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 9, 2017 23:10:08 GMT -8
Gotrut roared in the frenzy of battle as his thrust was intercepted by the enemy chief's grip, but did not just submit and let it happen! Brotgok's pull was powerful, but Gotrut himself was also strong and he currently had the advantage of having two arms on his weapon instead of one.
Next, Gotrut's foot would stomp firmly into the ground at such an angle as to wedge himself into position so that Brotgok could not pull him any further than he wished to go and since Brotgok had turned to let the head of the hammer go past him, it meant that the two would be roughly positioned in such a way that their sides would be close enough to give the impression of a right angle.
Now one of two scenarios was about to play out, depending on which arm Brotgok had used to grab hold of the warhammer's grip. If it was the arm furthest away from Gotrut's body, then Gotrut would use his immense strength to heave the head of his warhammer up and hold it over that nearest shoulder in a position so that both the head of the warhammer and the long grip of the weapon would shield both the front and Brotgok's side of his neck simultaneously. This meant that Brotgok's grip would likely be forced to release the weapon due to the turning of the wrist, as well as making Brotgok's free arm have a much more awkward time at reaching Gotrut's neck.
However, if Brotgok used the arm closest to Gotrut to grab the warhammer, then once again Gotrut would use his immense strength to heave the head of the warhammer up over the shoulder closest to his opponent in a guarding fashion... But this time, Brotgok wouldn't be able to release the weapon. Brotgok's arm would become pinned between Gotrut's fore and upper arms, the pressure of the warhammer and great green muscles pushing the joint of Brotgok's elbow back against itself and catching him in an arm-lock that would leave him unable to move the entire limb, from shoulder down, lest he wished to snap his arm.
Of course Gotrut, being a savage, ruthless orc currently in combat against Brotgok, would apply enough pressure to snap the arm none-the-less. There was no advantage in keeping him pinned.
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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 13, 2017 3:36:25 GMT -8
((For simplicity and ease of reading/understanding I'm going to assume Brotgok had his right arm towards Gotrut, and grabbed the maul with his left hand. Also I ended up assuming Gotrut's blinded eye is his right eye? If any of this doesn't seem alright let me know!))
The former of the two options would prove to be true, as Gotrut pulled the great weight of the maul upwards toward the shoulder on his left side, Brotgok's hand would have been wrenched free of the weapon, had he not chosen to let go himself. As Brotgok let go of the maul with his left hand, he stepped into Gotrut, squaring himself with the Axetooth boss; this would leave Gotrut's right side completely unprotected. In one continuous, powerful motion, Brotgok would follow his step in by bringing his left hand up into Gotrut's right side from a downward angle, aiming once again to jam his claws into the Greenskin's flesh; the hope of course being that Gotrut's blindness on his unprotected right side would serve to help finally land a blow.
Brotgok stood a foot taller than Gotrut, and the Splitkull boss fully intended to use his size to his advantage. He continued to stay in close to Gotrut, grappling for the maul with his right hand as he loomed over him, trying to prevent (or certainly lessen) the impact bringing the hammer back down would have. Gotrut was proving to be as formidable as Brotgok had hoped he would be, and the Splitkull Boss in no way intended to give his opponent a single inch of daylight, nor a moment's reprieve. The two would continue to fight as the battle raged around them.
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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 14, 2017 15:03:30 GMT -8
Brotgok was right in that Gotrut could not see from his right eye, leaving him rather disadvantaged for battle on that one side of his body; but once again the Chieftain seemed to have an intimate, perhaps even instinctive knowledge of combat that allowed him to match his ferocity with a clear, calm mind that seemed to know exactly what he had to do. The one-sided blindness meant that he could not simply counter the attack from Brotgok's left hand, but he could take a rather well-educated guess about what tactic the enemy warboss might attempt and so he knew that if Brotgok was indeed going to hit him, then trading blows was the best he could do while the enemy pressed so close.
Thus, Gotrut lowered the hand towards the bottom of his hammer and instead swung quickly and harshly with the top, attempting to send the head of his great weapon into Brotgok's neck and face with potentially bone-breaking power. It also had a somewhat unintended side-benefit of positioning Gotrut's right arm across the centre of the side of his chest, potentially shielding him from any other attacks that might be aimed at that location, though it still left his neck relatively undefended and susceptible to Brotgok's attack.
The outcome of the clash might well end up characteristically brutal, but no matter Gotrut's own state during the exchange of blows, Brotgok would notice Gotrut's breath get caught in his throat, only to be forced out in a hacking cough that brought up a cup-full of blood.
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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 15, 2017 3:19:11 GMT -8
Brotgok's blow would land. He felt the hard, razor sharp claws of his left hand jab into Gotrut's right side, his hand only coming to a halt after a few knuckle's worth of his fingers had also entered the opposing Greenskin's body. Brotgok closed his hand following the powerful blow, clamping his digits around the flesh-encased bone of Gotrut's bottom rib.
For his success in landing an attack, Brotgok would find himself rewarded with being on the receiving end of Gotrut's maul. Under other circumstances Brotgok may have tried to avoid the attack by side-stepping the downward swing, but he was unwilling to give up his new handle in Gotrut's body. The Axetooth Boss would use what space was available to him to place a blow into Brotgok, who would still try moving to towards Gotrut's right side to avoid it none-the-less, but would have no such luck. The maul crashed into Brotgok's right shoulder, perhaps lower than Gotrut would have intended; the long-dried tar from the Splitkull's home swamp that still covered Brotgok would shatter, large pieces of it falling away from his upper-right side. The hardened (and thus brittle) mud and tar would offer little protection from the strike, and Brotgok would feel the price paid for his successful attack.
It was now that Gotrut would cough up a mouthful of blood, some of it of course being propelled onto Brotgok given his close proximity. Brotgok grabbed for the maul with his right hand again, trying to control the weapon. His left hand would grip Gotrut's rib inside his body as Brotgok pulled on it fiercely, turning his body slightly (right shoulder towards Gotrut) to get as much leverage as possible against the other Greentide veteran; an attempt to rip the rib out of Gotrut's body, or at a minimum cause him some great measure of pain.
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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 16, 2017 14:52:29 GMT -8
Brotgok's attack would be mostly, but not fully successful. The events that transpired happened too quickly and too chaotically for either of them to completely hit their mark, but at least they both seemed to hit the board. In Gotrut's case, this came when his hammer connected to Brotgok's shoulder, but failed in that he did not hit the head he was going for. On the other hand, Brotgok managed to dig his claws into Gotrut's side, but he would be unsuccessful in his attempt to grab under his rib and pin him in place. This was due jointly to both Gotrut's arm, which came down across that area as the hammer was swung, and Gotrut's hide and underlying muscle - tough even to orc standards.
Now wounded and having just hacked up blood, Gotrut used the fact his warhammer had connected with Brotgok's shoulder to push the warboss away, while pulling the rest of his body from Brotgok's claws and trying to put some space between them - if only for a second so he could figure out whether a change of strategy was necessary. His weapon gave him an advantage in blows, but the blindness in his eye had been exploited rather well by Brotgok; it was definitely a liability.
It was this moment that Magotar finally entered the fray, the edges of his axes dimmed with blood but no-less sharp or shiny. The orcs fighting around Gotrut and Brotgok had naturally formed an aversion to them, leaving a circle clearing directly around them that allowed them to essentially have their short duel in peace. However, Magotar had now entered this circle and slowly approached Brotgok with fierce and perceptive eyes.
"You managed to wound Gotrut, I'm impressed," Magotar greeted, glancing at Gotrut's side. "Surrender the Axetooth tribe an' we'll kill ya quick instead of slow."
Gotrut's answer was another cough of blood, then a growl. "You's a traitor, Magotar. The tribe's gonna eat you alive for t'is!"
"An' you ain' fit to be chief anymore," Magotar replied.
Around them, the battle was still raging on fiercely, yet Gotrut's orcs were still as dangerous as they had been at the start. They were surrounded now, yes, but like cornered rats they had become terrifying in their desire to survive and escape. They were giving the allied forces more than a little trouble, which is why Magotar came to try and end the duel more quickly. Surely they would cease fighting if Gotrut was killed and choose instead to join the victor, as was so common in Greentide society. Yet this would never happen... Not while Gotrut was still ali-
Magotar watched as Gotrut, who held the wound in his side tightly, began to cough more and more - blood pouring like wine to the ground shortly before Gotrut himself fell to one knee, then down to the sand below them with loud thud. He wasn't dead, but he apparently couldn't fight any more.
"You didn' wound 'im that bad, did ya?" Magotar asked Brotgok.
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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 17, 2017 7:03:49 GMT -8
As Gotrut forced his hand away, Brotgok would do his best to rip a hunk of flesh away with it in his dogged determination to do as much damage as possible to the opposing Greentide Warboss. This wasn’t particularly out of hate or malice, at least not hate or malice allocated solely for Gotrut, but rather it was this type of viciousness that had put Brotgok in his seat at the head of the Splitkull table. In Greentide culture only the biggest, meanest, strongest, and most vicious Greenskins were worthy to sit the throne, and the Splitkulls were no exception to this rule.
As Magotar would observe, the other warring Greenskins would attend to each other in a manner that gave the two bosses a wide berth; the obvious implication being that none of the lesser Greenskins wanted to interfere with the two tribe powerhouses as they fought.
Brotgok could normally be relied upon to be fairly ill-tempered for little or no actual reason, and seeing Magotar invade the area the other Greenskins had given him and his opponent elicited an angry, snarling growl. Brotgok didn’t estimate that the guttural noise would frighten Magotar, but for the moment it communicated everything Brotgok thought needed to be said.
Gotrut conversed with Magotar, and then collapsed into the dirt/blood slurry that had been forming. Whether Magotar wanted his former Boss dead quickly or slowly made no never mind to Brotgok, it only mattered that Gotrut was dead when he and his tribe left. There would be no exchange of power without the death of the Axetooth Boss, and Brotgok would certainly not endure the embarrassment of leaving the Boss alive.
Magotar’s ‘you didn’t wound him that bad’ question would find Brotgok pulling his hardened bone club from its lashing around his waist.
“Not yet.” Two words were Brotgok’s response before he began adressing Gotrut.
“You aint lived like a Greenskin, an’ you aint led like a Greenskin, but you’z gon get to yer feet and die like one. Get’op an fight! Stop wallowin’ in yer own filth an earn a Greenskin’s death!”
Brotgok wasn’t buying it, not even for a moment. He’d seen his own Greenskins hobble towards the next opponent in the enemy ranks and continue fighting with one hand as they kept their own insides from spilling out with the other. Missing limbs, crushed bones, and gashes that would end a normal human wouldn’t stop an orc in the throes of combat. The race was far too hearty, and Brotgok knew a Greenskin that would hide to overcome paleskin weaklings would certainly pretend to be mortally wounded if he thought it would get him the upper hand against another Boss.
The vicious foul-smelling beast that was the Splitkull Boss, club in hand, was having none of it.
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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 17, 2017 7:47:09 GMT -8
Magotar stepped aside for a little while, watching cautiously as Brotgok took his bone club and attempted to pressure Gotrut into getting back up.
Slowly, the orc chief pressed a fist into the sand and pushed down on his great green arm, raising his body until he was once again on a knee. Gotrut spat out yet more red from his mouth, then looked up to where Brotgok and Magotar stood and let out a low, menacing laugh that ended shortly when he began to speak. "I' done more orc livin' than you will ever do," Gotrut replied. "You ain' an' never will lead a war like I led a war, neither o' ya."
Gotrut's mouth broke into a wide grin, with the sun reflecting from the gold ring around one of his tusks. "If only ya'd come a year ago, or even a few mont's. T'en I'd still 'ave 'ad the strength to break ya 'round me little finger. But 'as it 'appens, you jus' might, especially wit' both o' ya," he laughed, finally pushing himself back up to his feet and with his warhammer in hand. He no longer held wound, which was still slowly bleeding down his side - yet now they could get a good luck at it, they would notice that behind the red of the blood, the flesh and muscle had blackened as though rotting.
"I can fight now knowin' I'm dead today anyway. Question is, 'ow many o' you's I can take wit' me."
He clenched his fists closed around the handle of his hammer, squared his jaw, then pressed his muscles into a bulge. Slowly, his eyes filled with red and he released a mighty roar into the sky, a deafening "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!" That shook the entire battlefield. When finally it died down, Gotrut turned and charged - not towards Brotgok and Magotar, but towards the battle.
Suddenly, orcs began to die. Axetooth, Traitor, Splitkull - it didn't matter. Gotrut was killing everything that got close to him with swings so powerful that greentide were sent flying.
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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 18, 2017 13:41:38 GMT -8
A smile came to Brotgok’s face. Others might have seen not performing a killing blow on Gotrut while he was down as a misstep, but Brotgok was happy to see his opponent on his feet again. Striking down a weakened Greenskin boss while he lay in the loose dirt coughing up blood was well and good, but implications of bringing down the same boss as he rampaged through the middle of a Greentide war was quite another thing entirely. Might makes right in Greenskin culture, and the bigger and more destructive a Greenskin’s enemies are, the bigger and more destructive that Greenskin would grow. Brotgok charged after Gotrut the moment he barreled away from Magotar and himself. The circle that the warring tribes had given them no longer contained the duel, and soon both Warbosses were in the dense mash of screaming and bloodshed that was the battle. Gotrut cut a temporary path that closed up behind him quickly, and Brotgok would follow just on the cusp of this closing, pushing aside and bashing Greenskins that weren’t covered in mud. After shoulder-checking one Greenskin out of his way, Brotgok roared, gripping his club with both hands as he leapt forward to catch Gotrut. Brotgok came down behind Gotrut, nearly colliding with him as he slammed the hard forward-swept ball joint of the club straight down into the Boss’s skull. In his blind fury Brotgok repeatedly bashed the chief, pulling his club up and hammering it back down into Gotrut’s head again, and again.
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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 20, 2017 13:21:35 GMT -8
Brotgok's club would hit it's mark, repeatedly slamming into Gotrut's head as the chief began to indiscriminately hit everything in reach with his warhammer. However the maul would not cause his head to cave in, nor his mind to lose it's state of wakefulness even as the skin split and blood began to pour down his back, arms and shoulders. It didn't matter how hard Brotgok hit him - Gotrut would just take it, grimace, then press onwards with his hammer, completely ignoring the chief currently trying to kill him despite the seeming impossibility of the actions.
Two, three, four more orcs died in the space of mere seconds, a single blow from the hammer sending nearby greentide back and essentially flying. Axes, swords and spears began to hack and pierce at his muscles and flesh, but even when they cut muscle they didn't seem to impede him any more than they would impede a savage, rampaging bull or rhinoceros. In fact, so tough was the orc that the ones closest to him began to try and escape, fearing that no amount of damage would bring the beast down to size.
But this surge of adrenaline couldn't last forever and surely enough, Gotrut began to slow down; each hit taking a small but noticeable chunk from an otherwise impressive force of life, that shrank and dwindled until the orc chieftain found the spear of one of his foes pushed down through his thigh and into the ground below him. Then came another even as he tried to pry the first loose; through his foot on the other leg this time, sticking both legs to the floor. A moment later, another orc ran at him from behind, the point of a third spear pressed through his back and into his innards, though he slammed backwards as hard as he could with such fury that the spear shaft broke and the end found itself caught on the floor in such a manner that Gotrut was pinned upright like a green scarecrow. Now helpless, every orc around him saw their chance and began to hack and slash at his flesh until he lost the strength of his arms and his warhammer hit the ground with a loud thud - then they continued attacking him more even as he roared. A few moments later, Gotrut went silent and stopped moving.
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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 21, 2017 10:15:53 GMT -8
Brotgok would have stayed on his target had the sea of Greenskins not closed in on him. The Greentide race lived up to their name even in relatively small numbers as they were densely packed in one huge fluid warring mass. Brotgok swung his club, bashing Greenskins wherever the club would fit; armor and shields being very little help against the Splitkull Boss as his club made huge dents, leaving chest plates and helmets painfully crinkled and creased as if they were made of paper. Blood flew and innards leaked in the vicious melee that was so characteristic of Greentide tribal wars, leaving every Greenskin present bloodied, bruised, and beaten.
Not even Brotgok escaped unscathed, as by the time he reached Gotrut, the Splitkull Chief's protective mud/tar coating was completely gone, instead replaced by a body of hard muscle covered in fresh gashes and blood. As Brotgok approached the now (seemingly) deceased Gotrut, any Greenskin that chose not to give him way was met with a bashing that would make it look like Brotgok was trying to rip the orc's head off with a single blow. Brotgok grabbed one of the orcs still attacking Gotrut, presumably a traitor, and flung him away into the fighting that was just now beginning to seem a bit calmer without the rampaging boss in it.
The Splitkull Boss bent down and hefted Gotrut's maul with one hand, swinging it once or twice at nothing in particular as a way to test its balance and weight. No so curiously, none of the other Greenskins stepped forward to challenge the Boss as in the moment he didn't seem particularly interested in killing any of the other much smaller Greenskins. Brotgok held the maul perpendicular to the ground, and jabbed the spike on the maul into the ground next to his own feet. It was then that he took the shaft of his own bone club, and placed it in Gotrut's mouth sideways. Brotgok used his free hand to pull down on Gotrut's bottom jaw as he used the club to push up on his top teeth, and after some laborious grunting, thrashing, cracking, and pulling, Gotrut's bottom jaw was ripped asunder, divided from Gotrut's body.
Brotgok held his new trophy, looking at the gold ring on the former Axetooth Boss' longest tusk.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 16, 2024 14:47:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Mar 23, 2017 11:30:05 GMT -8
A flickering speck in the sky began to descend, lowering from skies far overhead. The closer it came to the ground, the easier it began to take shape - long and lithe in limb, with wide wings spread directly out from the middle body and tail wavering in the wake to keep the flight steady.
What was it coming for? Anyone could guess and speculate. For now, it continued to descend for a low mountain bearing a river that supported a descent little savanna. At least there was likely to be a little game here, and she was hungry.
Her shadow swept over the land and it stirred a heard of something into flight in panic. The dragon, herself, made into a bank to come around and chase after the fleeing prey - gliding in low as she watched what appeared to be a thin number of gazelle bounding their racing hearts out to get away. As she neared in she stretched out her claws, and she went into a fluid swap of flight into a hard gallop of her own as he wings snapped in.
She did enjoy a good chase occasionally. She was gaining easily on a couple of the beasts, and with a rounded lift her head she would make a hard throw of her skull to bash into one of them and send it flying into another - two for one. The rest of the herd ran for their lives, and she pounced on the two helpless ones scrambling to find their feet. But she was quick to go for the neck and snap them both - lunch.
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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 23, 2017 11:49:05 GMT -8
The battle was done. Orks steadily began to stop fighting, though those with the adrenaline to do so continued to occasionally hit each other in random displays of frenzy. Brotgok took his prize and Gotrut's old weapon, but Magotar wasn't interested in such things right now - the spoils were less important at that time than gaining complete control over what remained of his tribe. As such, Magotar spent the minutes after the battle patrolling the field, making sure that his warriors took prisoners of the remnant loyalists and march them back up the plateau into the camp in a steady stream. It wouldn't take much convincing to have them follow him now - their families were still part of the Axetooth tribe after all and now Magotar had the vast majority of it's warriors serving him as their new chief.
When this was mostly done, Magotar and a few accompanying boys made their way to Brotgok and his tribe, at which point Magotar gave a heavy nod. He was covered in minor wounds from the fighting, but the blood on his body was little compared to the blood that stained the edges of his weapons. He may not have had a chance to fight Gotrut himself, but he had certainly been busy with other opponents.
"I will honour our deal," Magotar told the Splitkulls. "Now that Gotrut is gone, I have complete control over my tribe. You and your mob will get their fair share of the loot when it's passed out to the warriors."
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Splitkull Tribe
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 14:10:35 GMT -8
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Post by Splitkull Tribe on Mar 24, 2017 14:24:25 GMT -8
A flickering speck in the sky began to descend, lowering from skies far overhead. The closer it came to the ground, the easier it began to take shape - long and lithe in limb, with wide wings spread directly out from the middle body and tail wavering in the wake to keep the flight steady.
What was it coming for? Anyone could guess and speculate. For now, it continued to descend for a low mountain bearing a river that supported a descent little savanna. At least there was likely to be a little game here, and she was hungry.
Her shadow swept over the land and it stirred a heard of something into flight in panic. The dragon, herself, made into a bank to come around and chase after the fleeing prey - gliding in low as she watched what appeared to be a thin number of gazelle bounding their racing hearts out to get away. As she neared in she stretched out her claws, and she went into a fluid swap of flight into a hard gallop of her own as he wings snapped in.
She did enjoy a good chase occasionally. She was gaining easily on a couple of the beasts, and with a rounded lift her head she would make a hard throw of her skull to bash into one of them and send it flying into another - two for one. The rest of the herd ran for their lives, and she pounced on the two helpless ones scrambling to find their feet. But she was quick to go for the neck and snap them both - lunch.
A detachment of Splitkull Orks and Greenlings could be found crossing the areas of thick deadwood and then barren wastes that separated their home tar-filled swamp and the Outlands proper. Their home, such as it was, must have looked increasingly abandoned as the Greenskins started to file out of the swamp in bursts, the departing war bands seeking to follow the steps of the tribe's Warboss Brotgok Bul-Krozak . The Boss had some days ago led a couple dozen of the Orks out to look for materials with which to make some more conventional armor, and had not since returned. Being Greenskins, and Splitkulls to boot, the members of the tribe who searched for their Boss didn't do so out of any emotional attachment to Brotgok; it was because if Brotgok had fallen, the tribe needed a new Warboss, and one might even be named immediately upon his discovery. Changes of power normally happened quickly and brutally in Greentide culture, and the simple act of being absent from the discovery might disqualify an Ork from having his say before one of the bigger Orks swept in and claimed power for himself.
The mob that made the point of the spear that was the staggered groups of unorganized Greenskins was perhaps a dozen Orks strong, with about half as many Greenlings in tow. Each and every one of the Greenskins were, of course, covered head to toe in the thick, foul smelling mixture of awfulness that was the contents of their swamp; a blackish brown mud/tar mixture that the Splitkulls believed protected them in battle. Covered in their protective 'armor' and armed with their looted or improvised weapons, the mob would eventually happen to see something they had never seen before. It started as a dot in the sky, and the Orks all at once stopped and gaped at the shape as it soon came into focus. They watched until the creature descended out of sight over a ridge, obviously headed for one of the only sources of water (or even life) in the Outlands.
After a moment, one Ork, one of the largest in the group, spoke up. "You'z fink daz de Boss?"
"Da Boss don' 'ave wings ya git!", another would quickly answer. This elicited laughs from the other Orks.
The big Ork would growl. "I know da Boss aint gots wings!" he shouted, obviously not pleased with being laughed at, "Wot if dat wot does got wings can see da Boss?!"
After another moment of silence a third Ork would add, "Wot if dat wot gots wing killed da Boss?"
The big Ork began walking towards the ridge that would lead them to the oasis. "Den 'eez got some big teef." he said, alluding to the Splitkulls' proclivity for the use of 'teef' as currency.
The rest of the mob would follow. The Splitkull didn't even have a word for 'dragon', but if this winged beast killed their Boss, each and every Ork among them would jump at the chance to face it in battle. In the span of not more than 15 minutes, the Orks would be able to be seen cresting the ridge that separated them and the oasis.
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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 24, 2017 15:22:00 GMT -8
Brotgok gripped the jawbone of his recently deceased enemy, complete with green skin and bloody flesh attached. It would fetch a pretty penny in most Greenskin tribes, as it included the teeth and tusks of a Warboss (bigger teef is better teef), but for Brotgok it would solely be a trophy. A memento for his boss pole or to wear into battle lashed to himself, as Orks were in the habit of doing with such souvenirs.
The Splitkull Warboss would watch with a look on his face half way between puzzled and disgusted as the stragglers and loyalists were rounded up and led back into the camp. This seemed strange to Brotgok; in his mind he couldn't imagine being on either side of this equation, being either the Gotrut loyalist or the one taking them prisoner. In Gotrut's death, the statement Magotar had put forth was proved to be true; Gotrut was no longer fit to lead Greenskins. If he was, he'd be alive and fighting. Being loyal to a dead Warboss not fit for his station was outside of the Splitkull way of thinking entirely. Additionally, taking them captive was just as absurd. You kill your enemies, not capture them, and any Ork willing to be captured (meaning, not willing to fight) should be killed anyway. Again being of the same species seemed to matter little, differences between the tribes abounded.
The words of the newly minted Axetooth Warboss reached Brotgok. He once again lashed his bone club back to his side, and pulled Gotrut's maul up out of the ground.
"'An when'z the loot get divided? We'z aint got plans ta stick around."
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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 25, 2017 17:30:23 GMT -8
"Soon as we get it," Magotar told Brotgok, watching the final few Axetooth orcs being led back into the camp. "I ain' been in 'is longhouse in over a year, so 'e must keep it in there I reckon. Right where 'e sleeps an' eats, wantin' to be close to 'is treasure. If you ain' stickin' around I'll 'ave my boys bring it out when they find it. Gimme a bit, I'll go make sure to load the wagons an' bring 'em back out here myself. You can come if ya want."
At this point, Magotar turned and with the few boys who had been accompanying him, made their way back up the ramp, through the gate and into the large camp on the plateau. There was a lot of insecurity going around, mostly coming from the women and children of those whose orc sires had been killed in the combat and whose loyalties lay with Gotrut. However, Magotar's rather imposing form and stature of domination and chieftainship put at ease many of the disturbances he saw - it was rather obvious to all that the Axetooth Tribe had a new leader: Magotar Doomslayer.
Gotrut's great hold was now held by Magotar's boys, who pushed open the large, heavy wooden doors and allowing their new chief into the large, open space inside. A large throne of wood, metal shards and bone was the centrepiece at the far side, besides which Gotrut's remaining family were bound and waiting to hear their fate with an air of spite about them. "I'll deal with 'dem later," he told his mob, instead turning and following a guide out into one of the few side rooms that led down into a dug-out basement.
Inside he found all of the 'loot' that Gotrut had been hoarding; arms, armour and shiny things, all piled from corner to corner, floor to ceiling. Magotar was sure there was enough to reward his tribe three times over, bringing him to sigh in relief that it was even still there. If it wasn't, if Gotrut had somehow traded it away or 'spent it', he would have had to have killed Brotgok and his mob. Now, at least, he could be known as someone who honoured his word.
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An hour later, several wagons filled with weapons, armour and fancy trinkets were rolled out to Brotgok and his boys. Magotar gave a nod to the boss, then gestured to the wagons with a large hand. "Let me be known as a chief who keeps his word."
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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 26, 2017 6:23:33 GMT -8
Brotgok would take Magotar's invitation to come along and see the treasure, if only in half. He would walk up the ramp and into the Greenskin camp, but chose not to follow the new Axetooth Boss into Gotrut's hold. The Splitkull boys were essentially left to their own devices. Some followed Brotgok, some stayed down at the bottom of the ramp to pick through the remaining carnage of the battle. The Splitkull boys at the bottom of the ramp seemed particularly fond of souvenirs, and were not the smallest bit squeamish about taking clothing, weapons, armor, and even body parts off of the deceased combatants; regardless of what side they were on. Boys that carried improvised weapons into battle now had shiny 'new' metal weapons to carry into the next battle. Maces, axes, polearms, and warhammers all too heavy to be effectively used by a human were all right at home in the powerful hands of the Orks.
The boys that chose to follow Brotgok into the camp would find a place of absolute bewilderment. The Axetooth camp was more paleskin city than Greenskin camp, especially when measured against the collection of hovels the Splitkull had constructed for themselves in the swamp. One of the boys seemed particularly perplexed about one part of the camp in particular.
"Boss.. Boss." the boy spoke, getting Brotgok's attention. He pointed at one of the small groups of Axetooth females and their offspring. "You fink deyz woz watchin' da whole time? How dem 'ere in da camp not see da fightin'?"
Brotgok didn't answer, keeping any knowledge he may have had of the lifestyle of other Greenskin tribes to himself. The boy, seeing that he was going to get no answers from his Chief, turned around to look back down the ramp from where he was standing, confirming for himself that there was no way these Greenskins didn't know a battle was in progress. They would have had to have heard it, even if they couldn't see it.
"I'z neva seen Greenskins wot can't be asked ta fight."
The boy didn't even know what they'd do with Greenskins that wouldn't fight. There was no 'rule' against not fighting in Splitkull culture, but there was also no rule against a boy sprouting wings out of his ass and flying around the camp backwards. One seemed just as likely as the other to the befuddled Greenskin.
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In relatively short order, the Axetooth produced the treasure promised. The Splitkull boys set about digging through the wagons on the spot, putting on armor they'd been missing and testing the shiny trinkets with their teeth. Of course there was the requisite squabbling over spoils. More than one boy ended up on the receiving end of a punch or clubbing over a trinket, weapon, or bit of armor.
"Push 'em down da hill. We'z goin' back." Brotgok instructed, and soon the boys would be dragging the wagon loads of loot to the ramp, and pushing them down the hill; the first step of what would likely be a longer trip home and the journey there had been.
As the Splitkull Warboss turned to walk down the ramp after his mob, he would have one last thing to say to Magotar.
"I'z radder you be knowed as a Chief wot leads proper Greenskins. You'z a Boss now, an' if you'z go da way of Gotrut, I'z be back ta put your teef on my pole right next ta 'iz. Maybe you'z do da same for me."
This statement was perhaps the closest Brotgok could get to something akin to 'Good luck' or 'Goodbye, and nice to meet you'. It now became evident why Orks were not particularly well known for their social graces.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 16, 2024 14:47:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Mar 28, 2017 13:51:12 GMT -8
A flickering speck in the sky began to descend, lowering from skies far overhead. The closer it came to the ground, the easier it began to take shape - long and lithe in limb, with wide wings spread directly out from the middle body and tail wavering in the wake to keep the flight steady.
What was it coming for? Anyone could guess and speculate. For now, it continued to descend for a low mountain bearing a river that supported a descent little savanna. At least there was likely to be a little game here, and she was hungry.
Her shadow swept over the land and it stirred a heard of something into flight in panic. The dragon, herself, made into a bank to come around and chase after the fleeing prey - gliding in low as she watched what appeared to be a thin number of gazelle bounding their racing hearts out to get away. As she neared in she stretched out her claws, and she went into a fluid swap of flight into a hard gallop of her own as he wings snapped in.
She did enjoy a good chase occasionally. She was gaining easily on a couple of the beasts, and with a rounded lift her head she would make a hard throw of her skull to bash into one of them and send it flying into another - two for one. The rest of the herd ran for their lives, and she pounced on the two helpless ones scrambling to find their feet. But she was quick to go for the neck and snap them both - lunch.
A detachment of Splitkull Orks and Greenlings could be found crossing the areas of thick deadwood and then barren wastes that separated their home tar-filled swamp and the Outlands proper. Their home, such as it was, must have looked increasingly abandoned as the Greenskins started to file out of the swamp in bursts, the departing war bands seeking to follow the steps of the tribe's Warboss Brotgok Bul-Krozak . The Boss had some days ago led a couple dozen of the Orks out to look for materials with which to make some more conventional armor, and had not since returned. Being Greenskins, and Splitkulls to boot, the members of the tribe who searched for their Boss didn't do so out of any emotional attachment to Brotgok; it was because if Brotgok had fallen, the tribe needed a new Warboss, and one might even be named immediately upon his discovery. Changes of power normally happened quickly and brutally in Greentide culture, and the simple act of being absent from the discovery might disqualify an Ork from having his say before one of the bigger Orks swept in and claimed power for himself.
The mob that made the point of the spear that was the staggered groups of unorganized Greenskins was perhaps a dozen Orks strong, with about half as many Greenlings in tow. Each and every one of the Greenskins were, of course, covered head to toe in the thick, foul smelling mixture of awfulness that was the contents of their swamp; a blackish brown mud/tar mixture that the Splitkulls believed protected them in battle. Covered in their protective 'armor' and armed with their looted or improvised weapons, the mob would eventually happen to see something they had never seen before. It started as a dot in the sky, and the Orks all at once stopped and gaped at the shape as it soon came into focus. They watched until the creature descended out of sight over a ridge, obviously headed for one of the only sources of water (or even life) in the Outlands.
After a moment, one Ork, one of the largest in the group, spoke up. "You'z fink daz de Boss?"
"Da Boss don' 'ave wings ya git!", another would quickly answer. This elicited laughs from the other Orks.
The big Ork would growl. "I know da Boss aint gots wings!" he shouted, obviously not pleased with being laughed at, "Wot if dat wot does got wings can see da Boss?!"
After another moment of silence a third Ork would add, "Wot if dat wot gots wing killed da Boss?"
The big Ork began walking towards the ridge that would lead them to the oasis. "Den 'eez got some big teef." he said, alluding to the Splitkulls' proclivity for the use of 'teef' as currency.
The rest of the mob would follow. The Splitkull didn't even have a word for 'dragon', but if this winged beast killed their Boss, each and every Ork among them would jump at the chance to face it in battle. In the span of not more than 15 minutes, the Orks would be able to be seen cresting the ridge that separated them and the oasis.
The beast herself paid little heed to the ridge or the little bit of stirring activity just along the edge - the dragon tore into one of the thin game with a viciousness. Powerful jaws and claws ripped into and broke the poor animal, snapping the limbs off with relative ease as her teeth continued to shred the meat from the bones.
Granted, neither of the animals held much on them - but it was better than nothing. It filled her belly. That was the main goal. There was a point that her head whipped violently from side to side, snapping the head clean off the neck in a pure display of strength. It helped curb her aggression a little bit... and boosted her ego in the case that something or someone was watching.
The corpse almost stripped clean, Aepessa dropped the remains and turned her head with maw open to bite into the second beast - stopping as her gaze caught just a flicker of movement coming over that ridge on the other side of the pitiful watering hole. Her jaw eased shut as her eyes wandered over the specks of motion in the distance. These weren't anything like the two animals she had hunted down... especially with how they scurried over and in her direction. Maybe something more sentient?
Whatever the case, it was potentially more food. She rose up onto all fours, claws flexing over the barren ground - waiting and watching.
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Splitkull Tribe
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 14:10:35 GMT -8
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Post by Splitkull Tribe on Mar 28, 2017 15:40:27 GMT -8
As the small Splitkull mob crested the ridge, the large winged beast in the oasis below would be impossible to miss. The monster was taller than three of the tribe's biggest warriors stacked one on top of the other, and longer by at least half again as much; it made exactly no never mind to the Splitkulls. The tribe had sharpened their teeth and claws against beasts from the crushing black abyss that was the sea beyond their swamp, and while this one was big, it was not as big as it need be to send the Splitkulls back over top of the ridge.
The foul smelling, mud and tar covered Orks paused only for a moment before the largest of the mob began the trek down to the oasis below. The other Orks and Greenlings would follow, the lot of them spreading out laterally as they all came down the hill at a quick pace. At the bottom of the incline, the Splitkull would find themselves working through what used to be tall grass sustained by the oasis water, but was now dead, dried, and slumped as the oasis itself was giving in to the withering effects of the Outlands. The Orks continued to move up quickly, only slowing as they neared the beast. The mob would circle around to their left; the shortest distance to the dragon.
The Splitkulls would fan out, putting the dragon between them and the water. The dragon would have no trouble seeing the Orks' movements as they came to crouch in the tall weeds.
"Oi!" the biggest, and thus defacto leader of the mob called out. "You'z seen da Boss?!"
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 16, 2024 14:47:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Mar 28, 2017 15:59:03 GMT -8
They were getting... really close. She was well aware to how they were spread out, unable to lose track as they all stank... badly. It actually made her shake her head with a heavy huff as she tried to endure - such nasty little squatters. But she kept aware of them circling her, muscles poised to spring in an instant and her tail whipping about angrily like that of a cat - a clear warning that if they came much closer, they were likely to suffer a lashing from it.
The biggest grunted out, and her lips drew back off her teeth to bare the ivory daggers set in her maw. She remained prepared to attack well after he barked his question, waiting - but they weren't charging. Her head came up to where she stood at a much more intimidating height at almost a natural stance - a faint, almost evil glow lighting up the plates midway down her neck at her throat.
Yet she spoke clearly, her tone obviously female as if a normal woman with no bestial growl or snarl. But the edge was clear - she was defensive. "I don't know your boss. This is mine," she barks, stomping a heavy claw right beside the remaining carcass of her kill. "Go away."
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Splitkull Tribe
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Registered: Feb 24, 2017 14:10:35 GMT -8
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Post by Splitkull Tribe on Mar 29, 2017 15:40:17 GMT -8
The biggest of the Orks looked on as the dragon spoke, and them stomped; a clear sign of aggression. No Ork worth his skin would take such an open incitement to fight without reciprocating in kind. This simple gesture would change the whole tone of the conversation.
"You'z aint green! Dat mean nuffin 'ere iz yourz! Now you'z find us da Boss, or I'z gonna personally dead ya in yer ugly face!"
The Ork 'spokesman' reached to the rope lashing his axe to his waist, and pulled his weapon from its resting place. The Orks around began to rustle in the dry weeds restlessly, itching for the fight that now looked unavoidable.
"EEYYYEE-EEEEEE!!" a high-pitched screech would come from just behind the Ork, and in an instant it would be revealed to be a Greenling. The small Greenskin was rushing towards the dragon, large (for his size) blade raised. With his quick reflexes, the big Ork grabbed the Greenling by the body with his free hand, pulling him back and nearly giving the smaller being whiplash.
"I'Z HANDLIN' DIS YA GIT! Eez gonna finds us da Boss!" the Ork shouted.
Not being the Warboss, the 'leader' of this smaller faction would have to constantly put up with insubordination. The only real law came from the Boss, and the Boss was as of yet unfound.
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