawling up towards the edge of the high ridge that overlooked the section of the pass they had especially cleared for ambushes. Behind and around them, the other veterans and their mobs of Orcs were filling in the gaps of their ambush and up high above on the other side, the subserviant Goblins were preparing to unleash the boulders they had mined into huge balls of crushing fury.
Magotar kept his head low, looking up to the west where a lookout stood hidden high in the rocks and waved a rag around to signal the near arrival of their guests. The orc's grin widened and his teeth cut the arid air that left his lungs. Within the next several minutes, the majority of the tribe had arrived, bar several of the higher-ranking officers and the Chief himself, who had no doubt been in the middle of tasting the Orc female who had recently come of age. His loss, Magotar thought as the first of the enemy stepped into view. It was a relatively standard formation, with the caravan's leaders at the front on the back of horses while the unarmed men were spread evenly between each third of the armed mercenaries hired to protect them.
Perfect. The enemy would make easy pickings! The rocks would crush the middle section of the caravan, while Magotar and the other brutes around him dropped down onto the remaining, broken formation and killed as many as they could. Meanwhile, the separated front and all their officers would be swarmed by the rest of the warriors and devoured like a lizard in a den of snakes, only for them to all turn towards the rear and finish the final few off with the overwhelming, unstoppable force of a battle-starved Greentide.
They were getting closer...
Magotar's patience was running thin, but he knew not to break too soon. Yet the desire for battle was greater than the desire for any Orc woman; the lust for the feeling of blood dripping from his axes filling his mind and the minds of those around him. The caravan continued to move, step by step; they were right under him now, the opportunity at it's greatest and their formation most susceptible to the waiting ambush. Then finally, as though the order to attack came to all green minds like a hive instinct, the warriors stood atop the ridges and released a roar that would shake the human warriors to their cores. The rocks were dropped, archers released their barbed arrows and Magotar kicked one of his men off the ridge and down into the fray of the coming battle; himself following shortly as he leaped from the rock and down into the bodies of his foes, all the while releasing a battle-cry of "KILL 'EM ALL!"
The ambush went just as Magotar expected.
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It was roughly an hour later when Gotrut, the chief of the Axetooth tribe, came down to see the results. He was a huge greenskin, at least seven foot tall and built of solid, rock-hard muscle. He wore little armour except his scars and his weapon was a huge hammer that, though Magotar could likely wield with both hands, Gotrut could swing with one.
"What's goin' on 'ere then?" The chief asked, his voice deep and full of growling teeth as he began to inspect the huge piles of armour, weapons, food and shiny coins his warriors piled into their wagons for transportation back to camp. Yet as soon as they were piled up into the wagons, groups of warriors would go and take their pickings; a shiny new sword, a helmet to protect their already thick skulls, or a trinket of gold or silver to trade for whatever it is they felt like buying but couldn't take. Magotar was amongst them, taking his fair share of the loot he helped to gain even as his green muscles were smeared red with the blood of those he had killed.
"Gimme that, you runt," said Gotrut, snatching a bag of booty from one warrior, only to them kick him away. The moved to another, doing the same and leaving the underling frustrated and snarling. The third one he tried to take from was Magotar, who clutched tightly onto his bag and stared at his chief with a eyes that were wild like a beast.
"Whaddayou think you're doin', boss?" Magotar asked, his fist tightly clutching one side of his loot bag while Gotrut held the other.
"Takin' my loot," Gotrut replied. "You got a problem wit' that?"
"This is my loot, I fought for it. We all get a share, don' we?" Magotar replied.
"When you do good and follow my orders, ya do," said Gotrut, suddenly pulling the bag away from Magotar and slapping him down to the sandy ground with a snarl. Then, he turned to the warriors of the Axetooth tribe and slammed his fist through the side of one of the wagons, allowing the gold to spill out into the pass once more. "Listen up you puny gits, all o' this loot is mine now!"
The witnesses all let out cries of protest, but Gotrut shut them up by slamming his fist into the skull of the closest warrior and killing him instantly. No-one cared that one of their own had just been murdered by their chief. "You get loot when you do what I tell ya to do! I neva said to kill t'ese paleskins, so as far as I care you all went against my orders an' forfeited the right to take from my stash o' booty!"
More growls of protest, but no-one did anything about it. "You all got somethin' ta say?" Gotrut asked, taking his hammer from his belt and wielding it menacingly. "I'll kill every last one o' ya, you useless shits!" He then waited for a reply, but none came except for grumbling sounds of submission. "Good. Now get all dis back to my hold an' we can use all dis food to 'ave a feast and eat like Orcs!"
That was all he had to say. They were all hungry for a good meal, so did they really care about the weapons, armour and gold when they were promised a feast that would leave every one of them stuffed to the brim with good grub? No - and just like that, Gotrut proved himself just enough of a good boss to get nearly every warrior back on his side.
Every warrior except Magotar. As the Axetooth tribe started pulling wagons back towards their camp, the one orc who had long felt the desire to take over the reigns of chief finally found his loyalty for Gotrut broken. "Take my loot, will ya?" He growled under his breath during the journey back. "Slap me around? Threaten me? Take what I earned with my axes?" He asked, looking up at the back of Gotrut as he led the orcs back to their camp.
"... I'm gonna tear your guts out through your throat an' drink grog from your skull."
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Feb 26, 2017 17:08:31 GMT -8
Brotgok Bul-Krozak was part of a hunting/raiding mob that was combing through an ancient dried forest, perhaps half a day’s roam from The Splitkull’s home swamp on the edge of The Outlands. Beings other than the members of a Greenskin tribe might have stopped, waited, watched and absorbed the natural tragic beauty of what likely used to be a lush forest with centuries-old trees, now reduced to mostly standing deadwood twisting up from the barren ground. The raiding party itself was small for a Greenskin mob, only a couple dozen strong (a fraction of what was back in the swamp), and not one could be bothered to observe the natural beauty around them; dead or not.
The crack and snap of dried branches could be heard as the mob brutishly and heavily barged through the wood, some Splitkulls stopping to rip down branches or pull up roots for improvised weapons. All of this could be heard above the normal quarrelling of the tribe amongst themselves.
Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe.
A familiar sound took the Boss’ attention for a moment, and looking to his left he saw two of his tribe embroiled in a fight against one another. Two smaller Greenskins rolled on the dried forest floor, scratching, biting and throwing blows. The fight was the apparent product of one trying out his new improvised club on the other’s skull, and for his experimentation the instigator of the fight found his own skull bashed into a tree. The tree shook as the thick bone of the Greenskin’s skull stopped the rest of him with a hard crack. It was then that a glowing orb of yellow light escaped from a hole in the tree, flapping its bug-like wings in quiet panic as the slightly confused Splitkull watched on.
After a few moments the initial novelty of watching the glowing orb wore off. In the tiny creature’s escape it happened to fly within arm’s reach of a Splitkull, who promptly reached out, snatching the pixie out of the air and shoved it in his mouth. He chomped the creature with a crunch, chewing as the other Greenskins looked on. The Splitkull smiled, letting out a laugh as he showed off sparking bits of yellow in his teeth.
Immediately and in unison the other members of the tribe began thumping the trees. They cracked the large dead tree trunks with their fists, blades, axes, and clubs, occasionally getting lucky and driving more of the creatures out of the trees. The luckiest of them were able to catch the glowing orbs before they either escaped or were stolen by their tribe mates. Glowing bits of yellow between their teeth then became the order of the day.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 26, 2017 23:26:24 GMT -8
Magotar's hatred for the chief of his tribe had grown greatly since the ambush at the pass, but he had not yet openly declared his hostilities. Magotar had enough cunning to know that waiting until his support grew was definitely the right thing to do, but until then his only choice was to continue following orders.
Not long after their victory, those orders changed to him venturing from the relative safety and boredom of the pass and into the Outlands in order to hunt for boarphaunt meat and more goblin slaves. It was a welcome respite from the tribe hold, but it also offered Magotar the opportunity to improve his standing with the rabble of thirty orcs that had been sent out with him. It was a significant number, almost one-sixth of all the warriors in the Axetooth clan were under his command that day and would make a significant portion of his fighting force when he finally moved to take over the tribe himself.
"Boss, what's dat noise?" One orc asked, pointing to the distance where the sound of chopping, smashing and cracking came from a forest of dead trees.
"Don' know," Magotar replied as he lead them closer to the source of the sound. "Get yer weapons ready boys."
As the patrol grew closer to Brotgok's position and passed into the woods, Magotar and his orcs instinctively lowered their postures and began to try and move a little quieter. Being orcs they weren't particularly great at moving unheard, but their background in ambushes made them rather good at knowing which things they could effectively hide their bulking green forms behind.
He led them closer to the source of the sound and it wasn't long until Magotar's eyes noticed a few of Brotgok's orcs in the distance, apparently attacking the trees. He signalled for his own orcs to stop moving and take cover, then began edging closer and peeking between the drywood trunks in order to better assess the situation. Perhaps he should not have led his orcs so far out into a direction unknown to his tribe; they were two days away at running pace from their hold and their scouts had not been through these parts for years.
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Feb 27, 2017 4:43:15 GMT -8
The raiding party's original purpose wasn't to find food, or even find someone or something to fight, though that was certainly implicit in everything the tribe did. The purpose was smeared in thick coats over every green hide in the group; the foul-smelling mixture of swamp tar and mud that the Splitkull lived in. Inside the muck-filled hole that was their claimed territory, there was plenty of the mud that the Splitkull believed protected them like armor in battle; they only needed to smear it on themselves, take up their improvised weapons, and they were in moments prepared for battle. The only problem with their preferred method of battle protection was that when the tribe left the swamp, the mud would eventually dry and crack, and fall away from the Greenskin it was meant to be protecting. It was for this reason the clan now sought another, more conventional means of protection in battle; proper armor.
Brotgok lead his expedition of mud-covered Tide to find materials with which to fashion weapons and armor, but now ended up watching them beating their fists, rocks, and other weapons against the trees. Raising his giant fist, the Boss decided he too would like some tasty glowing morsels, and so put his fist through the trunk of a dry hollow tree. The tree, perhaps thirty or so feet in height before it stopped growing for lack of water and nutrients, fell to the forest floor with a loud, thundering rumble, bringing down branches of other trees with it. Brotgok picked up the base of the fallen tree, peering into it for signs of the glowing yellow beings. No luck. He grunted in frustration as he slammed the hollow tree trunk to the ground, sending bits of wood flying in all directions. He breathed in deep through his nose, about to express his ill-tempered exasperation with not immediately finding his own tasty treat, but in drawing air in through his small nostrils caught a whiff. A scent. It was familiar, but not one of his own. Even over the acrid stench of the Splitkulls, the wind had gusted favorably and he was certain he could discern the scent of other Greenskins.
Gripping the handle of a club made of the hardened bone of some unnamed sea monster, Brotgok continued to sniff the air, looking around in all directions.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 27, 2017 14:44:32 GMT -8
Magotar found Brotgok entering his vision quite by accident and he knew immediately that the Orc must be the leader of the other party. He was huge, a good foot and a half bigger than Magotar himself, yet what also gave him away was the manner in which he began to sniff and search for what was obviously the smell of his own warriors.
Magotar pressed a clawed finger into his chin and scratched, considering the options available to him. He could just turn and leave, but they would get caught out in the open when they left the forest and likely find themselves back in this situation. He could also have his warriors attack the other tribe while they retained the element of surprise, but Brotgok was huge and definitely not an opponent he wanted to mess with right now if he could help it.
He decided the best course of action was to just come right out into the open and announce himself. Taking in a quick breath, Magotar stepped out from behind the tree and glanced forwards towards Brotgok and his orcs. "Whatchu boys doin' 'ere? You found somethin' interestin'?" He asked; surprising his own orcs who remained hidden for the time being.
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The Farlander
New
Roleplay posts: 1
Physical Description: He who walks with stars.
Registered: Feb 20, 2017 19:59:02 GMT -8
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Post by The Farlander on Feb 27, 2017 21:52:57 GMT -8
It was a rare event indeed that one could walk all the world yet find only in a place as inhospitable and empty as this something that stood out above others as interesting. Was interesting the right word? He pondered on its meaning, on whether that lone figure with horse and sword in tow truly met the criterion of its definition. Though surely the wanderer's very being there; walking and breathing flesh made not from sand and stone; made them fascinating enough to warrant his attention.
It was no calculated endeavour that the Farlander found himself sitting upon the stones of the mountains in that abandoned place, looking down through the dark on the only other person he had seen in days. Yet so strange was the improbability of them both being there at that moment that neither could he chalk it up to randomness; this was something more, the swirling threads of fate and chaos leading him to this one locale at this one moment in eternity.
There was a significance in the journey this person was making, a purpose in the edge of the blade they held.
The Farlander stood from his stone and watched, his arms folding over his chest. Though no more easy to see than a distant feature in the terrain, he also made no effort to hide himself. Why, what threat could he pose, as empty-handed and half-clothed as he was?
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Feb 28, 2017 4:45:56 GMT -8
Brotgok didn’t raise the alarm, even though he was certain there were other Greenskins about. In point of fact, ‘the alarm’ almost never got raised in the Splitkull tribe. Most of the Splitkull Greenskins saw fighting as fun or exhilarating, and all of them saw it as the purpose they were built for. It was thought that the bigger and more powerful the opponent was, the bigger and more powerful the Splitkulls that did the fighting would become as well. Very selfishly, the individual members of the mob were loathe to call more Greenskins to the fray, as they wanted the fighting and all of its benefits to themselves. This selfishness, however, very rarely stopped more Splitkulls from hearing the fight and charging towards the noise; more than happy to steal in on a fight in progress.
The Boss sniffing the air with a hand on his club did not go unnoticed, as quickly several more of the mob drew their weapons and began sniffing around as well. Only the dimmest of the group saw fit to continue their hunt for the tasty glowing orbs, oblivious to what was happening around them. As Magotar stepped into the clear and spoke, even these orcs were given to turn their attention to him.
Brotgok turned towards the new Greenskin in their midst, and immediately shot a glace across his line of orcs. If the Boss wasn’t present, any other detachment of the tribe might have just charged the newcomer outright and let the chips fall where they may. In this case, all of the Splitkull remained in their places, spread out in one large cluster interspaced amongst the dense wood. Brotgok knew orcs, even of other tribes, hardly ever traveled alone unless they were outcasts. The odds of a single orc this far out and that well armored were low.
Brotgok let out a low growl, “Daz some spiky armor.” He said, ignoring the pleasantry of the other orc asking about their quest for glowing pixies to crunch on.
“What tribe you frum what ‘az such nice fings?”
((OOC: Woo new people in the thread! The interaction we're having here is taking place about 2 days walk from the border mountains of The Outlands. If you guys were hoping for some Orky interaction as well you could find a reason to come join us or I'm sure we could make up a reason for other tribe members to be at the border.))
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 28, 2017 10:23:12 GMT -8
Magotar grinned at Brotgok's growl. The other orc was larger than probably more fearsome than he was, but that didn't mean he was afraid to hold his own. Magotar's growth had accelerated greatly over the past several months; an uncommon trait of some orcs, who would grow bigger to befit their status the more boss-like they became. "Axetooth," he replied tapping one of his armour's spikes with the tip of one of his fingers. "We gets iron and coins from paleskins an' knife-ears who come through da mountains, so we gets to 'ave spiky armour and shiny t'ings."
The orc began to scan the other tribe with gleaming eyes, as though he was sizing each orc up individually and testing himself against them. He wasn't worried; many of his warriors wore armour and had decent weapons forged from iron and steel they had scavenged. Not many tribes had actual forgeworkers to fit their warriors with battle-worthy equipment, but the Axetooth was one of them; this new tribe seemed to lack that advantage.
"Why? You want some?"
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Feb 28, 2017 12:16:53 GMT -8
If pressed, Brotgok would have to agree that his mob, if not just the detachment he was leading, wasn’t much to look at. The Splitkull boys were of perhaps slightly above average size (but not by much on the whole) without many metal weapons, and universally covered in mud. If any weapon slings, belts, or other way to secure a weapon while leaving both hands free was desired, it was normally just tied to the Greenskin with vine or fibers woven into a homemade rope; whatever that specific Splitkull could come up with.
Brotgok had heard of, and even interacted with (as orcs do) the clans that squabbled with the paleskins near the mountain pass. He detested them. The Splitkull Boss thought they had lost what it means to be Greenskins. Instead of being fierce warriors they set up ambushes. Instead of being ruthless in the grand pursuit of battle with stronger foes, they fought for the paleskins’ worthless shiny coins. These clans couldn’t even appreciate the armor on their own backs as they’d hardly ever gone without it. To the other orc tribes armor was a crutch; to the Splitkull, it would be a force multiplier. It would turn a line of Splitkull boys into an unbreakable wall, at least in Brotgok’s mind.
“Heh heh heh. Daz right.” Brotgok liked this situation a little more with every word the lone orc spoke, but of course he wasn’t alone.
“An’ where’s yer mob Greenskin?”
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Feb 28, 2017 14:53:59 GMT -8
Magotar held up his arm and slowly, the other members of his party came out from behind trees, rocks and other places where they had chosen to hide. They were a little ways behind Magotar, but this wasn't too much of a worry considering the interaction seemed so far to be going rather peacefully.
"My chief took all the loot we got in the last raid," the orc explained. "T'ere was massive piles of it an' enough swords, axes and pieces of armour for every one of t'e tribe to look like one o' dem humie knights. But Chief Gotrut is lazy an' greedy. Firs' he don' even 'elp us smash the enemy that 'ad 'em, but then he takes it all for 'imself like he did all the work. If you wanna 'elp me and my mob smash Gotrut's face in, then you can 'ave enough loot for all ya boys."
One of the other orcs lurking behind Magotar suddenly grew closer and pushed him aside towards a tree. "Whatchu doin', eh? You gonna betray our chief? You gonna talk about it right in fron' of all his boys?" The greenskin asked, only to stop his rant when Magotar pushed him back.
"Yeah I am, runt." Came the reply, spoken through growls. "Gotrut is weak an' pathetic now. It' time for a new chief: me."
"Gotrut's gonna 'ave your 'ead, Magotar!" The Orc growled back, before trying to push through the mob and back towards the direction they came from. His tracks were stopped by his fellows, who blocked his retreat and pushed him back towards the orc he just threatened.
Almost instantly, Magotar swung one of his heavy axes down with enough force to split a skull open - and it did, right down into the soft, squishy flesh of the orc's brain. Still alive, the other greenskin was too shocked and injured to yell or protest as his blood drained to the floor. "If ya ain' with me, then yer my enemy. An' my enemies get to taste my axes," Magotar replied, hefting the edge of his axe from the orc's skull and then slamming it back down into it again to finish the greenskin off for good. A second later, a broken body fell to the arid ground to the sound of Magotar's hunting party roaring in delight.
The greenskin leader turned back to face his warriors, raising his bloody axe towards them. "All o' yous are part o' my tribe now. Any objectors come forwards now an' I'll kill ya in front o' dese other boys 'ere to prove why I should be."
There was no objection.
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Feb 28, 2017 17:56:12 GMT -8
The Splitkulls looked on as the members of the Axetooth tribe began to appear out from behind trees and rocks. It only confirmed what Brotgok already knew; the orc wasn’t alone. One smaller (relative to the Boss anyway) Greenskin approached Brotgok slowly, his small eyes peering out from his slightly puzzled-looking face at Axetooth Tribe.
“Boss,” the boy said, standing near Brotgok, “I neva seen a Greenskin hide wot still ‘az all his limbs.”
Brotgok grunted, and might have even responded further if one of the Axetooths didn’t take umbrage with Magotar’s words. Seeing Magotar’s reaction to the boy, splitting the boy’s head into halves, confirmed two things; firstly that his words were true, and secondly that at least one orc had the fortitude to turn this rabble into a proper clan of Greenskins. Seeing the reaction of the other Axetooths made it official for Brotgok, Magotar led this group.
“Dis be the fault of a boss.” Brotgok said after a moment. He took a breath and, loud enough for all the boys to hear, “A boss wot can’t be asked to do ‘iz own fightin’ is no boss a’tol!” This elicited a round of grunts and a momentary guttural raising of voices from the Splitkull.
Brotgok turned his attention to Magotar, “I’z Brotgok Bul-Krozak, and dem ‘ere is my Splitkulls. You’z show us were dis Gotrut is wot claims ‘imself the boss of Greenskins, and he’ll prove it or I’z gonna rip ‘im from crotch to jawbone wif me own hands.”
“BOYS!” Brotgok shouted, “WE’Z GONNA WAR!” With that, the Splitkulls began shouting, cheering, thumping the ground and bashing the trees. This chaos soon turned into a rhythmic chanting that no one listening would be able to decipher the meaning of, not even the ones chanting.
As far as Brotgok was concerned, exactly what he said was the truth. If a Greenskin was going to claim the title of Boss of anything, he was going to prove his worthiness of his station in battle, or die. ‘Boss’ was not something to be taken lightly by the Splitkull, and if setting this obvious wrong back right again got them the armor they desired, all the better.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Mar 2, 2017 17:43:46 GMT -8
(Sorry for the late reply. Been ill lately!)
Magotar raised his arms and his axes to shoulder height, then let out a deep guffaw that seemed to be shared with the warriors of his tribe. A strange, unholy and most-likely temporary alliance had just been formed, one that would invariably lead to the death of his 'chief' and the annexation of his clan anew with himself leading at the very top. And in return, all he had to do was give away a few piles of armour and weapons? It was a deal he absolutely could not refuse.
Still, the almost exclusively orc-like behaviour of being excited for battle calmed after several long moments of laughter and it wasn't long until they were waiting once more for their orders. Magotar had to think about this, but whatever path they took, they couldn't do anything where they were now. They had to go back.
The orc approached Brotgok and his men, with a deep sniff of the air as though making one final check for the unexpected. "We' gonna 'ave to go back if we wanna kill Gotrut, so I gotta plan to do it. Me an' my boys will go back alone like we's were meant to, then you and your mob can come in from t'e outside an' challenge 'im. Then when 'e comes out, I'll 'ave my boys take over the camp so 'e's got no-where to run to an' then come out an' attack 'im from the back. Sound good?"
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Mar 4, 2017 18:33:23 GMT -8
(Haha I've been busy myself. I waited way too long to get this response in, sorry! Anyway I'm probably going to do a little assuming on position and movement and stuff in this post so if it’s wrong or not ok just shoot me a post and I'll change it.)
“Lead on.” Brotgok grunted words of agreement at Magotar's plan, and with that a new alliance was formed, shaky as it may be.
The Splitkull would allow the Axetooth tribe a good lead before starting off after them. This, Brotgok thought, would at a minimum keep the boys of the two tribes from squabbling and fighting before the actual war was to begin. It may or may not have been a major problem for the Axetooth tribe, but if the Splitkull boys weren't fighting someone else they would certainly fight amongst themselves. Brotgok did not fear losing the other tribe by giving them a lead; it was easy enough to track creatures like orcs.
The Splitkulls would trail behind the Axetooth until night fell, at which point Brotgok called for one of the smaller, more agile of his tribe. He gave the Greenskin orders to run ahead and tell the first Axetooth he encountered that the Splitkulls weren’t going to stop; they would press on through the night and make the bulk of the two day journey before they rested. To humans this may have seem foolish, going on a force march the night before a battle was expected, but for Brotgok it made perfect sense. His Greenskins were strong and did not tire easily, and if they stopped none of them would rest knowing what lay ahead of them. It was just as well that they press on and try to make as much of the trip as possible.
The sun was in the sky again as the Splitkull Greenskins approached the jagged mountain rage that separated The Outlands from the rest of the world beyond; this would be where the Axetooth tribe proper, headed by Gotrut. It was only now that Brotgok would order a stop/rest, and give the Axetooth detachment time to go ahead into their camp.
Brotgok sat perched on a rock, looking in the direction of their target as one of his Greenskins approached.
“Boss,” the boy began “You fink daze goin’ ta do wot daze sayin’? Wot if dem Axeteef iz layin’ us a trap? Daz’ wot dem boyz do idn’ it?”
Brotgok nearly didn’t respond, but after a moment said “Den we’z got twice da ‘eads to break. If daze no armors in’ner, den we takes it off the dead Greenskins.”
The boss’s assumption quickly proved correct; even when his mob had a chance to sit or even lay down, they were restless. The boys picked at each other, fighting and in one or two cases literally butting heads. The promise of a real fight, a ‘war’ even against other Greenskins had them all on edge, chomping at the bit like dogs before a hunt. There may have been no rest, but the Axetooth detachment did have time to rejoin their mob, and that’s all that mattered.
As the sun listlessly drifted higher into the sky, Brotgok stood, and began walking towards the mountains and the camp that was undoubtedly at the base of them. Of course his mob followed. As the Axetooth camp came into sight, Brotgok stopped.
“BOYZ!” he screamed, “LEZ SEE IF WE’Z CAN GET DAZE ATTENTION!”
And with that, chaos erupted once again. Guttural screaming, howling, and cheering carried across the clearing between the Splitkull Tribe and the waiting Axetooth camp. The boys thumped the ground, stomped, and quickly whipped themselves into a frenzy. Brotgok pulled the hardened bone club from the rope tied around his waist and joined his boys, crashing the heavy club into the ground and adding to the thunderous disturbance his mob was making.
“WAR WAR WAR WAR” a continuous and clear chant carried across to the Axetooth camp. It was an open and clear incitement to battle; one no proper Greenskin would be able to turn down, not even the ones that lay traps for paleskins.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Mar 6, 2017 11:57:01 GMT -8
As with the Splitkull, the Axetooth renegades marched on through the night with a similarly tireless determination. His tribe may have been known in recent years to lay ambushes, but at one time Gotrut led a far larger and more powerful clan; one that roamed the wastes and fought everything it saw with a ruthless ferocity comprised of gnashing teeth and sharpened axes. They were orcs, after all, no stranger to great effort even if such efforts had been lax for what had been far too long. On top of this, the warriors led by Magotar were often sent on long treks to find sources of food to bring home - which was a point he'd have to explain; the food they had caught was no great haul and Magotar would have to explain why.
When the agile member of the Splitkulls came to him during the night, Magotar sent him back to Brotgok with a warning: "Gotrut is cunnin' and fierce. Make sure your boys are ready for an 'ard fight."
As expected, the Axetooth Renegades re-entered their camp in the side of the mountain; a medium-sized, rather impressively decorated fortified camp that was one of the only dots of note on an otherwise blank and arid map of rocky hills and sand-covered mountains. The camp itself was located on a large plateau with only one entrance in the form of a wide slope leading up to it that had obviously been mined into shape by strong, green muscle. At the top of this slope was a heavy, wooden gateway made out of scavenged wood and pieces of metal that had no actual close-able gate aside from a length of sharpened Cheval de frise that was clearly designed to be dragged in front of the opening in the event of an attack. Four sentry towers stood at this slope; two at the back flanking the gatehouse and two further forwards, at the top of the cliff-walls either side of the slope. All four had orc archers looking out for trouble, or simply shooting from them out of boredom.
Behind this gate, an orc camp was in full swing. Several large bonfires dotted the location, with each surrounded by huts that were once temporary, yet made permanent with the addition of wagon-parts taken from raids or logs cut from the scarce trees they could find. The largest hut was at the very back, towering over the others by at least twice the size and made further notable by the large, horned orc skull painted across the entire front in white. It was clearly the home of the chief, Gotrut Axetooth.
Yet for all of this, it had it's weaknesses; females, children and resource stockpiles. If the plan went correctly? They would all be in Magotar's hands, while Gotrut stood outside with his warriors knowing they were no longer in his reach. Gotrut was chief, a position that entitled him to many wives and children and as sadistic and psychopathic as the Greentide often were, any of them who wasn't a fool would recognize why such things were worth protecting.
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Several hours of waiting passed for Magotar's men, who huddled around the bonfire in their section of the camp and waited for the attack to begin. Magotar himself spent that time roaming, scheming and calling to arms all those who would actually consider following him against the orc who had led them on a steady, sloping decline since they first settled that accursed plateau. It was quite the success, with the orcs pledging themselves to Magotar roughly doubling in number on account of the respect many of the Axetooth had for his battle prowess and his ways. In addition - Gotrut did not even leave his tent to greet the returning hunting party, meaning their lack of food was questioned by no orc worth listening to.
And then it happened: the appearance of the Splitkull, the chanting of the challenge to war and the guttural roars of Brotgok's warriors that reached all the way to the inside of Gotrut's hold. Within moments, orcs and goblins began beating the heavy drums of war and several orc archers filed into the sentry towers and the top of the plateau to prepare to shoot down on the coming force. Yet the punishment for acting without orders was still fresh on many of their minds and not one of them fired their arrows or threw their spears...
From the Splitkull perspective, nothing seemed to happen for several minutes except the rallying of the Axetooth warriors to the top of the slope. Many of them were well-armed, armoured and brimming for a fight - yet equally dangerous was their number, dozens upon dozens of them, possibly a little over a hundred all itching and clawing for blood. Their chants echoed down over the others, chants of "KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!" beating through the mountains louder than even the war-drums made to inspire them - chants that slowly began to die down as a figure taller than them began to push through from the back until he reached the very front of his tribe.
"GOTRUT! GOTRUT! GOTRUT!" The chanting changed as the chief made himself known, a ferocity on his face that looked unmatched. Yes, it was true that Brotgok was about a foot taller than he was, but this meant nothing to the veteran Greentide boss. Gotrut's teeth were sharpened, his tusks reaching out from a jaw so square it looked like he could chew through solid steel! And one eye, though blinded by a horrifying scar, was far prettier than the rest of him; an orc covered from head to toe in decades old battle-scars of stab-wounds, slices and hacks. Oh yes, Brotgok was bigger than he was, but Gotrut was had clearly earned his position through a string of wars and battles that would leave the most rugged veteran of Greentide kind feeling queasy. Gotrut was not just rare because of his power, he was rare because he was old.
A huge, muscled arm raised his great warhammer to his shoulder with a thud that seemed to reverberate down to his feet and shake the ground beneath him. Slowly, Gotrut stepped forwards and pierced the enemy mob with a glare that looked positively scarlet. "An' 'oo are 'dese gits?" His voice came, like a bone scraping against brick in a growl so deep his entire tribe suddenly went silent. "You 'ere to kill me? Kill my tribe? Take my t'ings?" He asked, finding the largest orc in the enemy mob - Brotgok, whose size didn't matter one bit to him. "You boys better turn aroun' an' run right now or I'm comin' down t'ere an' I'm gonna crush every one o' yous myself an' use your bones to make bread!"
Magotar wasn't lying about Gotrut's shrinking popularity, yet it was clear he was fierce and orcish enough to keep a hold like an iron fist over a large portion of his warriors. The total size of his tribe's fighting boys must have been at least one hundred and fifty - and one hundred of them began to follow Gotrut as he began a slow, intimidating march down to the bottom of the slope.
Yet back there, in the camp, Magotar's own followers were rallying. Sixty good warriors, all ready to spring and take over the plateau the moment Gotrut's orcs were drawn out of it. For a moment, Magotar considered betraying Brotgok too - but he decided against it, knowing he was an ally worth having if he was orc enough to stand against Gotrut.
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Mar 6, 2017 13:45:53 GMT -8
This may have been a war between creatures of the same race, but never was it more apparent the diversity within that race. The Axetooth had built a hilltop camp that fell just short of what a human might have described as a town or city, fortified with towers. This camp housed not only the tribe themselves, but the vast treasures they’d amassed from years of killing errant paleskins; they probably had piles of the paleskins’ money, their worthless pressed coins not even fit to eat. The Splitkulls lived hard in an acrid hell hole that might see a single paleskin for perhaps every couple hundred that tried to traverse the pass that the Axetooth guarded. Even their biology was different as the Splitkulls were genderless and did not mate, and thus did not have wives or children. These attachments simply didn’t exist for the Splitkull tribe, and for very good reason.
Different cultures, different biology, and different enemies. It was clear Gotrut had earned his size and scars from battles with paleskin armies and of course other orcs, but Brotgok had creatures from the blackest depths of the polluted waters around the Splitkull swamp to thank for his own. His battles were won from being able to improvise against creatures that none of the Greenskins had laid eyes on before, prior to charging headlong into a fight with it. To win these fights, you had to be able to spot weakness in unfamiliar settings and capitalize on them; the orc that didn’t, died.
Brotgok had earned his place a Boss simply by still being alive after these conflicts, and was happy to see himself the biggest Greenskin boss to take the field that day. His boys never once stopped their thunderous yelling, chanting, and banging; an obvious sign of disrespect as they openly gave exactly no mind to anything Gotrut would have to say. Brotgok slammed his club into the ground as the Axetooth tribe began their walk down the slope; if it was possible for an orc to sunder the earth with a bone club, Brotgok was going to find out.
The Splitkull cared not for words, least of all their Boss. They cared not for posturing, at least not any further than it suited their purpose of getting the Axetooh warriors out of their camp. Brotgok didn’t bother shouting back an answer to what little bit he may have heard the opposing boss say. He wouldn’t even bother to exchange names with Gotrut, seeing as there were only two possible ends to the day; one in which the Axetooth boss was dead, in which case names no longer mattered, and the other in which the Splitkull Boss was dead along with his mob, in which case names no longer mattered.
What the Greentide Boss did do, however, was charge.
As soon as the last Axetooth boys were clear of the camp, Brotgok synched his club back into the rope around his waist, and set off in a flat, fearsome gallop towards the Axetooth. The Splitkulls let out a warcry that shredded the air in front of them as they followed behind him. In the few short moments before Brotgok would reach the Axetooth’s front line, he would appear to be more animal than orc. His long, muscled, ape-like arms reached out in front of him with every stride to grab hunks of ground, his sharp claws digging in to give him something to pull against to hurl himself towards the fight that much faster. With white-hot battle rage in his eyes, Brotgok let out a roar as he locked his gaze onto Gotrut, barreling towards the Axetooth boss at full speed. He cared not for the smaller Axetooth boys, and would settle for nothing less than the Boss himself.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Mar 7, 2017 10:55:20 GMT -8
Arrows were released from the towers and tops of the cliffs of the plateau, while Gotrut levelled his hammed in both hands and drew it back patiently and ready to swing. The action began immediately on all fronts it seemed, with the Axetooth Loyalists returning the charge against the Splitkull; they had the advantage of the height of the slope and superior numbers on their side, so what possible reason did they have to hold back and wait? Gotrut, however, did wait, barely noticing his own warriors charging towards this new tribe for his own eyes were fixated on the enemy boss who hurled himself towards Gotrut like some great ape across the baked ground. When Brotgok was close enough, Gotrut released his hammer and swung with a frightening speed right into the path of the enemy leader in hopes of knocking him aside like a rag-doll and breaking him.
The battle on the side of the Axetooth immediately turned into chaos, caring not for orders, formations or anything other than the desire to destroy what clearly seemed to be a weaker force. All of Gotrut's orcs were outside the camp at this point, save the few archers who stayed behind to man the towers and plateau walls.
This presented Magotar with his opportunity, who climbed one of the towers overlooking the battle and, as the greenskins besides him shot their arrows towards the enemy horde, slowly retrieved his axes from his belt and swung them into the backs of those old companions until their shoulders were bereft their heads. Grasping the two severed skulls by their wild, black hairs, he hurled them up to show his renegades who rallied in the camp besides him and then raised a horn with his other hand. With a mighty breath, he blew into this horn, signalling loud and clear for all to hear that the camp was no longer in Gotrut's hands.
Immediately, Magotar's warriors lined the plateau walls and took the towers, killing or pushing the archers down into the chaos below and then taking their place to fire into the backs of Gotrut's soldiers. The advantage of Gotrut's numbers fell immediately, for they were now surrounded and lacking a direction to retreat. A sure victory for the alliance? Absolutely not, for while they had the technical and tactical advantage in the battle, Gotrut's orcs now had no choice but to fight as fiercely as possible. A cornered orc was far more dangerous than a cornered rat.
As the fights continued, Magotar tossed the heads down, then blew the great horn a second time. With this, the armed and armoured traitors of the Axetooth clan began to flood out of the gateway at the top of the slope and charge down into the backs of those who had once been their brethren. A second later, Magotar climbed down from the tower and went to join them.
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Mar 7, 2017 12:25:47 GMT -8
The Splitkull Boss was beaten to the fight by only the quickest of his mob, who charged out in front of him to engage with whatever Greenskin they came into contact with first. Brotgok would reach his target with the full speed and ferocity that was a Greentide Boss in battle. Seeing Gotrut’s movement to swipe him aside with his maul, Brotgok would leap into the air, his powerful legs and forward momentum serving to hurl the giant Greenskin over the opposing Boss’s attack, and colliding with him.
Brotgok had jumped high enough to avoid Gotrut’s hammer, and thus collided with him at a steep downward angle. Brotgok reached for his target, aiming to sink his claws into Gotrut’s neck or grab the armor on his shoulders, and at the same time plant his feet into the Greenskin’s chest, intent upon using his body weight to hammer his opponent into the dirt. Brotgok held on tight to Gotrut for what inexorably would be the two crashing into the ground, unwilling to let go as to not put enough space between himself and Gotrut to allow for an effective counter attack with his heavy maul.
The first wave of arrows from the (relatively) few archers in the towers would largely go unnoticed by the charging Splitkulls, as their fire was scattered and sparse given the distance and moving targets; the archers may well have been a factor once the Splitkulls had gotten closer quarters, but Magotar had seen to them, tossing a few heads down into the fray
The main body of the Splitkull force would crash into Gotrut’s line, howling like demons as they laid claw, tooth, metal, and wood into their enemy. There were no proper ranks or formations observed, as most of the Splitkull were more brawlers than soldiers. Any Axetooth not wearing obscenely thick armor would find a Splitkull more than willing to bash dents into their plate and helmets, robbing them of mobility, sight, and range of motion.
The thick, tar-like mud that the bulk of the Splitkulls were still wearing had all but dried, and upon being hacked at or bashed would crack and fall away. These areas on the Greenskins’ bodies would obviously be open to attack after this occurrence.
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Magotar Doomslayer
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Registered: Feb 23, 2017 20:40:06 GMT -8
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Post by Magotar Doomslayer on Mar 7, 2017 20:59:13 GMT -8
The force in which Gotrut had swung his hammer towards Brotgok made for an unreliable, unplanned but rather fortunate defence, with the weight of the weapon forcing Gotrut's body to turn along in the direction the head travelled, all the while pulling him for several short steps until he was able to regain control and stop the momentum. Even so, this was enough to just barely pull him out of the way of the Brotgok's high-speed and ferocious attempt at impact.
Almost immediately, Gotrut made his bid on a counter-attack by turning again to complete the path of the spin his hammer set him upon. He clutched it with both hands, but this time with one further along the shaft towards the great weight at the end to offer him better control. He turned, attempting to thrust the powerful head of his hammer into whatever portion of Brotgok he could find; the short, yet no less sharp spike sticking out of the top like a horn would be put into use there.
Meanwhile the battle continued, still in the throes of those first few minutes of absolute chaos.
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Brotgok Bul-Krozak
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Physical Description: "Brotgok was a mountain of a Greenskin at just a shade over 8-and-a-half feet tall in his normal hunched-over posture, with several hundred pounds of raw muscle clinging tight to his broad frame. ‘Might makes right’ in the Splitkull world, and it was because of his size and strength that Brotgok led the Splitkull, and of course the raiding party. This mountain of green flesh, covered in thick mud, was the undisputed Boss of the Splitkull Tribe."
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 2:55:27 GMT -8
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Post by Brotgok Bul-Krozak on Mar 8, 2017 3:47:00 GMT -8
Brotgok landed hard on the ground, his feet and hands pounding solidly on the dry, barren soil; he'd missed his target. Seeing the other orc being turned by the momentum of his heavy weapon, Brotgok scrambled, trying to maneuver himself in such a way as to stay at Gotrut's back as he turned. This too would prove ineffective, as Gotrut would whip around much faster than Brotgok could move around him, and the Splitkull Boss would find himself on the receiving end of an attack.
Already finding himself to be moving in a direction that would avoid the thrust of the hammer, Brotgok turned sideways to evade the blow, and seized upon the opportunity to use the massive maul's weight against its wielder. Brotgok grabbed the handle of the maul in the area between Gotrut's hands as the head of it passed him, and pulled on it in the direction of the trust. With his free hand, Brotgok would once again attack at Gotrut's neck/shoulder area, continuing his strategy of staying close to his opponent, and jam his claws into whatever green flesh he could find.
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