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Okay, I think I have a character in mind now. I'll start work on the sheet.
Name: Jacobus Sammael Raus/"Jacobs"
Appearance:
Skills: Prominent with various Accatran shotgun models, favors primary rifle as the mk4 lascarbine design. A survivalist through and through, has acclimated himself to various regions without proper supplies or backup for extended periods of time. Experienced in fighting against both heretical Chaos forces and Orks.
Biography:
Jacobus was born unto a feudal knight world known as Ayrdreath, where the Imperium arrived bearing the future abroad their ships. When the Howling Griffons touched down on the planet aside a battalion of Imperial Guardsmen, the people of Ayrdreath saw them not as gods nor angels, but as successors and visitors from worlds beyond. The insignias worn by them led the people to believe them to be knights of an outstanding order, a glorious kingdom from the stars, and their conclusions would not be entirely wrong.
The Howling Griffons had discovered this world, and were looking for another planet of which to recruit and bolster their numbers. It wouldn't be hard, either, for there contained over hundreds of knightly orders upon Ayrdreath of which were constantly crusading against one another. While Jacobus was quite young and rather recently inducted into his order, the Knights of the Hounds, the Howling Griffons went on to recruit who they could and went on their way. For roughly another decade, sword and shield clashed and spilt rivers of blood upon the land. The knightly orders dwindled one by one, until nearly a dozen where all that was left. And rumors of a deadly cult soon arose amongst the ears of the many feudal kings, whom made peace for a time to send forth the Dozen Orders to root out the heathens and destroy them. In truth, it was a Khornate Cult, a knightly order of those out for blood and battle. In the ensuing conflict, six of the pure orders were essentially annihilated within the first day and things grew increasingly grim for the planet as a warp rift tore the skies asunder and spewed forth hundreds of daemonspawn.
The plains-based shepherding Knights of the Hounds fought bravely alongside the northern, barbaric Knights of Ulstag as the last surviving orders. They slew their heretical brothers by the hundreds, each side taking massive casualties. Jacobus and twelve other knights barely managed to decapitate a single bloodletter, before being whisked away by an explosion of immense proportion. It was a drop pod, followed by several more. Out poured the Howling Griffons, whom proceeded to aid the surviving remnants of the knightly orders in battle. For the next three days was Khorne lusting for more blood, death and destruction, and he had received his eternal, unending thirst for every moment. Imperial guardsmen and space marine alike had closed the portal on the dawn of the forth day, following the slaying of the bloodthirster behind it all. Suffering many casualties on all sides, Jacobus finally decided to hang his sword up on the Hall of the Shepherds and trade it in for a lasrifle as one of many employed in the newly founded 1st Regiment of Ayrdreath. They took to the stars, off to test their metal against the foes of the Imperium and leave their home world to repopulate and reinforce itself.
After another decade of intergalactic crusading against the heretical forces of the Chaos Gods, a battle-scarred thirty-year old Sergeant Raus and his fellow Ayrdreathian brothers received a distress signal from the solitary station of guardsmen abroad the slowly progressing feudal knight planet home world. As they arrived into orbit, a space hulk loomed over their home and was already bombarding the planet into submission. Upon unleashing the entirety of the Imperial fleet's firepower, the space hulk was soon hurled upon Ayrdreath and a massive explosion wrecked a good portion of the planet's surface. The moment they landed, they were instantaneously beset upon by mobs of orks.
For what seemed like months, over eight regiments of guardsmen combatted their innumerable foe. During the last week of the conflict, the Ork Warboss was slain and the regiments slowly started to pull back. Expressing their wish to remain planetside and exterminate their foe, a massive riot broke out between lines. In the ensuing chaos, while additionally being beset upon by orks, the Commissar of the 1st Ayrdreathian Regiment was killed following the full retreat of the seven regiments, leaving the 1st Ayrdreathian to it's fate.
Having rallied the countrymen of his home, Sergeant Raus was one of very few survivors in his regiment abandoned to their own devices. In a few years, they were scavenging the defeated hordes of ork technology to craft what rudimentary armor and weapons they could to combat the relentless green menace. Setting entire forests ablaze, hunting down gatherings of fungal growth and mushrooms of which to destroy, driving back the various orkoids to the far north. None of it was a permanent solution, and they simply continued their unending assaults. As the last surviving guardsmen within the waning years of his failing kingdom, Jacobus exiled himself and began surviving on his own. He had helped who he could, an innocent child or farming settlement here or there, but it was ultimately hopeless. Nearly in his forties, he had just about given up all hope for his life until one day, a rather large Inquisitorial force of Deathwatch Space Marines and Imperial stormtroopers began a massive purge of Ayrdreath. In a matter of days, the Orks were seemingly annihilated and a shady Inquisitor touched down to discover the remnants of the 1st Ayrdreathian Regiment. When all they found was Sergeant Jacobus Sammael Raus, he was personally taken in by the Inquisitor for a debriefing of his encounter with the Xenos threat.
Appearance:
Skills: Prominent with various Accatran shotgun models, favors primary rifle as the mk4 lascarbine design. A survivalist through and through, has acclimated himself to various regions without proper supplies or backup for extended periods of time. Experienced in fighting against both heretical Chaos forces and Orks.
Biography:
Jacobus was born unto a feudal knight world known as Ayrdreath, where the Imperium arrived bearing the future abroad their ships. When the Howling Griffons touched down on the planet aside a battalion of Imperial Guardsmen, the people of Ayrdreath saw them not as gods nor angels, but as successors and visitors from worlds beyond. The insignias worn by them led the people to believe them to be knights of an outstanding order, a glorious kingdom from the stars, and their conclusions would not be entirely wrong.
The Howling Griffons had discovered this world, and were looking for another planet of which to recruit and bolster their numbers. It wouldn't be hard, either, for there contained over hundreds of knightly orders upon Ayrdreath of which were constantly crusading against one another. While Jacobus was quite young and rather recently inducted into his order, the Knights of the Hounds, the Howling Griffons went on to recruit who they could and went on their way. For roughly another decade, sword and shield clashed and spilt rivers of blood upon the land. The knightly orders dwindled one by one, until nearly a dozen where all that was left. And rumors of a deadly cult soon arose amongst the ears of the many feudal kings, whom made peace for a time to send forth the Dozen Orders to root out the heathens and destroy them. In truth, it was a Khornate Cult, a knightly order of those out for blood and battle. In the ensuing conflict, six of the pure orders were essentially annihilated within the first day and things grew increasingly grim for the planet as a warp rift tore the skies asunder and spewed forth hundreds of daemonspawn.
The plains-based shepherding Knights of the Hounds fought bravely alongside the northern, barbaric Knights of Ulstag as the last surviving orders. They slew their heretical brothers by the hundreds, each side taking massive casualties. Jacobus and twelve other knights barely managed to decapitate a single bloodletter, before being whisked away by an explosion of immense proportion. It was a drop pod, followed by several more. Out poured the Howling Griffons, whom proceeded to aid the surviving remnants of the knightly orders in battle. For the next three days was Khorne lusting for more blood, death and destruction, and he had received his eternal, unending thirst for every moment. Imperial guardsmen and space marine alike had closed the portal on the dawn of the forth day, following the slaying of the bloodthirster behind it all. Suffering many casualties on all sides, Jacobus finally decided to hang his sword up on the Hall of the Shepherds and trade it in for a lasrifle as one of many employed in the newly founded 1st Regiment of Ayrdreath. They took to the stars, off to test their metal against the foes of the Imperium and leave their home world to repopulate and reinforce itself.
After another decade of intergalactic crusading against the heretical forces of the Chaos Gods, a battle-scarred thirty-year old Sergeant Raus and his fellow Ayrdreathian brothers received a distress signal from the solitary station of guardsmen abroad the slowly progressing feudal knight planet home world. As they arrived into orbit, a space hulk loomed over their home and was already bombarding the planet into submission. Upon unleashing the entirety of the Imperial fleet's firepower, the space hulk was soon hurled upon Ayrdreath and a massive explosion wrecked a good portion of the planet's surface. The moment they landed, they were instantaneously beset upon by mobs of orks.
For what seemed like months, over eight regiments of guardsmen combatted their innumerable foe. During the last week of the conflict, the Ork Warboss was slain and the regiments slowly started to pull back. Expressing their wish to remain planetside and exterminate their foe, a massive riot broke out between lines. In the ensuing chaos, while additionally being beset upon by orks, the Commissar of the 1st Ayrdreathian Regiment was killed following the full retreat of the seven regiments, leaving the 1st Ayrdreathian to it's fate.
Having rallied the countrymen of his home, Sergeant Raus was one of very few survivors in his regiment abandoned to their own devices. In a few years, they were scavenging the defeated hordes of ork technology to craft what rudimentary armor and weapons they could to combat the relentless green menace. Setting entire forests ablaze, hunting down gatherings of fungal growth and mushrooms of which to destroy, driving back the various orkoids to the far north. None of it was a permanent solution, and they simply continued their unending assaults. As the last surviving guardsmen within the waning years of his failing kingdom, Jacobus exiled himself and began surviving on his own. He had helped who he could, an innocent child or farming settlement here or there, but it was ultimately hopeless. Nearly in his forties, he had just about given up all hope for his life until one day, a rather large Inquisitorial force of Deathwatch Space Marines and Imperial stormtroopers began a massive purge of Ayrdreath. In a matter of days, the Orks were seemingly annihilated and a shady Inquisitor touched down to discover the remnants of the 1st Ayrdreathian Regiment. When all they found was Sergeant Jacobus Sammael Raus, he was personally taken in by the Inquisitor for a debriefing of his encounter with the Xenos threat.
AlienBastard said
I intend to join this RP, as I have a very solid idea of what I want to be.However i'm not sure if it is okay as I want to be a orc who is maori-like in culture and has a history of being a runaway slave [not a uncommon story for a orc from what I can tell in the app sheets]. I know there's another character who is culturally foreign, but he is a ice nomad whereas the orc I intend to be comes from a much more tropical place which might be too far off for this setting.[As for the Heavens Aflame, encase you wonder I opted out since I couldn't think of a good enough god and you said the RP was full; this RP seems less full and I actually have a very good idea of what I want to be in this world.]
You have some interesting ideas there. We have quite a few outlandish orcs, one was essentially raised among humans and another was a drow slave for quite some time.
Yeah, I've not heard much from her in a while. Glad to see were still going with this though :)
You.
Who are you?
Hm. I'll be watching this one closely. You intrigue me.
Who are you?
Hm. I'll be watching this one closely. You intrigue me.
Well, I had to edit a bit out for sake of grammatical errors and uh, just generally putting more common sense in the post.
Derthag is on his way towards you. We can wait for HeySeuss on what we can do the mage/threat issue and what not before we work on a collab or whatever you want to do.
Derthag is on his way towards you. We can wait for HeySeuss on what we can do the mage/threat issue and what not before we work on a collab or whatever you want to do.
Let us not forget the Great Betrayal of Adsense, when the Smuttians warded off the Mighty Empire of Google. A devastating defeat, that was.
Posted. Eh, not quite so gruesome. Just disemboweled an Achnal or two, plucked the eyes off a decapitated apprentice.
So Radush Eyedrinker, did he earn that nickname literally? He prefer eyeballs sticking out like them little umbrellas in a martini?
So Radush Eyedrinker, did he earn that nickname literally? He prefer eyeballs sticking out like them little umbrellas in a martini?
"Er, take good care of 'er." Derthag grunted to the company's warg handler on deck, an elderly orcish female with a balding gray mane, a wart-ridden humpback, and tits drooping down to her belly. He gave her an odd look, shrugged and went off to say goodbye to his mount.
Patting Gut-Drench on her back once more, and a quick scratch behind her ears, the stunted orc departed with his favorite mount now donning a fitted eyepatch. He took to the rest of the chosen, his mind set on the next course of action. Taking a chance to study the map once more, Derthag's heart skipped a beat at the mention of a mage. Surely, he'd never encountered many, and this would be the proper time to engage into something new. Something innovative, and with luck, it'd prove an educational experience to the entirety of the chosen. The party eventually saddled up on newly fitted mounts, few sticking to the same warg they rode in on, and crept their way into the grasslands on their search for the mage. As they loomed back into the Achnal camps, an eerie fog conjured out of seemingly thin air, the bloody work of a wizard.
All around the Chosen, the sounds of clanging steel and clashing shields intertwined with screams of bloody murder and cries of war. Regardless, they were a focused bunch. They were keen, quick to the draw in both mind and body. They were focused on the primary objective, impaling the mage's head on a spike. It wouldn't be not long after creeping through the dense fog, however, would the sounds of some stomping giant roll in as if it was crushing the earth beneath it.
"Hark there, mates! Something wicked this way comes." The pale orc grimly stated in his harsh, deep voice. Two brightly lit, green auras suddenly appeared towering over the group.
Koloch was flung off his warg, the beast scattering back near it's rider. Derthag rushed to his aid, glancing back to witness the goliath of an orc butting heads with an animate stone figure. The thing was huge, taller than Ushgar himself, and beheld pure and raw physical prowess over flesh. With the help of a few of his kin, they attempted to bring the Drillmaster back to his feet.
"C'mon, Rosie. You'll not perish in this bloody fog, ya stubborn bastard." All the while, he heard the exchanging blows of crackling rock and clanging steel.
Ol' Tarlung was impressed, to say the least. Albeit rather concerned, as flesh and stone were two elements essentially unevenly matched. Nonetheless, he admired the mountainous orc's established resolve and intent will to crush his boulder of a foe into mere pebbles. Swiftly scanning the field for his comrades, he noted Orthaug's leap of faith atop the golem's backside. It was time to join the fray, and a determined Derthag jolted his mount's hind legs toward the lumbering thing. Nearly ten feet out, Ygdri was already on her way past the stone automaton, undoubtedly hunting the mage.
Stubborn tuskah! She's a wild one, if not reckless. He thought, straying his course and charging after her. She'd need backup, especially considering the range and power a mage could beheld, and any apprentices it might have nearby. Rather hopelessly, she was quickly lost in the fog. The pale orc was helpless, how could a tracker find his way through such a dense cloud of mist? He closed his eyes, and followed the scent of burning flesh and charred wood. The wailing screams of his own kin came barreling through the fog, as several orcs bursted through a wooden palisade. The lot of them were engulfed in flames, and Derthag could do nothing but watch in horror. Something was behind it all, and as he charged his warg full speed through the broken palisade, a molten ball of fire spiraled through the air and struck his mangy mount. Clinging on for dear life, the burning mane of the warg filled Raghir's nostrils with the toxic stench of smoked hair. The warg eventually plummeted headfirst into the ground, sending it's rider flying through the air as it bucked upwards. The landing was less than graceful, as his shoulder dug into the muddy grass and skidded a few inches.
Disoriented, his vision hazily adjusting to the smoke and fog, he became aware of around five Achnal spearmen surrounding him, their tipped blades only inches away from his still singing, burning beard. His steel helm trapping in smoke, he opened up his visor to let out a small plume.
"Aw, the smell of it!" One spearmen muttered. "Someone outta' stomp out that fire..." He continued, raising a fur boot above the helpless orc's bearded neck.
"Ah! Bloody-!" Was all he could mutter further, as a wooden-handled ax dug itself into the heel of the wordy rat. Rolling forward, palm clenching the ax handle, the satisfying crunch sent the ax back to it's owner and the afflicted human wailing. The four other Achnal quickly had their spears back on him. One Achnal with his foot twisted around the bone, halfway cut through, would be yelling for help. More would come, and he'd have to think fast.
Standing upright, his face merely a foot away from the flames of his beard, smoked pillowed out into his eyes. A red haze overcame him. "Raagh!" He shouted, holding up an ax in both hands. With the left ax, he chopped a spear in half, sending his blade across the lad's neck with the right ax. Yanking the boy in front of him, he sent his heel into his back, causing one of the spearmen to impale their own as the force of the push sent the surrounding Achnal to the ground.
"Waaagh!" He screamed, jumping up onto the back of the recently impaled warrior, putting the weight of his momentum onward to send his right ax cleanly through the skull of the Achnal struggling under the boy. The last two scattered a few feet away as they regained composure, their mouths agape. With a stomping charge, he flung his right ax sideways through the neck of his first victim, blood pouring from his esophagus. The last one dropped his spear and darted towards the opposite direction. It was all for naught, as the half-orc dug his ax in the unlucky sod's right shoulder. Thrusting it back, he sent the human downwards, and proceeded to climb on top of him and rip his fur garment off his chest. The man pleaded for his life, struggling every second of the way. Flames from Derthag's beard were creeping up closer now, he could feel the heat up to his forehead. With a bit of ingenuity, he sent forth his fists into the bare chest of his victim. A grim realization was made aware to the man, as his sternum cracked inward and pierced his heart. Already driven into shock, his chest was torn open as the blood thirsty orc reached in with both hands. Clenching the heart of the Achnal, he detached it with ease and dove his face into the opening after tossing off his helm. Sipping, slurping, twirling and lapping up the insides, he flew back in a moment's notice and gasped for air as puddles of red oozed from his mouth and gory bits drooled off his tusk.
His entire face stained with red, his facial hair now fully unbraided and extinguished by the blood, he became entirely aware of his surroundings and thoughts once again. Attempting to stand upright, his ears ringing loudly, the bloodied orc struggled to dig his axes back out of their entrenched positions in the flesh of the fresh corpses. Wiping away what blood he could from his eyes, he would soon see a robed figure nearly ten feet ahead just as he placed his helm back on.
"M-master!" The figure shouted. "Somebody! Anyone!"
"'Ello, rabbit." Derthag greeted, in a dark and deep tone. He grinned as he stated his intent. "Did'ja forget your spells, rabbit? I have a spell..." He continued, calmly walking towards the mage's apprentice.
The robed Achnal warily took a step back for every one of Derthag's step forwards. He clenched a weathered tome tightly, his pupils widening as he scurried through the pages. "Oh yeah...I have a spell." The orc grimly stated. "It makes rabbits afraid...it makes rabbits frightened, makes 'em run..." His pace was quickening, his tone lowering deeper and deeper. "It makes their blood pump faster, makes 'em taste...fresher soon as I rip into 'em. Mm, rabbit haunch. What sorta' powers might I gain if I were to roast up your liver, grind your brain matter into chum, and devour your still beating heart raw?!" He exclaimed, his voice raising with every word.
"St-stay back, vile fiend!" The apprentice nervously shouted, before speaking words in some foreign tongue.
With a whisk of his fingers, a bolt of fire struck Derthag's plate, and the orc winced back as he quickly cut off his straps and tossed aside his platemail. Just in time, as well, as the steel soon melted down where it had been struck. Ol' Tarlung roared, lobbing the ax in his left hand and storming towards him with the one in his right. The apprentice darted towards the other way, scurrying through his ancient book. The thrown ax embedded into his left thigh, and the cowardly robed figure was sent to his knees. Pouncing unto his back, he sent his face deep within the mud and drove a hard, clenched fist on the back of his skull. Flipping him back over, their eyes locked on and the apprentice mage was distraught, disoriented and soon to be disemboweled.
"'Twas a nice piece of armor you ruined back there..." Derthag stated, taking off his helm. His chin held high, eyes aimed downwards. "It's gonna take at least a few weeks ta' grow me beard back ta' full length..."
The magic-wielder was speechless. "Oh yes...Ol' Radush Eyedrink'ah is gonna have a drink on me tonight! But before I pluck those juicy eyeballs out their sockets, your gonna bear witness to your own emasculation, chap!" Emasculation..., a word he'd learned from Ygdri, explained by Koloch. The humans always had an odd and painful way for torture, the orcs did too, but they had different names and techniques for such things. "Aha! You'd think I'd have time for that! You bloody well pissed yourself, mate."
Only minutes after the recently ensued conflict, the apprentice's head was halfway strewn across a wooden stick nearly eight feet in length, dug into the ground. His eyes were plucked, his mouth open wide. Derthag aimed to regroup with Ygdri, trotting off on foot towards where he'd heard some fighting not far by. In his pouch where he kept his tomahawk, two pages were torn from the mage's tome and were wrapped up nicely, containing inside the fresh eyes of a fresh kill. He'd be sure the CO would appreciate the gift. But first order of business, kill the mage. Who knows, with luck Ygdri would already be on her way back with the primary target mage's head hauled off her back.
Patting Gut-Drench on her back once more, and a quick scratch behind her ears, the stunted orc departed with his favorite mount now donning a fitted eyepatch. He took to the rest of the chosen, his mind set on the next course of action. Taking a chance to study the map once more, Derthag's heart skipped a beat at the mention of a mage. Surely, he'd never encountered many, and this would be the proper time to engage into something new. Something innovative, and with luck, it'd prove an educational experience to the entirety of the chosen. The party eventually saddled up on newly fitted mounts, few sticking to the same warg they rode in on, and crept their way into the grasslands on their search for the mage. As they loomed back into the Achnal camps, an eerie fog conjured out of seemingly thin air, the bloody work of a wizard.
All around the Chosen, the sounds of clanging steel and clashing shields intertwined with screams of bloody murder and cries of war. Regardless, they were a focused bunch. They were keen, quick to the draw in both mind and body. They were focused on the primary objective, impaling the mage's head on a spike. It wouldn't be not long after creeping through the dense fog, however, would the sounds of some stomping giant roll in as if it was crushing the earth beneath it.
"Hark there, mates! Something wicked this way comes." The pale orc grimly stated in his harsh, deep voice. Two brightly lit, green auras suddenly appeared towering over the group.
Koloch was flung off his warg, the beast scattering back near it's rider. Derthag rushed to his aid, glancing back to witness the goliath of an orc butting heads with an animate stone figure. The thing was huge, taller than Ushgar himself, and beheld pure and raw physical prowess over flesh. With the help of a few of his kin, they attempted to bring the Drillmaster back to his feet.
"C'mon, Rosie. You'll not perish in this bloody fog, ya stubborn bastard." All the while, he heard the exchanging blows of crackling rock and clanging steel.
Ol' Tarlung was impressed, to say the least. Albeit rather concerned, as flesh and stone were two elements essentially unevenly matched. Nonetheless, he admired the mountainous orc's established resolve and intent will to crush his boulder of a foe into mere pebbles. Swiftly scanning the field for his comrades, he noted Orthaug's leap of faith atop the golem's backside. It was time to join the fray, and a determined Derthag jolted his mount's hind legs toward the lumbering thing. Nearly ten feet out, Ygdri was already on her way past the stone automaton, undoubtedly hunting the mage.
Stubborn tuskah! She's a wild one, if not reckless. He thought, straying his course and charging after her. She'd need backup, especially considering the range and power a mage could beheld, and any apprentices it might have nearby. Rather hopelessly, she was quickly lost in the fog. The pale orc was helpless, how could a tracker find his way through such a dense cloud of mist? He closed his eyes, and followed the scent of burning flesh and charred wood. The wailing screams of his own kin came barreling through the fog, as several orcs bursted through a wooden palisade. The lot of them were engulfed in flames, and Derthag could do nothing but watch in horror. Something was behind it all, and as he charged his warg full speed through the broken palisade, a molten ball of fire spiraled through the air and struck his mangy mount. Clinging on for dear life, the burning mane of the warg filled Raghir's nostrils with the toxic stench of smoked hair. The warg eventually plummeted headfirst into the ground, sending it's rider flying through the air as it bucked upwards. The landing was less than graceful, as his shoulder dug into the muddy grass and skidded a few inches.
Disoriented, his vision hazily adjusting to the smoke and fog, he became aware of around five Achnal spearmen surrounding him, their tipped blades only inches away from his still singing, burning beard. His steel helm trapping in smoke, he opened up his visor to let out a small plume.
"Aw, the smell of it!" One spearmen muttered. "Someone outta' stomp out that fire..." He continued, raising a fur boot above the helpless orc's bearded neck.
"Ah! Bloody-!" Was all he could mutter further, as a wooden-handled ax dug itself into the heel of the wordy rat. Rolling forward, palm clenching the ax handle, the satisfying crunch sent the ax back to it's owner and the afflicted human wailing. The four other Achnal quickly had their spears back on him. One Achnal with his foot twisted around the bone, halfway cut through, would be yelling for help. More would come, and he'd have to think fast.
Standing upright, his face merely a foot away from the flames of his beard, smoked pillowed out into his eyes. A red haze overcame him. "Raagh!" He shouted, holding up an ax in both hands. With the left ax, he chopped a spear in half, sending his blade across the lad's neck with the right ax. Yanking the boy in front of him, he sent his heel into his back, causing one of the spearmen to impale their own as the force of the push sent the surrounding Achnal to the ground.
"Waaagh!" He screamed, jumping up onto the back of the recently impaled warrior, putting the weight of his momentum onward to send his right ax cleanly through the skull of the Achnal struggling under the boy. The last two scattered a few feet away as they regained composure, their mouths agape. With a stomping charge, he flung his right ax sideways through the neck of his first victim, blood pouring from his esophagus. The last one dropped his spear and darted towards the opposite direction. It was all for naught, as the half-orc dug his ax in the unlucky sod's right shoulder. Thrusting it back, he sent the human downwards, and proceeded to climb on top of him and rip his fur garment off his chest. The man pleaded for his life, struggling every second of the way. Flames from Derthag's beard were creeping up closer now, he could feel the heat up to his forehead. With a bit of ingenuity, he sent forth his fists into the bare chest of his victim. A grim realization was made aware to the man, as his sternum cracked inward and pierced his heart. Already driven into shock, his chest was torn open as the blood thirsty orc reached in with both hands. Clenching the heart of the Achnal, he detached it with ease and dove his face into the opening after tossing off his helm. Sipping, slurping, twirling and lapping up the insides, he flew back in a moment's notice and gasped for air as puddles of red oozed from his mouth and gory bits drooled off his tusk.
His entire face stained with red, his facial hair now fully unbraided and extinguished by the blood, he became entirely aware of his surroundings and thoughts once again. Attempting to stand upright, his ears ringing loudly, the bloodied orc struggled to dig his axes back out of their entrenched positions in the flesh of the fresh corpses. Wiping away what blood he could from his eyes, he would soon see a robed figure nearly ten feet ahead just as he placed his helm back on.
"M-master!" The figure shouted. "Somebody! Anyone!"
"'Ello, rabbit." Derthag greeted, in a dark and deep tone. He grinned as he stated his intent. "Did'ja forget your spells, rabbit? I have a spell..." He continued, calmly walking towards the mage's apprentice.
The robed Achnal warily took a step back for every one of Derthag's step forwards. He clenched a weathered tome tightly, his pupils widening as he scurried through the pages. "Oh yeah...I have a spell." The orc grimly stated. "It makes rabbits afraid...it makes rabbits frightened, makes 'em run..." His pace was quickening, his tone lowering deeper and deeper. "It makes their blood pump faster, makes 'em taste...fresher soon as I rip into 'em. Mm, rabbit haunch. What sorta' powers might I gain if I were to roast up your liver, grind your brain matter into chum, and devour your still beating heart raw?!" He exclaimed, his voice raising with every word.
"St-stay back, vile fiend!" The apprentice nervously shouted, before speaking words in some foreign tongue.
With a whisk of his fingers, a bolt of fire struck Derthag's plate, and the orc winced back as he quickly cut off his straps and tossed aside his platemail. Just in time, as well, as the steel soon melted down where it had been struck. Ol' Tarlung roared, lobbing the ax in his left hand and storming towards him with the one in his right. The apprentice darted towards the other way, scurrying through his ancient book. The thrown ax embedded into his left thigh, and the cowardly robed figure was sent to his knees. Pouncing unto his back, he sent his face deep within the mud and drove a hard, clenched fist on the back of his skull. Flipping him back over, their eyes locked on and the apprentice mage was distraught, disoriented and soon to be disemboweled.
"'Twas a nice piece of armor you ruined back there..." Derthag stated, taking off his helm. His chin held high, eyes aimed downwards. "It's gonna take at least a few weeks ta' grow me beard back ta' full length..."
The magic-wielder was speechless. "Oh yes...Ol' Radush Eyedrink'ah is gonna have a drink on me tonight! But before I pluck those juicy eyeballs out their sockets, your gonna bear witness to your own emasculation, chap!" Emasculation..., a word he'd learned from Ygdri, explained by Koloch. The humans always had an odd and painful way for torture, the orcs did too, but they had different names and techniques for such things. "Aha! You'd think I'd have time for that! You bloody well pissed yourself, mate."
Only minutes after the recently ensued conflict, the apprentice's head was halfway strewn across a wooden stick nearly eight feet in length, dug into the ground. His eyes were plucked, his mouth open wide. Derthag aimed to regroup with Ygdri, trotting off on foot towards where he'd heard some fighting not far by. In his pouch where he kept his tomahawk, two pages were torn from the mage's tome and were wrapped up nicely, containing inside the fresh eyes of a fresh kill. He'd be sure the CO would appreciate the gift. But first order of business, kill the mage. Who knows, with luck Ygdri would already be on her way back with the primary target mage's head hauled off her back.
Proofreading my post, it'll be up first thing in the morning, i'm all tired eyed from writing it up the past three hours.
It's pretty gruesome, if I do say so myself. Some of you might have read worse, i'm actually hoping some of you have. Wouldn't exactly want to set an example on overdoing it with the gore.
It's pretty gruesome, if I do say so myself. Some of you might have read worse, i'm actually hoping some of you have. Wouldn't exactly want to set an example on overdoing it with the gore.
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