[IC] Civilization IV - Empires Reborn

[Chenzor]

Note: Read the section below regarding Custom races before creating one!

All of you are different. Some of you may be the same race but your people are different. You have endured different things. You have lived in different lands. No matter where you came from, you are seeking a new life for your people. Whoever your leader is, your people follow with loyalty.
Whether you were driven out of your home, or simply seek new lands to call your own, you have all come here without knowing of the others' presence. You must survive.

Your first choices lie before you. You are...

Human

Average in everything with a bonus to diplomacy. No subraces but can be almost anything you want them to be.
Receives a boon fitting their lore instead of choosing subrace.

Orc

Strong and numerous, the orcs are proper warriors but severely lack in technological capabilities and are generally bad at diplomacy. Many different kinds of orcs roam the world. Some are savage warbands, other are honourable warriors and heroes. Which one are you?

• Brownskin

Known for their taming of beasts and powerful shamanistic magic. Taming beasts, big or small, are useful in everyday life as well as battle and occurs across all orcish cultures, but none do it better than the brownskin tribes. Worships different Gods but all pay respects to Akrosh, the patron God of beasts and wild spirits.

• Redskin

Can survive in very hot climates due to not having to intake as much water as other races. Legends say the ancestor orcs drank the blood of their enemies, and some redskins still do. They worship the orcish God of war and blood, Ghom. Can barely use any magic, but are the most ferocious, brutal and savage of all orckind.

• Greenskin

A faster breeding kind of orc that manage to uphold some more stable form of society with an architecture that puts any other orcbreed’s settlement to shame. Generally average in everything else. They worship no one God above another.

• Blackskin

The best smiths and siege-engineers of all orckind. Brute force and superior weaponry, with an actual resemblance of tactics, is what sets the blackskins apart from other orc breeds. Their worship of orcish Gods are perhaps neglected due to their focus on martial warfare.

• Brutes

All orcs are brutes, but the brute-tribes are a strange breed sharing all characteristics of other breeds. They can do what the other clans do, but not as well.

Elves

Elves live long but reproduce slowly. Their magic is the strongest in the world, and see themselves as the ultimate in civilized society, but are average in other regards. Most elves are not native to this continent, but in ages past it is said that a great elven kingdom once sprung from this region of the world. If it is more than a legend however, not even the elves know.

• High Elves

The greatest of non-chaotic arcane magic, highelves can dabble in almost any school of wizardry. Their statescraft and politics are center to their society, and thus have strong diplomatic capabilities.

• Wood Elves

More ferocious, cunning types of elves. They are the best rangers and marksmen, and can seemingly move through forests as if they were highways. Their deep connection to nature give them druidic magics unlike any other.

• Dark Elves

The Dark Elves shun their other elven kin. They are the strongest warriors and smiths of all elvenkind and wield dark magic schools to reach their goals, whatever they may be. Considered evil by their High-Elven kin, but objectively are like any other elf breed.

• Barrow Elves

A shorter, paler kind of elf that prefers to live underground and keep to themselves. They are strong masons and woodworkers, and their mages are famed for dabbling in any magic, dark or otherwise.

• Folk Elves

Elves of different breeds can intermix, thus resulting in so called Folk-elves. They may dabble in anything that their kin do, but cannot reach the same level of expertise.

Dwarves

Strong, hardy and intelligent folk. Live almost as long as elves and reproduces slightly faster, the dwarves are most known for their incredible morale. Their short stature make them quite slow on the open fields, however.
All dwarves trace their heritage back to one of the seven founding fathers, the first of their clans, and thus pay homage to whichever patron saint their clan stems from.

• Whitebeards

See themselves as the oldest and thus wisest (wether it’s true or not). They are famed for their great dual-wielding warriors, Slayers, that specialize in killing foes such as Trolls and Ogres. They have a fierce rivalry with the Blackbeard Clan. Their founding father is Yorn Whitebeard, the Old Slayer.

• Ironbeards

The undisputed greatest smiths of all dwarvenkind, capable of crafting anything. They are robust and can withstand quite a punch, and as such their warriors are often clad from top-to-toe in heavy armor and a large shield going with their one-handed weapon. Their founding father is Sturm Ironbeard, the Greatest Smith.

• Goldbeards

The Goldbeard Clans are famed for their explorers, adventurers, excavators and mining capabilities. They are the most common type of dwarf to be seen outside of the dwarven hold as they like to venture out and explore the land. They know a great deal of the outside world thanks to this. Their founding father is Munin Goldbeard, the Diamond Miner.

• Blackbeards

Fearsome warriors wielding great two-handed weapons into battle, the Blackbeard warriors are much like the Whitebeards but the two clans have a fierce rivalry. The Blackbeards have become the best siege engineers of all dwarvenkind and like to combine their great-weapon warriors with huge siege weapons in battle. Their founding father is Durm Blackbeard, the Young Slayer.

• Redbeards

Where other dwarf-clans seek to develop weaponry, warfare or journey out into the world, the Redbeards have spent their years honing their magic and runecraft. As such, they are the strongest magic-users of all dwarvenkind and are capable of crafting any Rune of magic. Due to their extensive research, they have knowledge that other races do not. Their founding father is Khaz Redbeard, the first Runesmith.

• Brownbeards

While all dwarfholds are glorious to behold in their construction and stoneworking, no holds are stronger or better built than the Brownbeards’. Their strongholds are said to be impenetrable, and it is said that there’s nothing that the brownbeards cannot construct. On all other counts however, they are average. They have stayed within the safety of their holds for so long, their numbers are starting to dwindle. Their founding father is Gereg Brownbeard, the stoneshaper.

• Longbeards

The longbeards house all clan of dwarf. Sometimes, it is forgotten that they are even a clan of their own, for the dwarves have long been divided since the time of the founding fathers. The Longbeards can do anything the other clans can do, but not as well.
Their founding father is Brogar Longbeard, the first High King, for it was he who united all dwarven clans under one crown.

Ogres

A race of large warriors much like the orcs. Savage and gluttonous, they struggle to keep a lasting society together for more than a few years at a time due to infighting, lack of knowledge in statescraft and their constant aggression towards their neighbours. Despite this, some ogre societies show promise…

• Softskins

The softskins are seen as more intelligent than their kin. They actually have some resemblance of unity and statescraft and can even learn to use magic, but are still brutes in the eyes of other civilizations.

• Bloodskins

Much like the orcish redskins, these ogres are savage, ferocious and the most brutish of warriors among their kin, and pay homage to some sort of bloodgod. Due to their violent nature, infighting is even more prominent among bloodskins, but their growth is higher and they are said to be resistant to magic even though they are utterly incompetent to use it themselves.

• Stonehides

Can be found in almost any climate. Their rugged greyish skin can withstand the coldest of blizzards and the hot strokes of the desert. Due to their survivalist nature, they have adapted to eat anything, and therefore cannibalism of other non-ogre races is considered acceptable in stonehide society. As if Ogres weren’t already large, the Stonehides are even larger than the average ogre breed.

• Furhides

Noticable from their wild and hairy appearance, the Furhides are actually able to tame beasts and practise some level of shamanistic magic much like the brownskinned orcs. They are also adept craftsmen, capable of fletching, wood- and leatherworking.

• Runeskins

It is said Dwarves once enslaved or befriended (depending on who you ask) ogres to use as manual laborers and military vanguards, and as such tattooed their skin with runes. As some sort of aftereffect, the Runeskins are capable of wielding stronger magic than their ogre kin despite their tattoos not inherently being magical in nature. Other than this they are like most softskinned Ogres in appearance. Due to their past, typically holds a grudge against dwarves, especially the redbeards.

• Exile Ogres

Any ogre who does not belong to a clan is considered an exile. Seeing as infighting is so common, over time many exile ogres band together and form new communities. These are ogres from all breeds and therefore can dabble in all that their kin can, but never as well.

Trolls

Somewhere around the size of an orc, the trolls can often be wrongfully mistaken for dumb creatures of the wilds. Despite their average strength and speed, their high cunning and regenerative abilities enable the trolls to adapt to many different climates. They are horrendously bad at diplomacy with other races however, even if they do manage to get along well among themselves. They also reproduce remarkably fast for such an intelligently disadvantaged race.

• Forest Trolls

Trolls that dwell in the forests of the world, be it northern pinewoods or southern jungles, the forest trolls are typically greenskinned and practise shamanism or druidism. Due to this certain forms of magic are available to them, and due to their habitats they can move stealthily and fast through forested terrain.

• Rock Trolls

With a hide-like skin that is gray and hard as rock, it is no wonder how this breed got its name. They have increased strength and intellect compared to their kin, at the cost of slower movement and growth. They are larger than the average troll and are sometimes mistaken for Ogres. Their clinging to rocky terrains and mountainous climates have given them an affinity for geomancy.

• Dark Trolls

Some say Dark Trolls are made-up by elves, men and dwarves to scare their children into behaving. Indeed, such a horrendous race seems unreal with it’s blending of troll ferocity and dark magics. The Dark Trolls are very real, however. They practise their shadow magic in secluded groves both under and over ground, and because of their ritualistic sacrifice to dark gods have been blessed with the best magical capabilities of all troll-kind.

• Blood Trolls

On the opposite side of magically gifted dark trolls are the magically inert Blood Trolls. Redskinned and savage beyond compare, the Blood Trolls are the strongest of their kin and pride themselves in their strength and find glory in war. Their insatiable bloodlust often lead them to cannibalism, and it is said they are resistant to magic because of this.

• Sand Trolls

If such a thing as a civilized Troll breed exists, it would be the Sand trolls. They are competent builders and inhabit the dry deserts and arid steppes of the world. They have great endurance, and not bothered by heat or sun and can go days without food or drink. While other trolls are comparable to Ogres and Orcs in size however, the Sand Trolls are more the height of humans.

• Ice Trolls

Testament to their great adversity, Ice Trolls live in cold or even frozen climates, seemingly able to survive where others would see nothing but wasteland. They are tall and strong, and their environmental durability is second to none. They hate fire as it hurts them greatly, but they have learned to shape Ice in some strange way that it can actually be used as substitute for iron. Other races call it Ice-Smithing.

• Unchosen

A strange self-given name from long ago, these “unchosen” trolls are said to have been disowned by all troll gods and pantheons and banded together in their exile. They house all breeds of troll, thereby gaining all their strengths but also their weaknesses and they cannot reach the same height as the other breeds.

Goblins

Smaller than dwarves and weaker as well, the goblins are weak-willed creatures that band together in masses to survive. They may have average intelligence as far as a “savage” race is concerned, but their rate of reproduction is higher than most other races. Their society consists of a meritocratic, brutal hierarchy where the stronger and more cunning work themselves into positions of power and the lower goblins work as manual labour. They worship the same gods as orcs, and due to their similarities are sometimes mistaken by the ignorant to be orcish children or even some sort of dwarf-subrace of the orcs. None who utter such words near a goblin is alive today.

• Greenskins

Greenskinned goblins set themselves apart from other breeds as being the most organized, perhaps due to being what civilized scholars believe to be the oldest goblin breed. They truly have mastered the system of strong-ruling-the-weak and manage to achieve great things because of it. They are the most common goblinkin.

• Blackskins

Said to have been bred as slaves by blackskinned orcs, the Blackskins possess greater physical strength and coordination when it comes to labour, but have in turn traded this for lacklustre intelligence, seemingly. They cannot manage to achieve much on their own, but with a great leader or taskmaster to point them in the right way and direct their eagerness to work, the blackskins can become strong warriors or builders.

• Blueskins

An offshoot of greenskinned goblins that dabbled in strange magics became the blueskins. They are blessed with even greater reproductive growth than their kin and have great magical capabilities. Their meritocratic hierarchy has changed to reflect this, as often the most powerful magic-wielder becomes the most feared/respected taskmaster.

• Commune Goblins

A group of goblins is called a commune. Commune goblins that band together are typically of different subraces, and can therefore dabble in all specialities of their kin to some extent.

Halflings

Ironically, halflings come in many shapes and sizes. Recently, human scholars have begun speculating that the term halfling is actually an umbrella-term of many different types of subraces due to their differences from oneanother.
Halflings are life-loving, small and hardy folk somewhere in between humans and dwarves. They are less robust than dwarves and typically slender like humans, but averagely stand at the same height as a dwarf. Halflings belong to one of many different families, and when one type of family becomes abundant enough they typically become their own subrace due to their fast way of adapting to new environments and livelihoods. Halflings are excellent traders, travellers and diplomats. They rely on other races to survive, especially when it comes to warfare. They have little in the way of fighting a large-scale war but instead oblige their friends and allies to fight for them when necessary.

• Hillfoots

The Hillfoot family of halflings are strong builders and farmers and tend to get rounder bellies after a while. They are content and much like dwarves in their hardiness. They are honest and friendly folk and have a bonus to morale.

• Rockheads

Excellent craftsmen, traders and diplomats. Rockheads are known to be stubborn but prefer to travel the world rather than settle down and get round bellies like their hillfoot cousins. Their diplomatic capabilities are the best of halfling kin.

• Bumblerunners

With such a comedic name the Bumblerunners often become the brunt of many jokes from humans, dwarves and other travelling companions, but they take it with a stride unlike any other. They love travelling even more than the Rockheads, and are sometimes considered nomadic communities due to never staying around for too long. They are excellent explorers, rogues, spies and thieves. That doesn’t mean all bad things though, they’re halflings after all!

• Kenderkin

Anyone who’s ever met a kender usually has nothing good to say about them. They’re so different from their other kin that they’re considered a cousin- or sister-race to the halflings. They’re less round, more nimble and slightly shorter. They combine a bit of Rockhead and Bumblerunner tendencies in that they love adventuring, meeting new people, craft new things and see the world. They are excellent sneaks and have a distinct trait that they don’t feel fear like other races do. It is a foreign concept to them, and as such many a kender has met their end from having been all too curious, and not fearful enough. Historians and scholars have scratched their heads for centuries over the kender… Just what are they?!

• Familtons

Proudly boasting family of all kind of halfling breed. They may to what all the other families do, but never as good as them.

Other

It is my preference that you use one of the subraces above, but if none of those suit your fancy then you could do a custom race. Preferably, this would be in the form of creating a new subrace rather than an entirely new and wholly unfamiliar race.

If you are using a custom race, you must go through the additional step of posting your concept on either the OOC or the Discord getting it approved. Only after that may you jump in IC. When pitching your custom race, please specify averages, strengths and weaknesses.

---

You land upon the continent, and decide to settle... (pick a spot, take a screenie and crop it down with a dot or something)

If image is too small, try right-clicking it and opening it on a new page. You should be able to zoom in then.

Next:

Choose a color to represent your kingdom. May be any single color. This matters because the settlements I put on the map will have text bordered with the color of your kingdom, so that players and non-players alike can see what settlement belongs to who. You can choose any color, just include it in your post.
Additionally, write the name of your new settlement! You may have written the name of your kingdom, clans, characters, former homeland, etc., but have you thought of a name for your new town?

[Bright_Ops]

The Mustaqilun Tribe [Turn 0]

When the first ship had managed to beach itself against the sandy shore, a great cheer had gone up from not just those on board, but also from other ships that were following behind that could see the promise of a new land before them. The ships themselves were ugly and battered things; They appeared to have been made in haste with limited resources by people who might have had a basic understanding of how to make boats but had clearly never had to contend with the trails of traveling across the open sea before. More then one ship in the ram-shackled fleet that was coming ashore had sunken on the journey, taking many of the souls on board with them despite the efforts of some of the other ships to fish their fellow orcs from the icy ocean waters.

Despite the losses and the hardship through, the orcs themselves were in high spirits. They had done what many had believed to be impossible. The Dark One had long ago segregated his slave and worshiper races into specialized rolls in order to prevent any one race from being able to rebel effectively against him; While orcs could create fishing boats and make shift transports in order to gather food and ferry troops across minor bodies of water like rivers or moats respectively, actual sea faring naval craft and their production was kept in the hands of his branded human cultists. No one believed that an orc could make a ship that could survive three days out in open waters, let alone make an ocean crossing. With the impossible achieved, it was with great pride that the orcs celebrated their arrival in a new land.

Their chosen landing zone had actually been somewhat inland, taking advantage of a series of bays that were open to the sea that offered a landing site that was sheltered from the elements. There was a fresh water river leading into the final bay, with a light splattering of trees to the west and a literal forest to the east and a mountain range to the north that promised sources of metal and ores. Even before the scouts had a chance to go exploring in detail, it was clear to those de-embarking from the ships that this was going to be a wealthy land to call home.

Indeed, once Rukdug the Hunter himself had stepped foot on the new shore, he had commanded the scouts to follow the river north towards the mountains with the intent of finding a location for their people to develop a stronghold they could safely mine resources for, the warchief himself remaining behind to help organize those coming off the ships into groups to transport what few supplies they still had to follow them.

Their new fortress home wasn't going to build itself after all.

Location of Riverforge

Somewhere in the purple zone.

[CleanBreeze]

The Wanderers Tribe, Catfolk, Turn 0

Ambiance

Nexonia saw the first rays of dawn shining over the land. With careful fingers she plucked the squirrel and the arrow with which she shot it out of the wood. She then sprung off the tree limb on which she was standing onto one lower down. 10 minutes later the squirrel was toasting on a miniature spit on the forest floor. 10 minutes after that she was chewing on roast squirrel. Her thoughts changed to constructive ones as she headed back to camp.

Time to wake the recruits. She thought.

Coming back to the slowly glowing campfire and the tents she woke each tent by banging on it. Time to rouse. Get up. She blew on her whistle.

She saw the recruits. Some 30 in all. Bleary eyed and yawning. She saw Meekus amongst them and handed him the lower torso of the squirrel for breakfast. Meekus was the son of much vaunted general Meekus of the troll war. Unlike most of the rest he was a Male and had just come out of his fever 5 months ago. Unlike his brother before him, he had survived. This was put down to the fact that hed been born with a cowl, something very auspicious to the midwives and druids. He still carried around with him a wooden box from his fever times. What it did no one knew, but they expected great things from this Meekus the second. And that was why he was here training for the Wardens, protectors of the Wanderer nation, under personal oversight of Pathfinder Nexonia, chief of the tribe.

[CleanBreeze]

Actions:

A.) Train Wardens to forage for food.

How this works is it is an improve food action but also increases the self sufficiency of the wardens when in the wild. I.e. they don't suffer such food shortages.

[Lauder]

Bukradul

^{Turn 0}

There, on the beaches of these new lands, did the orcs of Bukradul land their boats, weaved together with trees commanded by the shamans who asked for the aid of nature to side with them. It had been months at sea, once they had numbered ten ships, now they only numbered a mere two, with the winds and the rough currents of the seas fighting them at every turn, claiming many for its own maw. The sea had been a foreign enemy to them, a foreign enemy that was quick to fell them when it had the opportunity despite the powerful connection to nature that the orcs had commanded. Yet, now they had escaped its clutches, the two ships beaching themselves and those more capable jumped onto the sands to scout out their landing, moving the start of a forest.

No threats could immediately be seen, giving a breath of relief for these orcs who merely wanted to rest and find some moniker of peace to bless them. Gradually, the women and the children came off of the ship, followed by many of the shamans who began to unravel the twisted trunks of the trees to begin making some rudimentary form of shelter for the entirety of the tribe's survivors. In the bowels of the largest ship, sat the form of Guthug the Damned, his light brown skin hunched over the carcass of deceased boar that had not survived the voyage to the new land.

A shaman approached him from behind, laying an old hand on the shoulder while leaning against his staff. "Grok was a good boar," the shaman commented, allowing a toothy smile to overtake the wrinkled face.

Guthug turned his head but did not look at the old shaman, his gaze moving back to the boar before bringing his arms around the boar and lifting Grok up, cradling it like a newborn. "Grok was the first beast to rally to our cause, and the last to die on this voyage," Guthug said solemnly, turning to finally look back at the shaman, who raised an eyebrow before reeling back and headbutting the grieving chieftain who nearly dropped the corpse of Grok.

"Are you challenging me, Uruk?" Guthug growled moving his hand cover the spot which Uruk had just struck.

Uruk let out a laugh, "No, but I have been called mad! Tell me, Guthug, are you so blind to the other animals that have helped us through this journey?"

Guthug snorted, before answering the shaman, "There are no other animals. They all died."

"Is that so? Then how come you see not the smallest of mice? Perhaps you truly are blind!" Uruk laughed, motioning to a small, brown mouse moving along the intertwined branches of the ship. Scurrying up the gnarled staff that the shaman held before taking the mouse in his hand. "Remember that even the smallest of creatures help. This mouse has brought plenty of seed for us to grow, for even he has more foresight than the mighty Guthug the Damned!"

Guthug huffed before moving past Uruk, continuing to cradle the body of Grok.

"Grok will serve as a friend in your death, unless you decide to push away nature itself that is," Uruk continued before a wall unfurled itself to serve as a window to the orcish people that moved away from the beach, fathers and sons laughing, mothers and daughters playing. The shaman wrapped his arm around the taller orc, speaking again, "Look away from the loss and see what we are gaining! You cannot be such a pragmatist forever!"

Guthug nodded before looking back down to Uruk, "Maybe you are right, Uruk. I have not seen these people this happy since we have left for this new place."

"Go! Go and get some of that happiness, boy!" Uruk laughed, bringing a light smile to the Damned. Though a sudden headbutt swiftly brought that smile down in annoyance, causing to walk away from the mad shaman.

As Guthug hopped off the side of the ship, he walked towards his people, those who noticed him ran up to him with happiness of finally being free of the ocean's embrace. As they saw the body of Grok, however, they were quick to embrace the chieftain and give a swift pet down the snout of the deceased boar, a last sign of comfort for the spirit of the boar before it departed into the heavens. The people helped to dig a grave for the boar, moving on to digging graves for the few animals that they needed not to throw overboard out of fear of rot and evil spirits. It was silent for the most part, as the people grieved with the chieftain before many attempted to bring his mood up through song and dance, and it worked.

They made merry into the night, the shamans calling for them to a swiftly crafted longhouse made from the same trees that had made the ships. The people continued to make merry and Guthug watched them from a dune, a soft smile across his face which grew as a group of children ran up to him.

"Chieftain Guthug," a small girl began, "What are going to call our new home?"

For a moment, Guthug thought to himself, running his hand across the stubble of his chin before he picked up the girl and hoisted her onto his shoulder, laughter following. With a mighty shout and thrust of his hand into the air the chieftain called out the name of their new blessed land, "Sumbad!"

Soon the other orcs began to follow, chanting the name of their new home.

Sumbad! Sumbad! Sumbad!

[AdorableSaucer]

The Hogtusk Tribe - Turn 0

“Right, issat how you want it, bruv?” Oogor asked and pointed a fat sausage of a finger at the poor excuse for an attempt at a tipi. Rog-mohog thought to himself that the way the sticks were stacked somewhat reminded him of an unlit bonfire. The pelt lazily wrapped around them appeared as though it was meant to keep the sticks nice and cozy, and the half-attempt at tying anything together with sinew was reminiscent of thread’s natural tendency to knot itself together.

Rog-mohog dug two log-like fingers deep into his eyes and let out a groan that could’ve been mistaken for a minor quake. In a voice like grinding stone, he muttered, “No, Oogor… Tha’s not how I wanted it. You bloomin’ thick in the noggin or somefin’? I wanted a house - a house - ‘n all you’s given me’s a lump’a sticks wrapped in a bundle. What’m I gonna do withit, huh?”

Oogor hung his head. “Oi, I worked pretty hard on it, y’know.”

Rog-mohog retracted his leg, skipped once to close in and sent a mighty kick into the stick bundle, sending it straight into the nearby mountain wall and shattering it into splinters. Oogor winced and hunkered down underneath his hands. The chief stomped over and grabbed the shivering male by the messy hair on his scalp. He tugged the whimpering ogre’s face up to his own and gave it a salty scowl.

“You’s gonna make a bigger, better hut for your boss, or I’m gunna smack you so hard you gonna have a twitch, I swear on me dad.”

Oogor nodded desperately. “Sure, sure, sure! Got you covered, bruv! You can trust me!”

“I don’t, you bloomin’ git, so you better make it good.” He let go of the hair and Oogor sprinted over to salvage what he could from the wood piles. Rog-mohog growled to himself and stomped off. A moment’s concentration on thinking about what weapon to beat Oogor with eventually brought him to a cliff overlooking the rest of the camp in the making down below. Herds of animals flocked around the outer rim of the settlement, shepherded by furry giants wielding sharpened sticks. More and more ogres managed to erect decent tents in time, and primitive fences made of bone, grass and wood were slowly being erected around designated animal pens.

“Oi, big boss.”

The voice broke Rog-mohog out of his contemplation and he turned. It was Wololo, the tribe shaman, his crooked stature seemingly caving underneath a huge boar pelt over his shoulders and head. He supported himself on a staff made from the trunk of a sapling oak. Rog-mohog bobbed his head at him. “Wha’chu want, sham?”

“Is almost time for prayin’, boss,” Wololo responded in his feint shadow of a voice. Rog-mohog nodded again and got to his feet with a strained sigh.

“Oight. I’m gunna find a right fine hog. We’re giving to the Boar Spirit today, right?”
Wololo nodded. “‘S right, boss. Boar Spirit needs a toppa’ if he’s gunna keep our pigs fat ‘n cows milky.”

“‘S natural,” Rog-mohog reasoned and descended the mountain. With difficulty, the old, crepid shaman snailed down after him.

The camp seemed to part before the chieftain, many ogres either slinking away sheepishly or standing up to nod or grunt a greeting. Therefore, the stroll to the outer edge of the camp took merely a few minutes. There were three great clans he had to govern - his own, the Pig Clan, the Ox Clan and the Goat Clan. In the Pig Clan, Rog-Mohog did not have the biggest herd - not by a long shot. That honour belonged to his cousin, Crunch the Lad. To say the least, Crunch and Rog-mohog did not get along very well, not even as subject and leader. Since it was prayer day, though, he could not avoid interacting with Crunch to ask him for a donation. Of all the things in this world Rog-mohog did not like, interacting with Crunch was fairly high on the list.

The furry visage of Crunch came into view among the shepherds. The ogre stared Rog-mohog down and the chieftain stared back, sparks igniting between them and scaring the pigs. Crunch stabbed the butt of his stick into the grassy ground and grunted in tow with a few curious pigs.

“Oi, wha’chu think you’re doin’ here, HUUHN?!” Crunch bellowed at the chieftain. Rog-mohog eyed Crunch up and down, then judged the boars trundling around their legs.

“Here to snatch a pig for prayer day.”

Crunch gurgled up a ball of phlegm and spat it at the ground. Sadly, it hit one of his boars and it looked at him, betrayed. The shepherd left the stick standing in the ground and shoved the chieftain aggressively. “Oh no, you’s not! Snatch one of your own, you git! These’re my pigs, got that understood in that thick noggin, huh?!”

Rog-mohog staggered backwards, then snarled and curled up his fists. “Boar Spirit gunna be bloomin’ mad at you if you don’t gimme a pig right this moment.”

“Then he can be mad for all I care. Sod off!”

Rog-mohog roared and sent a stone-like fist straight into Crunch’s jaw. The shepherd had barely any time to react and fell straight to the ground, knocked out cold. The onlookers blinked at the chieftain shaking his aching fist. The boars around them ran in every direction, squealing. Thinking fast, Rog-mohog sprinted for the nearest one and caught it in a hold. He picked it up by one of its hind legs and hauled it over his back. It squealed and kicked, but this was necessary for the good of the tribe.

He turned at eyed the still-unconscious Crunch. A smile spread across the chieftain’s mouth. Boy, did he love being the boss.

[Cyclone]

The Red Cap Junta

Director Glough stood firm and proud before the window of his ship’s bridge, his oversized and silvered mustache waxed to perfection and the slight balding atop his head concealed by that signature red hat of his that the entire party had quickly come to imitate. He was not one for flattery, but he did appreciate uniformity. The Director was a hard man; he was nearing the end of what one could call ‘middle-aged’ and his life’s experiences and a long history of command had left him with little patience for anything short of excellence and disciplined obedience. It was easy to fall in line and not question him, because his voice could (without warning!) go from a gentle and fatherly tone to the booming roar of a drill instructor, and he had an intimidating form to match the sound! He was a towering gnome, just shy of four feet tall.

Even after his fall from grace, a good deal of his party remained loyal and strong. They had failed to petition the king to see reason and deploy the army to displace or exterminate the giant savages that threatened their homeland’s borders, and after that, they had failed to covertly incite war. Now the faction had been proclaimed treasonous, but in the resulting strife and series of high-profile arrests, Glough had managed to escape the king’s clutches relatively unscathed. Blazes, some of the soldiers and police sent to stop him had been party sympathizers that had instead joined his new separatist army. All had expected nothing less than a civil war, but to their surprise, the Director had instead had his private army storm a royal airfield, commandeer the largest airship they could find. The party named it the Red January, after the bloodfilled month in which they’d seized it, and then they proceeded to board Glough and his strongest supporters and venture off into the sunset. Royal loyalists and civilians could only speculate what his motivations were and whether he would ever return from exile.

There was overwhelming blue to be seen all around, like a smothering blanket—the blue of the sky above and around, the blue of the ocean below. They had been flying for a long time, and Glough was growing restless from being stuck on the zeppelin for so long. They all were, but few could hide it as well as him. The Director turned to one of his senior officers. “Delfus, reiterate your proposal statement.”

“...certainly,” one of the gnomes answered. He was confused for a moment, for Glough was not a forgetful gnome and he always paid attention to the details and committed them to memory. But perhaps this was not for the Director’s own benefit; restating the reasons for their departure and the logic behind it would surely raise morale and reassure any wavering officers present.

“Our force projections were clear—we could have inflicted major damage, but ultimately it would have been a losing war to try to face the Royal Army. It will be better by far to establish a stronghold elsewhere, to effectively achieve our goal of self-governance for free whilst allowing us to bide our time, gather our strength, and perhaps later retake the kingdom should such opportunity present itself.”

He paused for breath, then continued, “According to our calculations, the world is a spheroidal object of far larger size than is accounted for in all the maps of the known regions. We are likely to come across entirely new lands as we maintain this latitude, but even if we are met with bad luck or it comes to be that there are no uncharted lands beyond the sea, we should have sufficient supplies to-“

Delfus, easily distracted, turned his gaze toward the distance where a flock of seabirds approached fearlessly. Director Glough clenched his jaw at the nonsensical interruption and almost turned red with rage when all his other staff began to point and clamor about the stupid animals. But then Glough realized the implications, and even his stony face broke and showed the hints of a smile; birds often indicated the presence of a nearby landmass, for they needed to roost and could only range so far—

There was a horrible sound, like the roar of some mythical monster. Metal screamed as it grated and ground upon itself, and then the ship began to lurch. Something had gone horribly wrong with one of the propellors! Unsecured items and careless personnel on deck began to slide. Glough was immediately shouting commands and ordering damage control; to their horror, they realized that one of the accursed birds had flown into a propellor and somehow jammed it. They were losing control! Attempting a landing would have been suicidal, even if they were able to see more than the faintest hint of a distant beach.

The response was quick, just as it had to be. The Director sent in the best and bravest mechanics. Dangling by ropes and harnesses off the side of the leaning deck, they carefully worked to unjam and restart the propellor. They had the spare parts, but it was hard to get down into the damned thing..! One of them jabbed a wrench into the loosened blades and pulled, pulled, using it as a lever to tear the deformed piece free. But he overdid it, and with a gasp he sent the jagged piece of metal flying upward. They all looked up in horror as it punctured the balloon above and they began losing air. Rapidly they had to attempt to patch it. They did so with impressive speed, having been well drilled, but even so the patch wasn’t quite airtight and they all knew it. Their shio was bleeding its lifeblood, and after losinf as much air as they had, they were already being forced to dump huge quantities of ballast just to maintain their altitude.

Another flock of birds approached, heading directly toward the zeppelin. It was a deliberate attack! Sabotage! The Director knew this, for birds were rather small and therefore logic would dictate that they were cunning creatures. It was well known among gnomish scientists that a species’ size and intelligence tend towards an inversely proportional relationship, as a larger being must devote more of its brainpower to mundane things like muscle movement as compared to high order thought. For examples one needed to look no farther than ants, perhaps the most organized and intelligent of all animals, or the gnomish race itself, which the ‘Red Caps’ held to be clearly superior to the barbaric, primitive, violent giants that were all the other breeds of sapients.

In any case, the birds’ small size and demonstrable intelligence made their betrayal and refusal of his ideals (nay, his party’s very life and presence) all the more insulting. The Director ordered his crew to battle stations, then issued the command, “Vaporize them!”

The ray and lightning cannons made short work of those seagulls. The breeze was just right to carry a brief whiff of roasted poultry. But then, the impossible! One of the accursed birds had slipped past all of the weaponfire, and it managed to fly straight into a different propellor...

Over the next day they’d struggled mightily to keep the Red January airborne, but she had sustained fatally targeted injuries that they lacked the means to repair without further supplies and a dedicated hangar, much less while in flight. It was a wonder they kept her as long as they did, but then again, they’d abandoned any semblance of an attempt at navigation. Plains and forest passed by beneath them completely unseen, for they all spent the entirety of their focus on damage control, but even that was not enough. On the second day they finally abandoned hope for the Red January and began evacuation preparations. They crated what provisions and loose equipment they could, and then issued out parachutes to all the crew, but damned there were too many passengers! There weren’t enough parachutes for everyone as well as all of the supply crates, and Glough had half a mind to deny some of the more useless or traumatized gnomes their parachutes in favor of ensuring the cargo crates’ survival instead. But that would have been bad for morale...

It was near an idyllic river and some mountains that they finally jumped overboard. As they slowly drifted down to safety, they observed the Red January make its final descent. The now crewless zeppelin hit the ground and exploded in a huge fireball, as oversized vehicles were wont to do. Director Glough steeled his face in seething rage, while some of his more sentimental party members openly wept.

Well, at least they’d found some land...but now they were trapped, with no way back, no chance to map the area, no infrastructure, and no idea of whether there were any giant savages to be found in this queer land. The stoic and cold Director let his mask crack for just a moment.

[Chenzor]

Turn 1

The Map

The Mustaqilun Tribe

@Bright_Ops

Turn 1

Indeed, no one believed Orcs could make seacrafts worthy of travelling the vast and unforgiving oceans. In this world, seafaring was common but truly venturing out into the open oceans were so dangerous that frankly, not even the highly advanced Elves or Dwarves did it often. Though, perhaps that was because of their cultures and narrow-mindedly clinging to land-dwelling traditions. Orcs on the other hand, could do anything they put their mind to. Especially when cornered, Orcs could indeed accomplish feats that more than once surprised the other “civilized” races of the world.
Despite their success however, several crafts had been lost along the journey. The boats that pulled up upon the shores of this new land were ragged and battered, and barely any of them could stand another day on the open waters. Perhaps whatever deity watched over them had indeed planned for them to land here… Bah, superstitious nonsense. It was raw Orcish craftsmanship that had built those ships, and more than a little luck and circumstance that they had managed to land not a day too soon.

One day, Rukdug thought to himself, the forges would burn once more and the familiar smoke and sound of smithing would fill the air… But not today. They had other concerns, as how to feed themselves and how to plan out their settlement. They had struck upon a good spot, despite the rugged terrain. The landscape was hilly so close to the foothills and mountains that dotted the horizon inland, but a healthy stream of fresh water ran down a river, and plenty of lumber was to be found in great pinetrees around them. Truly, this land seemed completely untouched by civilization. The dark green hills and shadowy forests blended well with the cloudy skies and dark mountains. Perhaps dreary to some, but this was better than in the grasp of the Dark One.

Already, a few had begun to use what rafts could still float to fish. The rafts that couldn’t had been made into boards that now was a small pier sticking out into the sea. Some hunters and scouts had already looked upon the land and found deer of different derivatives, boar, rodents of different shapes and sizes and plenty of birds that nested in the pines and mountains. The river as well as the bay it flowed out into was rich with fish, and where salmon jumped up the streams large bears were waiting for an easy meal. Riverforge seems to be yielded a stable new start with food, lumber and favourable terrain. The only choice to make was where to focus their efforts first.

As the days shifted into dusk, Rukdug more than once found himself pondering however… This land seemed peaceful. Almost… Too much so.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1000
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 60% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources:

• Lumber

Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Wanderers Tribe

@CleanBreeze

Turn 1

Already, the Wanderers had managed to set up a functioning encampment upon only a stone’s throw from where they had first washed up. There was a violent river streaming into the oceans and to the west, a forest stretched its roots. To the east, large plains of grass, moss and the occasional boulder stretched as far as they could see. The ocean was teeming with fish, and the wilderness with rodents and other smaller game such as deer and hare. Hexia, a young huntress, struck the soil with a thick stick and pulled up some of the earth. She felt it with her hand and sniffed it. It was dark, moist and rich. Crops could grow here, she thought, but she also pointed out to herself in her inner conversation that she was no expert on farming. The coldcrop-growers would have to be the ultimate judges, but if this land was anything like what she was used to, this could work.

Back in camp, where Nexonia herself was overseeing the training of new Warden Recruits, spirits were high. The younglings may be tired, but their enthusiasm at an all-time high. They were eager to prove themselves and to be of service to the tribe. When journeying out into the wilds, Nexonia would teach them the basics of what it meant to hunt and prowl silently through the thickest of brushes as well as the open grasslands. They found deer and hare to catch, but it took no more than a few hours before the sun already started to set. The Pathfinder thought this an excellent opportunity to teach the recruits about what this meant out in the wild.
”Look to the skies, younglings.” she said as she beckoned them over. ”The sun was not even halfway towards the middle of the sky when it started to retreat. Which one of you can tell me what this means?”
The younglings perked their ears and pondered. Some clueless ones looked at each other. After a short pause, one of them spoke. ”That dusk is soon upon us, and we should make camp for the night?” she said.
She was of course correct, but her uncertainty shone through her voice.
”That’s not the answer I was looking for. What does it mean that the sun started setting so soon?” she tries again to incite some wisdom into the younglings.
A long while passes before finally, Meekus’ ears perk up in revelation. ”Could it be, Pathfinder…” he started, enthusiastically. ”That you want us to ponder about the climate of our new lands?”
Nexonia smirked slightly, careful not to let it show. ”Yes, that is what I want you to ponder.” she answered, but waited not for the younglings to elaborate further. ”The days are temperate and the nights are cold. The days grow darker. Winter is upon us soon, and that means we must expand our storages and prepare our hovels for the coming cold.”

Later that night, a small encampment had been erected in a grove. There was of course much more to being a Warden than to hunt and walk the land, but perhaps by inciting some moment of reflection among the younglings she could encourage logical thinking and independence.
As dusk finally came and the only light was that of the campfire, a floating yell could be heard through the forest. It was soon joined by others, and it became clear to the Wanderers that these woods were the domain of wolves. Judging by the sound and deepness of the howls, quite big wolves at that. Slightly more on edge, the to-be wardens set in for the night.

Back home, the populace would have to focus on their first endeavour other than setting up shop. Some had hovels and basic dwellings, most had clothes and basic tools, and some had even started work on a small raft to use as a fishing boat. But what would they set their focus upon first?

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1100
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

Bukradul

@Lauder

Turn 1

With high spirits, the Orcs begun the setting up of their new home: Sumbad. Everyone had lost something, or someone, in the journey. But all was happy to finally set foot upon solid ground and the endless possibilities that a new home could bear to fruit. A hundred generations of orcs could come and go without given this opportunity: a chance to carve our one’s own destiny. The omens were clear, and as such the Orcs must establish their connection with the wildlife and spirits of nature to this place. But before they could do all that, there was the small issue of sustaining themselves. The beach that they had landed on was the only spot for miles that wasn’t walled by cliffs guarding against the ocean waves. And this was no white sandy beach, no, this was a rocky, rough beach with pebbles instead of sand and with jagged edges on each side. Spikes of rock stuck up from the shoreline and shallows, and Guthug thought it was no wonder their ships had been so battered when attempting to land here. The land itself seemed to rise up to attempt to keep any seafarers out… Or perhaps it had opened itself up to the orcs in their time of need?

Regardless, the orcs soon began to dismantle their ships and salvage what they could in order to construct hovels. Soon, a large encampment of makeshift huts dotted the area that was now Sumbad. Those that didn’t build had gone hunting and scouting the surrounding area. Indeed, tall cliffs separated land and sea for as far north and south as they travelled, and a seemingly huge forest stretched westward. What little area between the forest and cliffs that were grassland was dark and full of boulders. Further north the grasslands gave way to hills that eventually became mountains, and far in the horizon a scout had spotted mountains to the south as well. Sumbad was roughly nestled in between thick forest, sharp cliff and bordered north and south by mountains. But as the shamans always say; rough lands give rise to rough creatures. The orcs themselves always saw themselves as the “rough creatures” mentioned in this often recited mantra, but by now they had begun to realize it meant all wildlife. In the woods, elusive but huge elks had been spotted. Boars rummaged through the rocky underbush, and dark birds of prey filled the skies occasionally. Fishing wasn’t easy around here, and nothing seemed to bite in the violent shallows of the spiky cliffs. Further out, something could occasionally be seen making waves and sticking it’s body up. Something big.

With giant herbivores, the hunters suspected giant carnivores would follow. It didn’t take long before the first wolf-howl was heard off in the distance somewhere. Most predators remained elusive, however. Perhaps they steered clear of these suspicious newcomers. At least the orcs could feed themselves for now.

What would the orcs’ first effort be in their new home?

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1000
Livestock: – None survived the voyage.
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 60% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Hogtusk Tribe

@AdorableSaucer

Turn 1

Among Ogres, the strongest survive longest. Not that Ogres live that long, it’s just their nature. Countless tribes have sprung up over the millennia, but only a handful have stuck around. When faced with a hardship, most Ogre tribes just… disappear. Some say it’s the natural order of things, otherwise Ogres would grow so numerous they would overpopulate the entire world and all it’s realms, but rarely does a tribe manage to overcome their hardships in face of extinction… The Hogtusk Tribe certainly is rare.
Not only did they overcome the shortage of food and survive, they managed to learn from it and grow. This is unheard of in all recorded history of Ogres (of course, they don’t record their own history but rather other “civilized” races do).

You fled from your former home when it became apparent you could no longer live there. You made your new home upon the slopes of a large mountain and named it Big Rock. Already you have begun to domesticate the wild pigs that made their home in the foothills of this ‘big rock’, and already have you made your new life comfortable enough to restart life.
Around the mountain, wild pigs compete with rodents for the goodies of the earth. Small predators such as foxes also prowl the foothills, feeding off the rodents. Occasionally a tree or two can be found, but they aren’t plenty around here. Instead, bushes and ferns of different sizes cover the landscape where they can be expected to be found. Further north, hills and a sea of grasslands make up the territories of roaming herds of different animals such as wild horses and oxen, and in smaller holes among the hills hares and wild rabbits make their homes. On the other side of big rock, a river flows down the mountain. It is a fresh and clear kind of water that flows gently down the stream, and many ogres find themselves lost in awe as they witness the beautiful glitter of the waters as the sun shines it’s rays on it. To the east, the hills and plains continue, and to the south an occasional patch of woodland can be found. To the west however, the only calm land to be found is near the river. The plains here are flat and dreary, yellow and grey dominating the landscape. It is as if rain has not fallen here in years, and thus much of the vegetation is dried and dead. In stark contrast to the rest of the area surrounding Big Rock, this area is almost earie due to the lack of wildlife. Not many Ogres dare venture there, but they say it is because there’s nothing there and thus a waste of time. Perhaps they are a bit glad that is the case, though…

It is almost time to offer the pig to your deities. But there are other concerns to handle, oh great chieftain. What will you have your people do? Perhaps one among them are smart enough to construct a hut worthy of a leader…

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 900
Livestock:

• 50 Pigs (Soon to be 49…)
• 30 Goats
• 20 Cows

Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Red Cap Junta

@Cyclone

Turn 1

As more and more gnomes landed, it became clear that they had been scattered all around the area. It would take an entire day before a semblance of reunion was reached. Many were still unaccounted for, but with most of his people safe Glough could begin to take swift action to assure their safety. Dwellings had to be constructed, food gathered, the nearby terrain scouted… So much to do, so little time! The director formed several taskforces to be given specific tasks to perform. Some would gather wood and materials from nearby, others would scout the nearby area and look for gnomes, a third group would be sent towards the crash site to see if anything was left salvageable, and a fourth… Wait, what’s that?

Off in the distance, far to the south, Glough thought he could see a shape standing on the edge of a cliff. He squinted his large eyes… Indeed, it looked like a shape. Had it moved? No, it’s just a rock playing tricks on—IT MOVED!!
A small bulky silhouette had indeed been standing on the cliff, but now it was gone! It had moved out of Glough’s sight somewhere. Was he going crazy? No, no of course not, he was the epitome of reasonable and logical thinking, he had indeed seen a shape move up to stand on the cliff and then leave again. Was it a beast? An animal? Or something more… civilized? Something about the shape had made it seem humanoid, like it stood on two legs at least. Plenty of mountaindwelling animals do that, though, like… Uh… Damnit, Glough thought to himself. He could think clearly. He was brought back to focus by one of the gnomes in the fourth taskforce clearing his throat.

Right! There were things to do. Glough would have to ponder what he saw later. The fourth taskforce was charged with setting up a perimeter. The terrain was ideal for a secluded encampment at least, nestled cosily into the mountains and bordered by a freshwater river. Most of the foothills are rocky and grassy, dotted with boulders of different shapes and sizes. The occasional pinetree dots the grasslands further away, and are quite plenty up in the foothills before hills make way to rock and raw cliff. Somewhere up there, the zeppelin lies. A large pillar of smoke juts out from the side of the mountain and into the skies, marking the location of the crash for miles around.

Among the steep rocks the occasional mountaingoat could be seen climging and grazing, and other small animals could be found skittering about. The grasslands had deer, hare and fox, with other smaller rodents peeking out from their burrows. Mountainbirds of different sorts nested up among the cliffs, and the river had fish to be found, but not in the plenty it would seem.

With a small encampment set up and supplies disastrously low (seeing as they mostly blew up with the zeppelin or were otherwise thrown off), the gnomes would have to find some way to sustain themselves. Also, with his people scattered, Glough would have to find a way to raise their morale. Third, just what was that shape he had seen earlier…?

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 500
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 10% of adult population.
Food level: Disastrous!
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 75%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

Kingdom of Brightland

@Schylerwalker

Turn 1

Disastrous times are behind you, Lord-Protector. Your people look to you now for guidance in your new home named Brightwater, a for now rather small newly erected village at the mouth of a large river flowing into a small bay that makes its way into the vast sea. The Lady of Light, Aureth, has guided you to a warm and bright new land with hot plains to the south turning into savannah, and grasslands with occasional forestation to the north. To the south-east your scouts have spotted a mountain in the distance where one of the offshoot rivers come from that feeds into the large river you have settled upon. The lands are ripe with fruits and berries of different kinds, and plenty of grazing animals searching for a juicy meal, travelling in great herds across the plains. Antelopes have been spotted to the south, wandering between grazing grounds and in turn being hunted by lions that roam the lands. To the north, wild horses run across the grasslands making for beautiful scenery in the setting sun. As well as smaller animals such as rodents and small predators, you have yet to encounter any large predatory creatures or natural hunters to the large herds that roam the grasslands.

For many weeks and indeed months you have travelled the open seas and unforgiving oceans, losing countless friends in your flight. Little by little the raging tides and storms widdled away at your ships, and the tales of travellers who stray too far off the charted lanes never returning seem to become clear fact with every passing strike of lightning from the sky. At long last, a bird sighted in the sky gives hope. Where there is a bird, there is land. As if lady Aureth had heard your prayers, the clouds parted to reveal the splendour of the sun upon a large landmass of green and plenty. The few boats that were left were barely seaworthy anymore, and almost as if by design, most of them broke down when your voyage was finally complete.

With your feet firmly upon solid ground once more, you set upon the task of rebuilding your lives and honouring those who did not make it.

Bonus action

You are human. Humans have no subraces but are instead the most diverse of creatures upon the civilized world. Your long voyage has tired you out, and you feel as if your energies are sapped from you. Perhaps you are almost out of Aureth’s reach here? Perhaps her grace has not touched this land. Perhaps she has intended for you to be her heralds in these unexplored realms. As a bonus action, you may attempt to re-establish your connection to your goddess. Once you do, your people will be re-invigorated with the blessing of the Lady of Light.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1000
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 20% of adult population.
Food level: Low
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Southern Expedition

@Pirate

Turn 1

No matter how many times the navigators looked at the maps and the stars and their navigational instruments, none of them could figure out where they had ended up. As one thought he could recognize a part of the sky in one of the charts, something jumped out that made him scrap the idea or the sky seemed to change when he looked away. It soon became clear to even the slaves, they were hopelessly lost. It didn’t seem to bother the masters however. They still had a task to perform and a mission to carry out. This is still an expedition, who cares where it is? Some of the smaller ships were still seaworthy, but after making landfall it became clear that the larger ships had been damaged severely during the voyage. How they managed to come this far without catastrophic failure was anyone’s guess.

Without enough slaves to do everything, the elves would have to make an effort in establishing their new settlement themselves. They were Dark Elves however, and as such they performed every task to brutal efficiency as was their way of life. If you did nothing short of your best, you were considered a failure and a waste of life.
Soon, a small fishing hamlet had been constructed and the noblemen had setup operations in their extravagant tents while the slaves and more common elf worked on constructing something worthy of living in. Scouts had surveyed the surrounding terrain and found it to be quite hospitable indeed. To the west and south, a dense and tall range of mountains followed along the coast. To the south one of the fishermen had spotted land and to the west and north were more mountains with several smaller streams and rivers flowing into the sharp bay. To the north was a dense forest bordered by flat grasslands. The valley between the two mountainranges the elves had landed in were surprisingly flat all the way up to the mountains. Birds of prey roamed the skies, wild goat climbed the edges of the mountains and deer and elk stalked the forests. On the grasslands, the scouts had found footprints of large hooved creatures, but also something else. Some sort of large paw, feline or canine perhaps. Judging by its’ size, it was twice as large as any elf. They had never actually seen whatever animal left them, and only two or three sets of tracks had ever been found.

The biologists among you had already started exploring the outskirts of the woods for reagents that they could recognize or catalogue and test in their alchemical practises. They did much prefer live subjects, but for now basic materials were needed.
As leader of the expedition however, Arakhu-Mondros would have the last and ultimate say in what task to focus on. With a few hundred elves under his command, he was not only responsible for everyone’s wellbeing but also effectively their ruler. What would he have them do?

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 700

• Slaves: 50

Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 20% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +-0% (First turn gets no growth)
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

[Bright_Ops]

The Mustaqilun Tribe [Turn 1]

The land that they had landed on and decided to settle Riverforge was perfect... maybe even a bit to perfect. The land was untouched, bountiful with food and lumber... and yet, no one else had chosen to settle here. As Rukdug gazed over his new home in the light of dusk, he couldn't help but feel somewhat uneasy about the lack of a prior settlement in what would on the surface appear to be an ideal place to do so.

This wouldn't make him consider relocating somewhere else; Just because another race hadn't decided to take advantage of such a bountiful location wasn't going to frighten him or his people away from what was now rightfully theirs, but he wasn't going to rule out the possibility that there was some danger lurking that they hadn't borne witness to yet. Scouting parties would almost certainly be sent to explore the surrounding area, but first they needed to cement their foothold on the land so that no man or beast would be able to drive them away like they might have done to weaker races.

The first step to securing a new land was rather simple: Establish and fortify a stronghold that would serve as both defensive position and home for the marching force in question. The standard method employed by the Dark One's forces was normally to either claim an old ruined fortress or city that had been abandoned during the ebb and flow of the long war or to claim such a position from an enemy force and making it their own. These methods did have the benefit that it saved a lot of time and resources building such a position from scratch, while also providing some means of shelter and protection from counterattacks during the digging in phase... but that was clearly not an option here.

Stone (ideally enforced with metal) would have been the material of choice for constructing defensive works for the stronghold of Riverforge, but while both would likely be found in the hills and mountains of the area his caution about the dangers this new land might pose warned that it would take far longer then he was comfortable with waiting for the stronghold to be built from the ground up via solid stone. Thankfully, there was a viable alternative within ready reach. Wooden defenses and homes might not have been as solid as stone, but the resource was rich at hand and a wooden wall was better then no wall at all.

There was also the benefit that once they managed to get a lumber yard up and running to supply the foundation of Riverforge, that lumber could also be used in making some fresh, better constructed boats to replace the ram-shackled ones that had managed to survive the ocean crossing and were being used to fish... as well as the creation of wagons to aid in their mining efforts once they got it started. Hell, having some solid supports would make mining a hell of a lot easier in the long run as well.

His mind made up, Rukdug the Hunter turned away from where he had been gazing to go and track down some of his captains. Duties had to be assigned, orders had to be given... Even if it was made of pine, a stronghold required a lot of work to develop. Building a lumber yard and getting it operational would be the first step (with room to allow for expansions to allow the creation of pine tar and possibly turpentine if they could find copper nearby and the trees were right), with the first priority being the creation of a defense wall. After that the lumber could be used for whatever ends were required, but a solid defensive wall that would last long enough to be replaced by proper stonework was the first step.

Actions

C) Improve infrastructure and F) Improve resources/technology

First order of business? Develop a lumber yard to take advantage of the local pine trees as a proper resource. While using wood to construct the initial buildings of Riverforge so that the tribe has shelter and homes, the priority is a defensive wall and gates so that they are safe guarded from possible threats... at least until they can get stone mining and production up and running to create something more sturdy and permanent.

[CleanBreeze]

The Wanderers [Turn 1]

Nezonya, Nexzoniea, Nexonia!

Nexonia blinked at the realisation that someone was calling her. The pathfinder proverb was true, after spending years in the wild you can't remember your name, but it feels good to be out of the rain. Nexonia had spent 5 years in the wild. That was one more than was needed to qualify her as a veteran Pathfinder. She enjoyed the wild, perhaps more than acting as Pathfinder, but there were people to care for on this Wander.

She was passing two parents trying to restrain their youngest from running into the grassy field. "Leave him be, he'll come in when he's done" she shouted back . Released, the young man ran ,"its so easy a child could do it", "it's so easy a child could do it", "it's so easy a child could do it" he was chanting and then ran and grasping a stick begun writing things in the mud of which only he could understand. Poor poor yougling, struck with the fever. He dared inspiration in her game and, like the lighting must strike ground, too his inspiration must be allowed to strike, lest it build up.

It was early dawn and she came upon the crowd waiting outside the long house made from the largest catamaran. The druids had been quick to set up a garden in between the two upturned hills shielded from the worst of the wind. She had petitioned them to bless this long house and they were taking their sweet time.

After a while the druids came out, led by the most senior. Neave the master druid gave his signal for the other druids to dows the long house with their potions. Each taking more than 8 hours to prepare, and each doing a different part of the ceremony. When they were finished the sacred words were said in old tongue. Just then a sunburst shone golden light onto the long house and the potions shone in the sunlight with a golden glow. The crowd stood in awe, and all of a sudden it was over as quick as it had begun. Neave the druid uttered the last of the holy words in old tongue and turned to leave. Is that it? said Nexonia as they were turning. The druid stopped by the door and held out a hand, a new sprig of leaves was sticking out of the wood. "Give it time" he said in a strong and husky voice.

Meanwhile Hexia the huntress was stalking a Jack rabbit in the foothills. She had 4 already slung round her back making it hard to wield the short bow. The Jack danced it's way up towards the rushing stream passed some rocks and over. Clambering higher still Hexia peered over the rocks. The Jack jumped sailing over a clump. Then Hexia lowered her bow. That was not just a clump! That was a deer. A fresh kill from last night. Whatever killed it had scorged large claw Mark's in its flesh. Hexia could not tell what had killed it but knew others might be able to. Making a quick decision she about turned and made her way down to tell the others of what she had found.

[CleanBreeze]

Some of the smaller catamaran had laid anchor by the small natural harbour and a few had stayed aboard to keep ship. Only the largest had been hauled a shore on rollers and made into a long house.

The remaining few were transporting their passengers and belongings to the shore. Cife the magician was supervising his belongings, some covered in ornate fabrics that were part of his show. "Carefull now, that one contains the other half of a woman" he said pointing... it didn't hurt to do some self promoting. Just then he saw hed attracted the gaze of a small youngling waiting with her parents. He bent down on one knee in the stony beach. What's that I see? He reached behind the younglings ear and retrieved a small silvery kipper. Is that yours? The young girl grinned and shook her head. Well you'd better keep it just the same. The youngling took the fish eyes gleaming.

Actions

A) Improve food D) Improve culture

Make sure no belly goes without. And improve the culture of this tribe with the druid ceremony.

[AdorableSaucer]

The Hogtusk Tribe - Turn 1

Rog-mohog sat next to a heap of broken sticks open which laid a sad, mouldy cowhide. His unibrow hung low with annoyance over his small eyes and between his underbitten jaws his molars were making quick work of a dry, old slab of yesterday’s pork tah-tah. His teeth struck a particularly stubborn stretch of sinew and the ogre made a dry “pfft” with his lips before collecting the string in a ball of phlegm and spitting it out on the scalp of the knocked-out-cold Oogor lying bloody face down on the ground beside him.

“Y’know,” Rog-mohog mumbled to the unconscious, in-desperate-need-of-medical-aid Oogor, “you make for a terribull bloomin’, wossname, builda’. Don’t botha’ askin’ for your reward, ye git.” He got to his feet, planted an additional kick in the side of Oogor’s bruised rib cage and strolled down towards the village below. He had smelt it in the air: The fires of sacrifice had been lit at the foot of Big Rock. Rog-mohog had an offering to attend to.

The crude altar to the great Boar Spirit already had amassed a great gathering. All three clans were represented - wait, no, only two were. The chieftain stopped midway through the crowd, confusing the others in front of him who were very much used to the familiar sensation of Rog-mohog trampling down the unfortunate in his path. The chieftain squinted his eyes, staring hard out over the crowd and causing several sketchy-looking individuals to dive for cover behind their comrades.

“OI!” the chieftain suddenly boomed, inciting some fearful squeals. “Where’s the bloomin’ Ox clan at?!”

There was a collective shrug. From the altar came a frail voice, “whot he say?!” Rog-mohog turned to look upon the decrepit, feeble form of shaman Wololo whose torso seemed to inch closer to his feet with every passing day. The message was passed on through the crowd towards the elder, then repeated four times next to the elder’s ear before it finally reached its intended audience.

“Ooooooh, the Ox clan!” the shaman Wololo finally said and the crowd sighed in relief. “They’s out lookin’ for more, wossname, oxen.”

Chatter spread through the crowd like wildfire. The chieftain sent it running for the hills with a loud “HUUUUHN?!” followed by: “Why’s they goin’ out now?! Roight before a bloomin’ offerin’?!”

Wololo did his best to shrug. “They boss said they found some cows up norf. Wanted to get’um before they went off.”

Rog-mohog growled a groan and continued through the crowd towards the altar, satisfying the unfortunate before him by ending the uncanny pause in their suffering. Once at the altar, the chieftain beckoned in no particular direction and desperate pig squeals soon drowned out all other sounds. Rog-mohog’s wife, Porky, carried the boar-to-be-offered by one hind leg and handed it to her husband, offering him an airborne ‘mwah~~’ with her free hand. The chieftain took the pig, ignored the kiss and slammed the pig down on the altar with such force that the beast was knocked out cold, and probably severely broken. He then deposited it on the altar and nodded at the shaman. Wololo feebly nodded back and turned towards the altar with the revolution speed of the galaxy. He grabbed the shard sacrificial stone and raised it to the sky, shouting:

“OH, GREAT BOAR SPIRIT! We offa’ you this here piggy so that you can eat nice ‘n proppa’ and make sure we do it too. That a deal?!”

Wololo then poked feebly at the boarskin before an assistant came over and helped him cut into the heart. There was a pause, one in which most of the ogres liked to believe the spirit was answering the shaman in his mind or something similar. Statistically speaking, however, there was always those among them that was convinced the whole spirit shebang was just a scam to get them to give up a hog once a month. However, ever since Ub-lub the Herritik had invited the chieftains of old to a civilised debate about the flaws in their religion (chief among which was that they offered boar meat to a boar god), and subsequently met the convincing counter-argument known as “fyst, club ‘n deff”, few dared speak up about the matter. After enough time had passed, the shaman took another afternoon to turn back to the chieftain and offer him a toothless smile.

“The Boar Spirit’s happy to help,” the shaman Wololo assured. The chieftain nodded.

“Roight, what’s it told to do?”

The shaman tugged at the boar’s bloody heart inside the bloody carcass, and the assistant once more dutifully helped the elder out by ripping the heart out, cutting it into neat little pieces and offering them to Wololo. The elder took one and put it in his mouth. It was not as dramatic as the method of his youth, where every offering had been a tutorial in how to butcher one’s enemies in the most brutal of ways, but modern problems required modern solutions. He did his best to chew the meat to get all of that sweet spiritual knowledge out of it, but his dry gums would have more luck piercing stone than to chew apart raw, gooey boar meat. Eventually, he just swallowed and hummed fraily.

“I fhink…” he started. The ogres leaned in to listen. “I fhink the Boar Spirit wants us to build better pens for ‘um.”

Porky peeked out from behind Rog-mohog. “Whot pens?”

“‘Xactly,” Wololo confirmed.

Rog-mohog knew not to ignore the spirits’ commands - doing so wasn’t very smart, and it was a known truth among ogrekind that they weren’t particularly smart, or at least, they weren’t the smartest. So humble were they that they understood this - truly, they did. They were pretty high up there, naturally, but even ogres had to draw the line somewhere. Rog-mohog understood this perhaps best of all - that’s what made him the smartest.

Naturally, therefore, the only smart thing to do was to do as the Boar Spirit said!

“We build pens, then,” the chieftain commanded to the sound of a collective groan from the crowds.

“Why’s we gotta do thaaaaat?!” came a complaint from the back.

“Worked all week on me hut, I did, ‘n now we’s gotta made pens ‘n boggers,” came another.

“We get free lunch, roight?”

Rog-mohog growled and the complaints quieted down. When it came to ruling ogres, the general rule was that strength was the key to power, and strength comes in many shapes and forms. It wasn’t that Rog-mohog was particularly mighty; plenty of ogres outsized and outweighed him. Rog-mohog wasn’t necessarily particularly wealthy, either; he had a number of boars, yes, but his herd size paled in comparison to ogres like Crunch.

No, what Rog-mohog had in terms of legitimacy was a mind like his father’s. Therefore, none dared oppose him. Most ogres knew to punch and kick, but someone titled ‘the Brainy’ was bound to know a third attack - and who could defend against such a secret technique?

So sure, infighting was certainly common in the tribe, but only a small, teeny, tiny minority dared directly speak threats and challenge the big boss himself. Rog-mohog knew this well, and milked it for all it was worth.

“To answer all your queshuns,” the chieftain started and walked over to the first who had complained. It was a lady, from the goat clan judging from the sour stink of old milk and the horned ram skull dangling from a dry sinew necklace about her neck. She was a head taller than him, but shrunk to half the chieftain’s size as he approached. Rog-mohog stared her a few feet further down. Then, he grabbed her by the thick fur around her neck, destabilised her and used her own weight to toss her over his leg, sending her tumbling into a nearby tent, bowling down six others in the process. The chieftain kicked a cloud of dust in her direction and spat, “GET TO BLOOMIN’ WORK, YE LAZY GITS!”

None dared speak up, for the chieftain’s word formed a lid on the conversation so heavy that ‘up’ became a fictional direction. With hung heads, the ogres began to gather bone, sticks, tall grass, rocks - whatever could be used to made fences and walls. They begun to dig away at the surface of the steppe around their camp with some aid from the shovel-nosed pigs - it was necessary to keep sufficient mud for the pigs to wallow in when it got hot. Ogres went over to the nearby brooke running down the mountainside, gathered water in their hands, lost half of it on the way back, and dropped it on the exposed clay to create mud. They stomped and trampled the wet mix, and the boars rolled around in ecstacy.

The fences themselves were of shoddy quality, however, and even blind pigs could easily escape them. As it turned out, half the workforce had abandoned the project before it even started, leaving the other half to start it alone, which subsequently caused another quarter to leave out of sheer belief that their dwindled number would never ever finish the project - ever. Now Rog-mohog was annoyed - angry, even - and rounded up all the workers again. This next time, however, he divided them into work teams and gave one on each team a club each.

“Roight,” he told the clubbers as they admired their crude weapons. “I’s gunna give you a job now, aight. When the others start workin, you-- Crumpus, Crumpus! Pay attenshun!”

The ogre known as Crumpus stopped watching the neat little dung beetles on the ground and stood back up. “Sorry.”

The chieftain sighed. “Roight! When others start workin’, you keep an eye on ‘um. If they stop workin’, you smack ‘um ‘ard ‘n good. Got it?”

The ogres exchanged malicious grins and patted their palms with their clubs. The chieftain nodded in approval. “Good. You’s my taskmasters - someone do somefin’ bad at work, you smack ‘em ‘ard so they don’t do it again.”

“Roight!” the taskmasters yelled and stormed off towards the pens-in-production. Rog-mohog watched them with pride in his chest, then light disappointment as one of them already begun to hammer away at someone who actually had been doing their job, only that the job consisted of sitting still to tie sinews to the bone fences.

Oh, well, at least the work was moving along smoothly.

Actions!

X) Offer a sacrifice to the Boar Spirit for guidance. Among other things, the spirit tells them to build pig pens.
A) Improve food: The Ox clan completely ignored the sacrifice to the Boar Spirit and went north to tame some oxen, much to the disapproval of the chieftain.
C+X) Improve infrastructure: Start building pig pens. Fail miserably because ogres are terrible at focusing on things for very long. Start over again by introducing a taskmaster force to police those who take break. ???. Profit.

[Lauder]

Bukradul

^{Turn 1}

The tribe was busy, their makeshift huts sprawling across the landscape in a shanty, disorganized fashion as the sun dawned over an already awakened and contemplating Guthug. It was clear that they could sustain themselves on the food they hunted, but for how long was a question that he did not have the answer for, especially if the tribe was to grow into this rough land. As he leaned to pick up a rock, Guthug inspected it before the sunrise brought light into his eyes, the chieftain tossed the rock up, allowing to fall back down and land in his hand before repeating the process of tossing and catching. The shamans had told him that they needed to connect with the local nature in order to thrive, in order for the gods to grace them with bountiful hunts and harvest, should they find somewhere to plant crop in the rocky place they now called home.

Guthug grunted as he crushed the pebble in his hand, after a moment the leader waited for the wind the grace him with a touch before throwing the remnants of the rock into the air.

"Akrosh guide me," he said as the debris took flight, moving inland and towards the great beasts that feasted on the land and the carnivores that hunted them. Guthug could only once more think to himself before he made his way back to his own hut, gathering a spear made of wood and stone, along with a horn to summon the shamans to his aid. With his supplies gathered, Guthug made his way to the edge of the tribe's outskirts and blew into the horn, its deep and booming sound moving across the land and the tribe to summon those elder shamans to his location. While he waited, Guthug stabbed the spear into the ground and knelt before it allowing himself to think more on what task he wished to chase and which animal the tribe would first associate itself with. This was no easy matter to decide as whichever animal they chose would grant them only a specific boon from the gods that they wished to commune with.

The mighty wolf, the first choice and the first tamed by Akrosh, it was these mighty beasts that allowed the ancestors to thrive and learn that working as one, as a pack, meant success. It was the wolf that loyally served, the wolf that die for its kin, the wolf that was the hallmark of a leader as an alpha to guide the tribe down a righteous path. Guthug knew Akrosh would approve of this choice, but with all the versatility and power that the wolf had made it arrogant, a sin they could not afford to plague themselves with lest they wish to see the ire of the ancestors and the gods. Perhaps one of the other choices would please the ancestors more.

The boar, the second chosen but the last to be tamed by Akrosh, a savage beast that proved to be a threat even to an orc in his prime with tusks easily bigger than their own. They were ruthless, powerful, and ever vigilant on what it would next eat, whether that choice be a natural found herb or a carcass that it sought a right to devour. Their tenacity would prove to show the tribe's will to survive in any place they set their mind to, willing to do what they must to survive and to defend itself from whatever is a threat. However, the boar was aggressive and dangerous, it would drive away potential animals to be tamed and brought into the tribal fold and it would make any native tribe more cautious and skeptical of their intentions in this new land. Then the last choice.

The graceful and cunning hawk, the third to be tamed by Akrosh but the first chosen by both Orzg and Mork, able to spot potential prey and able to grasp a potential meal with talons of iron. It would be the hawk that would think and strike without even being seen by its prey, able to out think even the wolf and match the tenacity of the boar should it be desperate. Their meaning to the tribe would be one based on traps and to travel great distances, nothing would stop them from taking flight. However, the hawk distanced itself and made it unknown to those who sought to befriend it, it would make the tribe more cautious and more skeptical of even the best of omens. No doubt, it would make the orcs seem strange and wild to even the noblest of people.

Guthug could smell the burning of herbs, the shamans had arrived.

"Guthug the Damned, what have you summoned we few for?" a shaman spoke.

"I seek to invoke the Rite of the Land so that I may bring the first beast to us, to define our path so long as I may live," Guthug answered, his voice stern and his knelt form unmoving. He knew that a crowd had gathered, voices whispered behind the shamans as the placed the burning herbs behind the chieftain before pushing the staffs into the back of him.

"The Rite of the Land may only be invoked once, the beast you chose will be the mark of the Bukradul for as long as you shall live. But the gods must know the choice you make so that they may bestow the proper blessing onto us," the shamans said in unison.

Guthug moved to stand, feeling the staffs being pushed deeper as they urged him to quickly make a choice and end the ritual, but he had hardly the time to deliberate on which animal to chose. The wood bored into him and he remained silent, the people began to speak in their hushed voices as they were curious as to why their leader was taking so long to chose which of the numerous sacred animals. Eventually their whispers began to grow, talk and then a debate. After another moment, Guthug raised his hands into the air, silencing the crowd before he spoke, "I chose the elk!"

The shamans retracted their staffs.

"The Second Chosen and tamed by Akrosh, for its power and strength through times of trial, as well as the protection of a herd," Guthug continued, retrieving his spear form the ground.

"The let it be known, Guthug the Damned, that you have chosen the graceful and noble elk. You may not return to the tribe until you have tamed a mighty stag while wearing the skin of one of its herd. Let Akrosh guide your hand, and may your hunt bear bountiful harvest." The shamans said in unison, allowing the chieftain to sprint into the wilderness to claim the herd as his own.

actions

A) / D) Guthug takes to wilderness to tame an Elk stag and his herd, or at least a portion of it, to gain the favor of the gods and bring in food for the tribe to slaughter to sustain themselves and complete a portion of the circle of life.

[Schylerwalker]

The Kingdom of Brightland, Brightwater

"Admiral!" Forthwine turned. The sky was dark, the waves grey with ash. Occasionally a burst of solar sorcery or the flash of a ship's battery illuminated the wasted hellscape. Dozens of vessels were locked in grim, desperate combat. It was difficult to tell who belonged to which side, or indeed, if any sides were to be had. Armored warriors and otherworldly creatures swarmed the decks and rigging. Behind this bleak tapestry, Thronehold burned. "Admiral!" He kept turning. He felt drunk. In one fist was a saber drenched in blood. In the other was the standard of Empire, somewhat diminished as its holdings rose up in open defiance of the Crown. Standing at the bow of his flagship was his wife. What? That was impossible. Beatan should be safe at home in their country estate, far from the fighting. Flag and blade dropped to the deck. He reached out his hand... "ADMIRAL!!!" His eyes opened.

Forthwine Bannammar listened to the sounds of Brightwater. The river rushed past, ropes creaked, cookfires crackled. With the ease of long practice, he rolled out of his hammock, bare feet landing on dry rushes. The hammocks were one of the few things they'd been able to salvage from their ships. Most of the settlers had taken to regular sleeping bags or bedrolls. But Forthwine had practically grown up being swayed to sleep in a hammock. Even if there was no gently moving deck beneath him. Standing nearby was Thatlas, his first mate. Former first mate? A spare man, lean, bald and bony, his face a gruesome map of pockmarks, burns, and other old scars. Normally stoic, he looked concerned.

"You spoke in your sleep, sir," he said, blunt as always. Forthwine moved slowly over to a basin of water and began his morning toilet, saying nothing. Thatlas hesitated, watching his captain. His Lord-Protector. Forthwine washed, shaved, and brushed his hair and beard with the meager supplies available, and then dressed in hose, tunic, and jerkin. After a moment, Thatlas moved to help him pull on and lace his knee-length boots and buckle on his sword belt. The sword was unfamiliar to Forthwine, awkward in his hand. A heavy cutlass, taken off some corsair on the Sorrows. His own saber had been lost at Crown Bay. His eyes were distant, remembering...

"The rest of the council has been waiting. Your overslept." Short, to the point of being a trifle rude. Forthwine glanced over with some concern. He was no longer a young man, his auburn beard and shaggy mane of hair going grey at the ends. His face was worn and tanned, lines of worry and doubt creasing his broad forehead and square jaw. Grey-blue eyes surveyed their surroundings with calm determination. "Have a care, Thatlas," he said, his voice a soft rumble. "It will not do for the people to hear you address me thus." Thatlas rolled his eyes in response, leading the way. They wove through the muddy lanes and alleys of Brightwater. The buildings were for the most part assembled from the broken down ships of the refugee fleet, though by time and necessity, local timber and stone had been slowly added to the construction. Canvas served as awning, ship's rigging for clotheslines, windows from captains' quarters decorating their one chapel. Children ran past or squatted in the mud. Mothers quickly pulled them aside, curtsying as the Lord-Protector strode past, their eyes turned down. In fear. Shame. Guilt. Hope.

Forthwine and Thatlas entered a pavilion sewn from canvas and old battle-standards, a confusing fusion of vivid iconography and drab practicality. Inside was the rest of Forthwine's "council." Loegaire slumped by the entrance, sweating through his heavy yellow and red robes. He mopped a ragged kerchief against his gleaming pate, watery eyes flicking across the tent's occupants. Old Sir Chann de Stroy stood rigidly to attention opposite from him, torn surcoat over rusty mail. His long mustaches drooped over a face as solemn as a basset hound's. Seated at the camp table were a man and woman, as opposite as night and day. One had once been immensely fat, but the long voyage had been particularly hard on him. Now his skin hung from his frame in loose folds, his eyes were great yellowed disks above black bags, and his hands never seemed to stop shaking slightly. But he was kind, and wise, always with a smile and a treat or a toy for the children. Opposite him was a woman shaped like a steel cord, her hair cropped short like a boy's. She was all hard edges and sharp looks, her one eye dark and untrusting; the other was covered by a simple leather patch.

"Denys. Mallory." They began to rise, Denys with stiff jerks and quiet grunts, Mallory almost before Forthwine had finished speaking. "Be seated, I bid you," he said gruffly. Denys relaxed with a relieved sigh, Mallory eased back in to the camp chair in a stiff, awkward position. The Lord-Protector stood at the head of the table, arms folded before him. "My wise councilors and trusted companions. I have assembled you, the best that Brightland has to offer--" (There was a muffled snort from Thatlas) "--in this, our most dire hour. Few of us yet remain, here, on the edge of the world. But Aureth provides." "Aureth provides," the assemble echoed, to varying degrees of enthusiasm and piety. "By the Grace of the Goddess, much work is ahead of us." He gestured to Thatlas, who reluctantly stepped forward. He spread out a crude blueprint on the table.

"Here, and here, is where we'll begin the digging..." Thatlas muttered, pointing at various points up and down the river. "The dam'll go down upstream, above the bend. This local wood's not as sturdy as what we're used to, but it's more flexible. We've not found anything close to yew, but..." Mallory nodded, her face guarded. "Those curious deer might provide useful material for recurve bows. In time. And those horses are some of the finest stock I've ever seen. We'll have knights in a generation, Goddess willing." Chann shook his head, slowly, sadly. "Fine horses do nay make knights. Courage, loyalty, a noble heart..." That, and mail, swords, and lances. Which we are low on as well, to be sure. Forthwine turned his head, eyeing Loegaire and Denys. "Something troubles you, my lords?" The priest wrung his hands. "Are food stores are critical, your grace. Many will starve if these plans are not completed before the harvest..." Forthwine nodded, his mouth set in a sad line, but his words were harsh. "There are berries, birds, and rodents. Let them bring slings and snares to the fields. If the work is not complete, we will all starve come the next few years."

Denys and Loegaire shared a look, but did not argue. Thatlas nodded, as if that settled the matter, and rolled up the charts. "I'll assign a work detail, yer lordship," he said, with begrudging courtesy, and then hurried away. Mallory followed like a shadow, not meeting the Lord-Protector's gaze. Forthwine watched them go, wondering if he was making the right decision. Only the Goddess could tell him, and she wasn't talking. Had Aureth finally forsaken her chosen people?

Thatlas, who was the council's "Steward", set about his assignment swiftly. He gathered as many able-bodied workers as the settlement could spare and set them to the task of digging irrigation ditches and channels from the river in to the fields, where a vast network of farms would be plowed and tilled for the generations to come. Upstream, the river would be partially dammed, to begin creating a reservoir for fish and a floodplain to further nourish the farmland. The dam would also serve as a mighty bridge, in time, but such a construction could take years to fully complete; the irrigation ditches were the primary concern. To feed the workers and the rest of the works in the meantime, foraging parties were sent out with sacks, slings, and crude traps. They avoided the savanna for the most part, sticking to the more gentle plains in search of berries, rabbits, and the like.

Actions

A: In the short term, forage the local area for food, and irrigate the delta.
C: In the log term, begin construction of a series of canals and dykes to create a fertile floodplain, complete with dam overlooking the settlement.

[Cyclone]

Angry Birds

There was a flash, a deafening boom, and then a wave of heat. They struck Glough in that order, and for a few moments the cherry-red flames of that explosion (which had been far too close for comfort!) consumed the small shadow that the gnome’s similarly diminutive form had been casting in the evening sun. But the plan had worked!

From out of the trees-turned-splinters there flew dozens of birds, some in the form of pulverized and burnt meat, others as smoking corpses propelled by the blast, and a lucky few as panicked survivors flapping away as best they could after being disorientated by the sudden explosion of their wretched homes and all their vile co-conspirators.

Glough suppressed a chuckle as he took aim with a pneumatic rifle and fired; hilarious as it was to think of the imminent doom of his enemies, laughter was known to cause shaking of the hands and reduce weapon accuracy by approximately 23.33 (repeating, of course) percent, an empirical figure that the Royal Army had invested many studies and a substantial amount of tax dollars in order to derive. Now it was military doctrine!

As Director Glough pulled the trigger, cartridge of compressed air was breached and the pressure used to propel a dart; the tiny projectile was nonetheless deadly, as one of the fleeing birds found out. Other gnomish rifleman had taken up position around the grove of trees and similarly fired. They quickly reloaded and fired again, exterminating and driving off the last of the surviving birds that had been lurking in that cluster of trees.

“Delfus, prepare for the next assault. We press the attack until dusk!” the Director proclaimed, much to the dismay of a rather nervous officer.

“Director, I’m afraid that er, won’t be possible-“

Glough stormed over to his subordinate before he could get out another word, and then he roared, spittle flying from his mouth, “WHAT?!”

Delfus took a moment to breathe in and steady himself, for he was a senior officer and important party member, not some stammering fool. He stood in the position of attention and reported, “That was the last of the blasting powder and air cartridges. No more have been recovered, and we think very little of the arsenal was ever successfully jettisoned and parachuted, making further search efforts unlikely to bear any metaphorical fruits of the sweet sort!”

Glough burled his fists as his face changed in color to match his iconic hat. “Have the engineers improvise some weapons in the meantime,” he ordered. “We’re going to continue extermination efforts. We shall not rest so long as enemy saboteurs stalk these woods and mountains! This may be a wretched wasteland, but it’s my, I mean our wretched wasteland and temporary home, so we’re going to pry it out of the cold and dead beaks of every last evil bird...”

The Director’s ravings continued for some time, circling round and round to his newfound irrational hatred for the birds. Delfus, for his part, was hardly listening. Instead he was wondering how he would continue spinning this to make the plan sound sane. To detonate those dozen barrels of blasting powder beneath a couple of trees and then exhaust every bit of precious cartridges that remained for their pneumatic weapons? Just routine quality assurance checks, of course. Killing all the birds? Just hunting to brush up on the food stores. But how would he justify killing all of the birds in ten miles?

Pah, that was a problem for tomorrow. More immediate was the concern of how they’d “improvise” to continue the Director’s plans and meet the daily
bird-kill quota that he’d imposed upon the party. Delfus endeavored to delegate that problem unto Engineer Bronzeburn. If anybody could do it, it would be him because his unorthodox thinking and penchant for using odd materials in his inventions had already left the gnome branded a madman. But that was just as well, because surely that meant that he would be able to create some sort of deadly contraption out of the available materials, there was plenty of twigs and grass and bird corpses to work with. If the mad genius could make something work, he stood to rise quite high in the party’s ranks.

And then of course, Delfus had to keep track of the ongoing efforts to rally any remaining stragglers, and further establish the base camp here at the crash site, and salvage whatever could be found amidst the Red January’s horrid wreckage...there was also the manner of the strange report of something having been seem watching them. Glough himself claimed to have seen it, but so worried was he about the birds’ presence that he’d not bothered to worry much.

Summary

A Improve Food: Glough is ordering the extermination of all nearby birds in retaliation for their assault upon the Red January. What birds aren’t totally blown up or incinerated are to be eaten.

B Improve Military Technology: The gnomes had an airship with lightning cannons and gunpowder and pneumatic rifles, but now they have lost or squandered all of those potent advantages and are left with nothing. An ‘Engineer Bronzeburn’ is left to pick up the pieces and try to develop some sort of weapon, so that the bird-killing can continue in full force and the gnomes can remain capable of defending party interests. Bronzeburn has a promotion on the table if he can pull this off!

Glough pays little heed to the strange figure that he saw, and his officer Delfus is left to oversee the efforts of the four groups from last post while Glough takes charge of the bird genocide.

[Pirate]

The Southern Expedition

Other/Explore

Vas-Ramman smiled as a kneeling young follower delivered the news. To hunt slaves and beasts was a fine passtime, to hunt the exotic was an opportunity that could not be passed up. He was a rough, broad and powerful elf, come on the expedition to bring honor and glory to his family and himself through feat of arms. Let Mondros and his lessers handle the dull work in the outpost. "Shamesh, gather the men. We're going on a hunt!". The follower rose and left without a word and the camp soon came to life with slaves and retainers hurrying to fulfil their master's wishes. They were headed to discover the source of the tracks that had been found and intent on bringing back game. Perhaps they'd get a better understanding of their surroundings in the process.

[Chenzor]

Turn 2

The Map

The Mustaqilun Tribe

@Bright_Ops

Turn 2

”Boss…” scout Gorkun said, having walked up behind Rukdug while he was inspecting construction efforts on the lumber yard. Rukdug spun around, not liking someone having snuck up on him while he was deep in thought. With a scowl, he awaited whatever news was worthy of bothering him about. ”I followed the stream up north, as the huntmaster ordered. He told me to report of my findings directly to you.” Gorkun continued, seemingly not being affected by his chieftain’s menacing glare. This was unorthodox. What could be so important that the huntmaster told his scout to report directly to the chieftain? ”Speak, then.” Rukdug ordered. ”I saw a wall, chieftain. First I thought it was just peculiarly shaped stone, for they truly were huge boulders and covered with moss and shrubbery, but then…” his eyes widened as he retold his experiences. ”A huge wall! Ruins of a massive gate or fortress or… Something! I cannot tell what could have built it, for it seems to have been abandoned for… Well, forever! There are statues, I think, but they’re so covered in moss it’s hard to tell. Either way, the gate is still intact and barricaded with boulders and logs, as if to keep the doors from opening outward.”
A fortress. Perhaps this land wasn’t unsettled after all. Although they were ruins. ”A gate and a wall, you say. What else?” Rukdug demanded. ”Nothing, chieftain. The gate leads into the mountain. The fortress is probably dug into the mountainwall from what I can tell…”
A massive fortress dug into the mountain… Orcs liked to refortify old ruins, and perhaps it would serve as a future stronghold, but for now Riverforge had to be fortified itself before they could move anywhere unless they just packed up and left blindly. Rukdug wasn’t stupid, though. Walking into a subterranean fortress with no prior exploration was idiocy.

The Ruined Entrance

But then again, all hunters were busy gathering food. Perhaps Gorkun could be sent back into the area to attempt to find a way in or to determine the ruins’ origins. Would he send a group of scouts north to investigate the ruins, or would he send only Gorkun? Or even the huntmaster and all his best pathfinders? Or perhaps… It would be best to not disturb that which was clearly sealed deliberately.

A) Explore the ruins further.
B) Leave it alone for now.

The lumber yard was quickly set up and woodcutters used what tools they could muster to get to work. While the influx of timber was a bit slow for now, it wasn’t anything less than what Rukdug had expected.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1040
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 60% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources:

• Lumber

Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +4% Base: 3%. +1% from race traits. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Wanderers Tribe

@CleanBreeze

Turn 2

Hunters stalked the forests, hunting prey to feed the tribe. For now, they could make do, but still before they began raising crops they would just have to stick to a diet of foraging and hunting. However it was clear that they weren’t the only ones hunting the wildlife in the area. The deeper the hunters ventured into the western forest, the more they could hear the howls of wolves at night.

”Uh… Pathfinder?” a young huntress came up to Nexonia. ”We’ve begun noticing the forest grow darker. Only this week I’ve come across several dead trees, and entire grove of overgrown white moss across dead trees and trunks.” she said nervously, uncertain of how to address the leader of her tribe. Indeed, Nexonia already knew of this. She had seen it herself when she was out in the wilds… But more and more hunters had started to report this to her. It seemed they all shared a concern that the forest is unwell… Nexonia blinked, seeing the look of the huntress. ”What else?” Nexonia asked, seeing the reluctance in her eyes.
The huntress cleared her throat. ”I was curious, so I entered the grove… I found this.” she said, holding up a flower. It was a single picked stalk of a thick green, ragged and torn petals spiralling outwards in blue and white. It smelled gentle and sweet and moved only slightly in the breeze.

The Flower

”I couldn’t resist picking it.” she huntress continued. ”I’m no druid, but I can tell there’s something special about this flower. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
She handed the flower over to Nexonia, who gently held it in her hands. To her, it seemed to glisten and glow and glitter and sparkle. It was an inspiring sight, filling her with love and hope for the future. Obviously it had some sort of properties… Magical perhaps? She couldn’t tell, but she agreed there was something special about it. ”It was good of you to bring this to me. I will ask the druids at once.” she said, nodding to the huntress.

Once at the tent that served as the druid’s spirit lodge, Nexonia didn’t bother with curtesy such as announcing her presence before entering or indeed even asking permission. She stepped into the tent, absentmindedly moving the cloth of the opening aside. Looking around the abode, the tent was quite large on the inside, with a few of the druids sitting in the middle, discussing something. They were mostly facing away from the entrance, and as such didn’t notice the Pathfinder as she came in. She overheard their discussion.
”Well what about it? It’s a new land, surely it will take some time.” said one of them. ”We have tried, and weeks ago we performed our most powerful ritual of communion – the land does not answer. There’s something wrong, it must be.” said another. A third intervened, leaning forward as he sat. ”Are you certain you didn’t just perform it wrong? I’m not questioning your knowledge of our rites of course, but surely there must have been a mistake. The ritual of communion has never been unheeded before.” he said. The second scoffed. ”Of course I performed it right. You may not question my knowledge but nonetheless you offend me.”
The fourth and final druid, the eldest among them, cleared his throat in an angry manner. The rest fell silent. ”Swallow your pride. You said it yourself, the ritual did not work. Something must be missing. But we can discuss it later, we have a visitor…” said the elder, looking at Nexonia, standing near the opening of the tent. The others turned their heads to look at her. ”How can we help you, Pathfinder?” said the eldest.
”One of the huntresses found this while exploring the woods to the west.” she said simply, holding the flower in her hand. As she beheld it, she could almost hear a pleasant hum in her head, as if the flower was singing.
The druids stared at the flower, seemingly surprised. Nexonia stepped forward and sat down among them, giving them a closer look. None of them said anything. They did not touch it either, they only observed it with curiosity and perhaps a bit of awe. Could they hear the hum too?
”This is… Where was this found?” said the elder. ”In a forlorn grove, deep in the woods. My huntress said the trees around the grove were dead or dying, covered in moss but still the thicket let not a single ray of light through.

The flower has some sort of magical property, that is for sure. The druids think they can use it to establish a bond with the lands here, seeing as their efforts thus far has been for naught. As they continue their work, you may name the flower as you wish.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1133
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +3% Base: 3%. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

Bukradul

@Lauder

Turn 2

The woods were neverending. Trees of different sizes stretched into the skies so far and thick that Guthug could not see the sun some days. Occasionally he came across an area where the trees had lost their greenery and turned into gray husks. Perhaps some disease culled the massive forestation, to keep it in check in nature’s own way. During the days, small creatures and birds and insects of many different sorts were his only companions. When the sun started to set, he could hear the rustling of the larger creatures daring to venture outward in the diminishing light. He had seen a few deer and elk, but had yet failed to locate their herds. He kept his belly full with hunting the various wildlife around him, big or small.
When dusk finally came, the howling of wolves begun. They were seemingly all around him, prowling the forest. There! An elk! Guthug got low, silently moving through the underbrush. It was a female. If he followed it, he could find the larger herd. The females didn’t venture far from the others. It perked it’s ears up, looking in his direction. Stopping dead in his tracks, he knew all he had to do was be patient and the creature wouldn’t know he was there. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. Just as he thought the female would resume obliviousness, a twig snapped somewhere further away. A large snap followed by several cracks and whips startled the elk, and she ran off into the forest. Guthug couldn’t follow her in this terrain, but he made an effort to see which direction she headed. Whatever made that twig snap must’ve been big. Unless it was just an old branch falling off from it’s own weight. There were plenty of dead trees here, after all.

Lurking forward in a cautious manner, Guthug investigated the sound. As he delved deeper through the rough terrain, it seemed like the branches of bushes and ferns tried to keep him from continuing. They grew thicker and more irritating, but finally he managed to brush them out of his face to find nothing in front of him. Nothing at all. He stood in an empty grove, surrounded by grey husks of incredibly large and thick trees. They bent over the sky, despite being only skeletal managing to block out the light of the setting sun and the glowing moon. An earie silence fell over him.
Another snap of a twig behind him forced him to attention. He spun around, spear in hand, ready to defend himself from whatever creature came upon him. There stood a huge, black bear on two feet, a cloth around its waist and a bow on its back. This was no bear, Guthug thought. This creature is sentient and humanoid. It growled and glowered at him as he raised his spear, pointed at this bear-man… The two locked eyes and slowly stepped sideways, rounding each other and sizing each other up. This bear-man was easily twice the size of Guthug, so he knew his only advantage was his spear. The bear-man had only his thick bow, and they were at the exact distance where using it would be pointless. Snarling, the bear-man stopped in his tracks, facing Guthug straight. This is it… Guthug thought. He is readying himself to attack.
But he did not. Instead, the sound of rustling forced Guthug to avert his gaze to the side. From the thicket emerged another bear-man. And another. And another..! There were four of them now, all of black or dark-brown fur. The surrounded Guthug and eyed him cautiously, showing their teeth and claws. The others were dressed and armed in the same fashion as the first, with simple loincloths or leather straps and a bow with a quiver of arrows on their backs. Yet, they did not attack…

The Bearmen

What will Guthug do?

A) Escape! Surely his lesser size would give him an advantage in escaping through the thick forest. Perhaps he could slip away out of harms way.
B) Attack! If he can wound one of them perhaps he can put himself in a better position to ward the rest of them off with his spear.
C) Attempt to reason with them. They are humanoid, standing on two legs and obviously intelligent enough to make tools and weaponry for themselves. Perhaps they can be reasoned with?
D) Do nothing. Say nothing. Let the creatures decide what to do. He would react accordingly, with Akrosh as his witness he would emerge unscathed.

Meanwhile, back home in Bukradul, the orcs worried. Their lives continued and the could make do without their chieftain for a while, for they are an independent sort, but if he fails in his duties the rite of the land will be deemed a failure and without the blessing of the Gods they would surely perish. Guthug had been gone for days now. It was of course customary to not return until the one undertaking the rite has succeeded in his task, and claiming an entire herd of elk was no easy task, but still it was hard not to worry.
The hunters had managed to steer clear of the wolves that howled in the night. So far, they did not have to compete directly with the other predators of the area for food… But until Guthug returned, the tribe had no herd of their own.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1040
Livestock: –
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 60% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +4% Base: 3%. +1% from race traits. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Hogtusk Tribe

@AdorableSaucer

Turn 2

Any sort of peacekeeping effort in an ogre tribe was seemed as a meaningless undertaking if you ask any human scholar with expertise on the subject. Ogres are naturally inclined to fight each other as they revolve around survival of the fittest where the strongest is “king”. So if anyone told these scholars that the Hogtusk Tribe had actually managed to start a policing-force motivated by other things than to fight with each other, most would scoff and laugh. Yet again, the Hogtusk Tribe do what many say is not possible.

By motivating the taskmasters to hit -other- ogres in stead of each other, they manage to somewhat keep to their assigned task of motivating the builders. With minor mistakes and a few extra bonks on the noggin for some, the Ogres manage to set up pens for their pigs in record time. The taskmasters are happy by just having someone to hit once in a while, and the workers are motivated and kept in their place by being hit. It was a win-win for all the chieftain was concerned. The Boar spirit would indubitably be proud to see what the ogres had accomplished. But with their building project done and the pigs now with a proper enclosure, many of the builders wanted to move on to the next thing. ”What now, boss?” some of them had said. The taskmasters too, for that matter. They wanted to keep hitting other Ogres for the good of the tribe, so with no ordered task to complete they would just randomly go about and bonk other ogres on the noggin for not seemingly working hard enough. Maybe this whole thing was both good and bad…

Not long did Rog-mohog have to ponder about it however before the Ox clan returned. They had a few cows with them, and even a bull! It was a really feisty one though. As soon as they became visible in the distance, Rog-mohog could see the big bull knock over ogres in rage. They had it pinned with makeshift ropes and some even tried to hold it down, but they constantly had to fight to keep the thing moving. The cows were a little stressed out but mostly followed along wherever the bull went. All in all, once they returned to Big Rock the tribe had 1 new bull and 5 new cows to add to their herd… Though new pens for these ones would probably be needed too, for the bull seemed to particularly dislike being restrained.

”Uh, boss.” a voice came from behind Rog-mohog. He turned around, but saw no one. ”Whut? Who’s playin’ me a foolin’?” he demanded. ”Down ‘ere, boss.” the voice said again. Rog-mohog looked down, and there stood the smallest adult ogre he had ever seen. He had the getup of a scout, naturally. ”I ventured west ‘n I found this.” the tiny ogre said, and held up a wooden stick with a metal rod on it. It looked hand-made, but Rog-mohog had no idea what it was. There was a hole at the end of the metal pipe, and the wooden part had a small lever sticking out of it. Pulling it made the thing go “click”. There was also some strange marking on it with a symbol that looked… Ugly. Maybe it was a letter or something from one of the lesser races. ”Well… Whut is it?” Rog-mohog asked, furling his unibrow into a frown. ”I dunnos boss. But I found it next to sum debris, an’ I saw lots of smoke comin’ from the mountains in the distance. I travelled really far, though, so I’m tired now. We gots any food? Pig spirit bless us yet?” the scout said, looking around, seemingly not caring at all about the thing he had found. ”Not jus’ yet, magget.” Rog-mohog said, angrily. ”What debris? What smoke?”
The scout shrugged. ”I dunnos, boss. Debris were like… Wood. Pieces of charred metal and wood. They led to the mountains where the smoke was, no idea what the smoke’s about though.” he scratched his double-chin. Rog-mohog sighed and let him go. He had to figure out what this stick thing was, or at least who made it. This was obviously the sign of civilization nearby… His boys could use some fun if they decided to go raiding.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 927
Livestock: 40 pigs, 26 goats 20 cows (1 bull).
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +3% Base: 3%. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

The Red Cap Junta

@Cyclone

Turn 2

As the last of the blasting powder was used up to kill birds and their habitats, and so too the last of the cartridges for the rifles, the gnomes had to resort to more primitive means to “wage war”. Some had taken an equally sane level of hatred for the birds as their director, and fashioned slings of wood and whatever sturdy vine they could find. Others had begun some sort of guerrilla warfare tactic of sneaking up on birds when they (rarely) descended to the ground. Seeing as the mountains and vegetation provided plenty of different habitats for birds large and small, this brought not only a way to sate the gnomes’ vengeance (for now) but also an influx of food. The gnomes got quite the taste for cooking and eating birds of different sorts, with the rarest birds making the most extravagant meals. Some even fancied themselves chefs, collecting herbs and other ingredients to enhance the flavours. Bronzeburn was not one for extravagant taste, however. He had little care of the birds, all he wanted was to master his craft. He lived and would probably die for his inventions, whatever they may be. His ancestor was the gnome who had first came upon the idea of pneumatic rifles… Or so he says. Gnomes didn’t really keep records of things such as lineages and who did what, unless it was actually important. In this case, who made the rifles was unimportant, the important part was how to make them. Nobody knew whose signature the original blueprints carried, but Bronzeburn claimed it was his ancestor’s symbol of a burning ingot with a cog. He was proud of himself and his heritage, and when the director tasked him with finding new means of defending themselves (and kill birds, appearantly), Bronzeburn would aim for nothing less than perfection. He was an expert artificier, engineer, and smith. Few had mastered as many crafts as he. No wonder he had been given this monumental, if undescript, task.

For days he locked himself away, trying to come up with a masterpeace worthy of his people and heritage. Not until he was out of parchment did he realize he would have to approach this from a different angle. When he finally ventured out of his makeshift dwelling, the “village” had grown around him. Several new dwellings had been erected, and a perimeter begun to take shape at the outskirts of the settlement. His first pitstop was … Well, he needed a bit of food, so he stopped by the storage and got himself a birdwing to snack on. Next, he made the short walk down to the woodworkers. ”I need something of you.” he said as soon as he saw the overseer of operations. He didn’t even bother with hello. ”What? Oh, it’s you. What do you want, Bronzeburn?” said the overseer absentmindedly. He was busy recording the stock of timber and what kinds they had managed to haul up the hill to the settlement. He kept his gaze focused on his list. ”I need to borrow your finest woodworkers for… Hm… A week.” said Bronzeburn, folding his arms and tapping his foot in irritation of the overseer’s lack of interest. The overseer tossed him a glance with a raised brow. ”What for? We’re busy at work. Houses have to be made, a perimeter barricade, tools… I can’t spare a gnome, no less my best. What do you need him for anyway?”
Bronzeburn sighed. He was too important for this, his task too monumental to waste time arguing. ”The director has given me the task of providing us with a new weapon.” he explained, annoyed. ”Or would you rather I explained to him I cannot perform my charge because the overseer of woodworking denied me?”
The overseer grimaced in discomfort. ”Fine. I’ll send Treecog to you. But I tell you, we’re stretched thin on manpower and resources as it is. Whatever you’ll have him do, he’ll need quality timber. What we haven’t blown up already, we’re using for housing. I suggest you convince Director Glough to commit more manpower to the lumber yard.”

At first, Bronzeburn had scoffed, but as Treecog came to join him in his “workshop”, he found respect for the expert woodworker. Treecog too said the same thing – without quality timber there was little he could do. The trees around here were too few and of too average a quality. They could make for good lodging and for the perimeter wall, but Bronzeburn’s machinations required more than simple wood. He needed the strongest, most flexible…

”Director!” a frantic shout came from the other end of the camp. ”What now?” he said to himself, forcing his attention away from his next bird-slaying scheme. ”Visitors! Visitors from the mountains!” the gnomish scout said before he had had even come into talking-distance. This certainly peaked Glough’s interest. Even Bronzeburn peeked his head out of his workshop at the noise. Before Glough new it, a group of twelve dwarves entered the camp. They walked in a column in three lines, armor-clad warriors in the front with shield and spear in hand, and cloaked rangers in the back with crossbows and handaxes. In the middle, two civilizans held their heads high. The column moved as a unit up until the entrance of the settlement perimeter. The warriors parted to make way for one of the civilians, a glamorously clad dwarf in robes who stepped forward. ”Greetings, gnomes of unknown origins.” he started, trying to sound diplomatic but obviously not really giving a crap. ”I would address the leader in charge.”
They stood there, at the outskirts of the settlement, waiting for a reply.

Glough had been watching, and noticed only that all of them had long, white beards. Wether they seemed old or young, their hair- and beardcolor were all ranging from white to grey.

Would director Glough greet the dwarves, or drive them off?

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 505
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 10% of adult population.
Food level: Low (Improving)
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +1% Base: 2%. +-0% from morale. -1% from food level.
Morale: 75%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

Kingdom of Brightland

@Schylerwalker

Turn 2

The people of Brightland are no strangers to hard times, rough tides and farming. By sheer force of will and hard work, foraging the surrounding area would not be an issue for now. Hunters could feed the population and the workers while they readied the grounds surrounding their settlement into fields to be farmed. Despite the feeling of Aureth’s absence, the men and women of Brightwater worked hard and worked together. They would overcome this hardship. Work on the channels and irrigation of the lands surrounding the river was to be done in time, and the overseer reported that he figured they could begin planting crops very soon.

[Farming operations begin yielding results in 2 turns.]

Mostly, the hunters steered clear of the lions to the south and instead hunted the game north of the river, seeing as they hadn’t yet found any larger predators in the area. They didn’t want to come between a lioness and her prey. Though the game north of the river quickly began to steer clear of the settlement, and thus with every passing week the hunters would have to travel further and further into the wilderness to find animals to hunt. Before long, they realized they had no choice but to hunt both sides of the river. Why the game to the north had begun to elude them, they did not know.

Tanis, a young hunter with lacklustre experience but decent skill, was out with his party to search the savannah for suitable prey. The others were older and more experienced, and Tanis had only just become a man grown. He was eager to prove himself and show that he was more than capable of pulling his own weight. Indeed, no one questioned him, but it was the pride of youth and pressure of adulthood that forced many young men and women to push their limits to prove not only to their people that they were worthy of respect, but perhaps also to themselves.
There! A gazelle. A lone female, munching on some particularly juicy bit of vegetation, it would seem, for she saw not Tanis as he crept in the tall grass. Closer and closer he came to come within confident distance to fell the female with an arrow. Suddenly, the gazelle looked up, jerking it’s ears. Tanis sat still, quiet as the wind. He heard nothing but the chirping of insects and buzzing of flies. The gazelle looked off in the distance, not even remotely close to Tanis’ location. This was his chance. He nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring and… An arrow hit the gazelle straight to the heart. It stumbled and fell, dead within a blink. Tanis blinked as well. His arrow was still drawn on his unloosed bowstring. Panicked, he ducked down and retracted his arrow. He looked around. Which of his comrades had stolen his kill? He couldn’t see anyone. Furious, he realized they must be playing a trick on him, hiding on the other side of the gazelle or something. He stood up, and walked with heavy steps toward the felled animal. As he got closer and closer, the arrow the stuck out of the gazelle was… Different. He didn’t recognize it as any that he or his comrades would use. The feathers were blue and red. Suddenly realizing his folly, he spun around. Of course – his comrades hadn’t played a trick on him, there were other hunters out here as well!

He heard the footsteps before he saw who approached. He spun around once more. A large humanoid creature stood before him, towering over him by at least two feet. Tanis himself was almost six feet tall, so squinting to get a look of the creature, he readied himself for a struggle. Before him stood the creature with the look of a lion. A large cat-like furred face with whiskers and a flowing mane sat upon an upright body walking on two legs, clad in light leather armour and armed with bow, quiver and axe. Tanis blinked, staggering backwards in fear and surprise. How had this towering creature snuck up on him?! How could he let his emotions get the better of him – this situation was the worst!

”I hope you don’t intend to steal my prey, manling.” said the lion-man. Tanis blinked once more. ”I… Was just about to fire my arrow when you felled it.” Tanis explained, utterly confused. ”Well, that doesn’t really address my concern, does it?” said the lion-man, walking past Tanis to gather his kill. ”But I don’t think you would. You seem to be a noble lad.” he continued and flung the gazelle over his shoulder as easy as a shoulder-bag. ”I am Ghaston.” He offered a clawed hand to Tanis, who hesitated at first but took the hand of the lion-man. ”I am Tanis, son of Taran. And I did not think to steal your kill, Ghaston.” Tanis said, as politely as he could. He couldn’t help but feel some sort of respect for this stoic creature. It carried itself with confident, integrity and nobility.

Tanis ended up following Ghaston for a while as the two conversed, speaking of their people. It turns out Ghaston is one of the Leonar, a race of lion-like beastmen that have recently arrived on the continent much like Tanis and his people. The Leonar have settled near the river west of here, between the coast and a set of smaller mountains. They aren’t numerous, but Ghaston speaks of some sort of code of honour among them that Tanis fail to completely understand. In turn, Tanis tells Ghaston of Brightwater without really contemplating the fact that any stranger could be deceiving him. Such it is that his young mind came to trust this creature. Indeed, Ghaston seemed trustworthy enough. He promised he would petition his leader to allow him to visit Brightwater, to perhaps establish formal relations with the humans, or “manlings” as the Leonar called them.

It was dusk when Tanis returned home to his comrades, who had been worried about him. They say they lost him when he rushed off to find his own prey too far from camp. He tells them of his experience with Ghaston and the gazelle, and the hunters rush home to tell their leader about it. Forthwine was conversing with Thatlas about plans for the settlement when the senior hunter came to his lodging with Tanis. Tanis explained all to Forthwine, and that the Leonar would come visit them with friendly intentions within a fortnight. He was a naïve young lad, but nonetheless he was certain that the Leonar could be stoic allies in this new lands.

Approximate appearance of Ghaston

Bonus action

You are human. Humans have no subraces but are instead the most diverse of creatures upon the civilized world. Your long voyage has tired you out, and you feel as if your energies are sapped from you. Perhaps you are almost out of Aureth’s reach here? Perhaps her grace has not touched this land. Perhaps she has intended for you to be her heralds in these unexplored realms. As a bonus action, you may attempt to re-establish your connection to your goddess. Once you do, your people will be re-invigorated with the blessing of the Lady of Light.

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 1030
Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 20% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: 3% Base: 3%. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 90%
Foreign relations:

• The Leonar - Indifferent

The Southern Expedition

@Pirate

Turn 2

The surrounding lands were bleak thanks to heavy clouds gathering above the elves. They set out with what weapons they had and spirits were lifted at the thrill and enthusiasm of a hunt.
They started their journey east along the coast. The grasslands offered little in terms of worthy prey, so instead the party neared the edge of the forest. Deer and elk could prove to be worthy prey if nothing else could be found, but Vas-Ramman had his eyes set on larger prices. Whichever creature left the large footprints would be his prey.

While his retainers and followers had managed to stalk and fell a deer or two during their journey, Vas-Ramman continued to push forward empty handed. A set of tracks had been discovered leading further east, and they curled both into the forest and out towards the grasslands. So fresh were the tracks and so determined was Vas-Ramman that they followed the path left by the beast for days. Before long, they found themselves upon the foothills of the mountains where the tracks disappeared. Rain had washed them away, the pathfinders said. Vas-Ramman was furious. Silently he vowed that the beast would not elude him, and as he did his gaze fell upon the mountains. They were black and jagged, sharp as knives. They stretched tall into the skies and little vegetation seemed to follow them further than the very base. The first thought that came to mind was that these black rocks would be impossible to traverse, but then Vas-Ramman’s eyes managed to catch the glimpse of a small natural pathway that snaked through the rocks.

”Master…” another young servant kneeled before him. Annoyed, Vas-Ramman answered while still locking his gaze towards the mountains. ”What is it?”
”Look what we found.” the servant said, a tone of awe in his voice. Vas-Ramman finally snapped and angry look at the servant. There, gleaming in the servant’s outstretched hands lay a small clear stone of red hue. An uncut, raw ruby. ”We found it next to a small stream coming down the mountain.” the servant said, still holding the ruby as an offering to his master, his gaze averted downwards as to not make eye-contact. Vas-Ramman took the ruby in his hand and held it up to the sky. It was very small, but the hue and clarity was unlike anything he had ever seen. This mountain could be rich beyond compare!

Movement among the rocks forced the elf to come to his senses. There, far up in the mountains on the path he had spotted earlier, walked a huge feline creature. It was white as snow with dark stripes, and it dwarved the size of any other tiger Vas-Ramman had ever seen. The distance was far, but he could see the white tiger stop and look straight toward him before continuing on and disappearing among the rocks. So this is the beast I have sought. Vas-Ramman thought to himself. This journey was only getting better and better…

Actions

A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other

Statistics

Population: 714

• Slaves: 51

Livestock: -
Military: No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 20% of adult population.
Food level: Average
Resources: -
Wealth: -
Trade: -
Growth: +2% Base: 2%. +-0% from morale. +-0% from food level.
Morale: 100%
Foreign relations: You have not met any other civilizations yet.

[Bright_Ops]

The Mustaqilun Tribe [Turn 2]

A mysterious ruined fortress dug into a mountainside in a bountiful land, long abandoned and sealed from the outside with no other signs of life around it. Truly a great mystery.

Rukdug hated mysteries. Mysteries got people killed.

He trusted Gorkun's report, but viably it painted two scenarios in his mind about what had happened. Either an invading force had come and sealed off the gates of the fortress to trap whomever was inside in there and then buggered off without bothering to wait around and claim the fortress for themselves once their enemies were either softened up or dead... or the fortress was sealed by its owners to contain something that they couldn't take head on, be it an enemy, illness or some vile curse without counter.

He had heard war stories of orcish bands either invading an abandoned dwarven mine or digging a bit to deeply themselves and pissing off something big and nasty before...

"Gorkun, gather some more scouts and go and get some of those magical buggers to get off their lazy asses to go with you back to those ruins. I don't want you going into them, but I want you to see if you can work out what they originally belonged to and if there is any evidence as to why it was abandoned and sealed up on the outside. Have whatever warlock or shaman you grab see if they can detect any nasty magic in the area as well... Last thing we need right now is to unseal the gate to discover that anyone who crosses the threshold has their skin melt off."

......................................................

With the lumber yard set up and progress beginning at the relatively slow pace that all such industries started off at as local resources were collected and inspected, methods of treating the wood were developed and the means of efficiency to improve both the collecting and treating portions were yet to be developed, the next step was several steps that ended up where they wanted to be; The first was to construct carts and barrows to allow an easier time moving timber and other resources around, followed shortly by the development of Riverforge itself.

The first defensive wall would be the primary goal, but resources could be diverted to aid in the construction of the buildings where they were going to live. Personally he would have preferred stone for both projects, but wood and sod were hardy materials in their own rights. Granted the buildings they were going to be making out of them were little more then minor alterations on the standard military barrack buildings that popped up once the armies of the Dark One had really dug themselves into an area and thus would provide little in the way of personal privacy, it would serve the families who claimed them just fine.

Actions

Gorkun and a party of scouts (alongside any magic users hanging around who didn't seem to be doing much) are going to be heading back to the ruins to investigate further in both a mundane and magical fashion to try and work out who was here and what happened. They will not be unsealing the gate at this time.

Meantime, Riverforge will be doing C) Improve infrastructure. They aim to start producing actual walls and the orcish version of viking longhouses in order to provide protection and shelter respectively out of the wood the lumberyard is producing and sod.

[AdorableSaucer]

The Hogtusk Tribe - Turn 2

It was the middle of the day. The wealthiest and stronger of every clan, the shaman and the chieftain formed a tense pentagram in the scarce hills grass next to the sorry excuse for a chieftain’s hut. They sat in glaring suspiciously at one another, the chieftain’s eyes scanning the porky face of Crunch of the Pig Tribe, the goat skull atop Snaglag of the Goat Tribe’s head; the bull horn in Lop of the Ox Tribe’s nose; and the thousand wrinkles covering the face of Wololo. In the centre of the shape laid the odd stick of wood and metal. Rog-mohog gave that thing an especially suspicious glare.

A whole day had passed since Goop the scout had brought the stick. Since then, rumours had spread throughout the camp, and Rog-mohog hated rumours. It wasn’t because they could eventually undermine his rule or cause a panic, no, no - when rumours spread throughout the camp, they created factions, factions who were so darn sure their version of the rumour was the right one, and whenever two factions collided, a section of the camp would usually be leveled from the following brawl.

Feeling that they had all been glaring enough, Rog-mohog slapped his thigh and said, “Roight! Are yuh’all ready?”

Click, click, click...

“Roight… First fhing on the agenduh…”

... Click, click, click… Heh, heh, ehehehe.

“... Is…”

... Click, click… Eheheheheheh…

“Snaglag, ye git, put the bloomin’ stick down!”

The ogress immediately dropped the stick back into the circle and twiddled her thumbs innocently. “Sorry.”

The chieftain growled quietly. “...Roight, as I was sayin’... First fhingy on the agenduh is--”

“Whassat?” Lop asked.

“Wha’s whot?”

“Agenduh.”

“Yeah, I dunno either,” Crunch backed up in a surly manner.

Rog-mohog rubbed his eyes. “Is a list of fhings to do.”

“Oh. Roight, why didn’ ye just say that, boss?” Lop complained. Wololo hummed a tune to himself, and it was uncertain whether he truly was mentally present. Rog-mohog picked up a nearby rock and lobbed it at Lop’s head. The giant fell backwards and smacked into the ground. Rog-mohog patted his hands.

“ROIGHT! First fhingy on--”

“OW! Tha’ hurt, ye git!”

“Lop, I swear t’ tha’ Anceste’ Spirit…”

“Ye wanna foight, HUHN?! I’ll smack ye shoit, I swear on me mum!”

“Did someone say foight?!” Crunch thundered gleefully.

“THE BLOOMIN’ STICK, YE GITS!” Rog-mohog thundered back and there was a silence. Lop and Crunch both looked down at the stick.

“We foightin’ the stick?” Lop asked.

Rog-mohog smacked his forehead so hard the others thought he was going to pass out. “NO, YE BLOOMIN’ GIT! We talkin’ ‘bout the stick! The fhingy that Goop brought in the other day ‘n where in the spirits’ name did it go…”

... Ehehehehehehe… Clickclickclick…

Rog-mohog sent a fist like a boulder into Snaglag’s temple and took the stick from her subsequently unconscious hands.

“THIS!” He shouted and pointed at it. “This is whot we talkin’ about!”

Crunch and Lop looked at one another. “Tha’s no fun. I’d rather foight,” Crunch said.

“IswearI’llendallofyouoneday…” Rog-mohog muttered into his palm. “Rooooiiight, whot if I give you a foight, then?”

The two snapped their eyes to the chief and made wide grins. “Oooooh, bloomin’ ‘ell, boss! Tha’s generous o’ ye.”

“I still owe ye for that punch the other day,” Crunch said proudly. “Crunch always payin’ his debts, he does.”

“‘S roight.”

Rog-mohog stared longingly at the edge of the fifty metre tall cliff before facing the others again. He sucked in a deep breath and said, “Oi…”
Crunch, Lop and the recovering Snaglag all looked at him curiously. “Whot?”

“Do ye wanna plunder a bit?”

“Plunder?!” they shouted as one and clapped their hands excitedly. “Whot we plunderin’?”

Rog-mohog smirked and beckoned them in with a finger. The three leaned in and sharpened their ears. “Accordin’ to Goop, y’know the scout, there’s a bunch’a wood ‘n shoiny, bloomin’ metal somewhere far, far off to the west.”

The three tribe leaders straightened up and blinked at one another. “Half the fun o’ plunderin’ is killin’, though,” Crunch muttered disappointedly. Rog-mohog stifled a frustrated roar and beckoned them down to his level again.

“Roight, roight, roight… Buuuuuut, roight… There -might- be fhings to kill there.” He gave a shrug and the three leaders looked thoughtfully at one another, if that was possible.

“‘E does ‘ave a point,” Snaglag admitted.

“Aye, there -could- be fhings there…” Lop agreed.

“... How far west, y’say, boss?” Crunch said suspiciously.

Rog-mohog pointed frantically in a semi-western direction. “As far as y’can. Just go and go ‘n keep goin’ until ye cannot see the Big Rock anymore. In fact, if ye get lost ‘n don’t come back, that’s means ye found it.”

The three ogres once more made their finest attempts to appear ponderous.

“Makes sense,” Lop concluded.

“Aye,” Snaglag agreed.

“We’ll be off, then, boss!” Crunch said happily. “Enjoy bein’ bored back ‘ere, ye git!”

The three of them cackled as they walked off. Rog-mohog snickered. “Enjoy dyin’ out there, ye gits.” He turned to Wololo who had fallen asleep. The chieftain pocked the shaman and the old ogre’s manner of waking up simulated rising from the dead.

“Whot?! Whot I miss?!” he shouted fraily.

“Nothin’ special,” the chieftain muttered.

“Whot you say, boss?”

“I said, nothin’ special!”
“Naffin’ speshul? Whossat mea-- Oh! Nothin’ special, roight…”

Rog-mohog once again gave the cliff a thousand yard stare. Would anyone miss him, he pondered for a moment? How did the Ancestor Spirit look upon such an act? Likely not very kindly.

“So… Whot we doin’ now?” Wololo asked.

Rog-mohog eyed the pile of sticks behind him with a skin draped over the top.

“Someone’s fixin’ my hut,” the chieftain thundered and stomped down to the village below.

The shaman blinked. “Nixin’ my cut? Who dunnit? Oi! Boss! Who’s nixin’ my cut, HUHN?!”

And so, another day passed fruitfully in the camp of Big Rock.

Actions

C) Actually build a hut for the chieftain.
E) A group of fifty or so ogres went off due west to find the wreckage of the gnome ship.

[Lauder]

Bukradul

^{Turn 2}

Surrounded, outnumbered, but not without hope.

That was the situation that Guthug had found himself in, so close to finding the elk herd only to have it snatched away before his eyes by these bestial people and he felt as if he were running out of time as his people needed the herd. However, by now, the doe had startled the rest of the herd, but he knew that if he got away now then he could find the herd by tracking where the female had run since they always run back to the herd. Though his focus remained upon the bear people that now stood around him, massive and clearly after the same target, he could not help but remember the words that had been passed down through the shamans regarding the bears.

The mighty bear, tall and imposing, the fourth tamed by Akrosh yet the third to be chosen, a most powerful threat that could run down an orc with little effort and with little in the way of natural threats. Their kind were solitary yet not immediately aggressive, often times merely defending what would be their territory while scavenging for berries or meat to store for inside them for the winter. Yes, Guthug knew the bear very well, knowing how they would react to a perceived threat and knowing that should one recognize their strength and not challenge them, then they would not kill. It was this fact that Guthug had little choice to count on as these bearmen pointed their arrows at him, ready to pierce his body if he made one wrong move. Yet, reasoning with them may just prove to be just as hard as Guthug knew not if they could even speak the language of the orcs. There merely was no easy way out of the situation.

After a moment of thinking and tense silence, his eyes flicked between the four bearmen as his grip tightened is spear before a thought had wormed its way into his mind. Keeping his body close to the ground, Guthug loosened his grip and took his off-hand away from the spear, slowly lifting it to his side as he looked towards the one that he had first encountered. The orc faced his palm towards the creature before bringing his hand back to himself, his palm flattening itself against his chest.

"Guthug," he said, slowly enough for the bearmen to know what he was saying and what he meant. He continued with hand motions doing a slow slash through the air while shaking his head, "No," his voice went. He then motioned to his spear, "Hunt". He pointed to the bearman, "You"

His eyes flicked between the bearmen around him, making sure they were not about to loose their arrmors and turn his form into that of the porcupine, or rather some vegetable resembling one.

His hand motioned to the spear, "Hunt". Guthug thought to himself for a moment before employing a simpler means of hand motion as he pointed to where the elk had been, "Elk." The orc then raised his free hand into the air before finishing his statement, "for Akrosh." Hopefully, he had been able to get his point across, however, he knew that it was only up to Akrosh to what these beastmen did next.

Hider

C) Guthug attempts to reason with bearmen through slow and deliberate hand motions and words.

---

The clan was at least fairing better than Guthug was, living their lives to the best of their ability in this new land as many merely awaited for their leader's return while the hunters hunted and the shamans sought refuge within themselves. However, as time past and without instruction, the people began to grow lazy as they waited and waited for their chieftan to return from the rite, much to the dismay of the shamans who knew that the land was harsh and they knew not if it would strike sooner or later. The shamans spoke to one another on the matter of what to.

"Togruk, the people grow lazy while waiting. We must do something," the oldest said.

"I know, but that matter is what they must do, there is too much to do and we know not of what the land will do to or whether our hunters will come home empty handed one day," Togruk responded, stroking his beard before he threw some herbs onto the fire allowing them to release their smoke into the air before quickly being charred beyond recognition. The shaman took a pinch of dirt and sprinkled it into a small bowl, mixing it with small bones and grass. "Hrrmph, the ancestors are quite," he commented before placing the bowl to his side.

Uruk sat in the back of their shoddily constructed hut, his hand drawing within the dirt as he responded with laughter, "Good, the dead are not supposed to speak. We all know that."

"But we need guidance, fool!" Togruk snapped, chucking the bowl at Uruk who allowed it to sail into his chest only to explode into more laughter.

"Enough you two," the oldest chastised before turning to another shaman, "Have you any ideas, Durbag?"

"Perhaps," Durbag started, putting his hand above the fire and allowing the smoke to move around it before he continued, "If we cannot go and tame animals until the Rite is completed by Guthug, then we must at least seek protection from those wolves for they grow closer and closer every night as they adjust to our presence. There is plenty of stone for us to build some earth works to keep the more bold of them at bay."

Togruk snorted at the idea, "We share our land with these beasts, we shall not construct something to keep them out."

"But feral animals will do us harm, remember the hare that took a chunk out of your foot when you strode too close?" Durbag responded, taking his hand away from the fire and stood before his peers. "We must protect our own, even if it means to keep even the mighty wolf out."

The oldest raised himself to his feet, looking between those who had not spoken and to those who had. "We must protect our own, we must thrive in this harsh land or else we die. This place is not like the serene forests we had come from, the animals are harsh and so too must we. These are not the wildlife that we have seen for generations, these wolves know not the orc and so we must be ready to drive them away should they attack, or if anything else were to attack. And eventually, we will encounter them. Until Guthug returns, we cannot do anything about it other than shore our defenses."

The oldest looked to Durbag, "Go to the people and instruct them to make earthworks around the camp with no more than five entrances to watch."

Durbag nodded before stepped out of the hut.

The shamans must continue to seek guidance from the ancestors, even if now they were silent.

Actions

C) Improve Infrastructure - The camp shall begin work on a simple earth work to keep the wolves, or any other bold beast, out of their camp with five entrances into the camp. The reasoning is to be sure that no feral animals do harm unto them and so they must not do harm unto them.