Orcs Taking over Catskills (with stories by Skrug)

[DJ_Sandman]

Skrug was bloodied, and bruised. His staff had hairline cracks down its shaft after the repeated strikes on the animated piles of rocks.
It had been many moons since he last stood in the doorway to Shame. Something was different, the earth seemed harder... things were not as they used to be, but that seemed to be the case across the uzg. The old days were gone, and but a memory.
“Dis amb skah!” He said aloud. “Wut amb dis mojo?” Something tugged at his mind, and he felt it drawn into the depths of the black cavern. What caused this change to what was once a training ground, a place for new gruntees to test their mettle.
“Amb dis de will ob de buurz’ash? Amb de uzg chaynged su muj? Amb dis owr new tezt ob clog?” His memory of the uruckus was fuzzy. It was all so long ago. Clog. Might makes right. The way of the womp’r.... “Clog....” he nodded and set forth back to camp


SKRUG

 

[DJ_Sandman]

Week #2 Orc Adventure on Catskills

The small tribe of orcs gathered at the old Yew orc fort. The place that used to be home but was no longer. In a way it was both an ending, and a beginning. The clan was gone, but now there was the Buurzum tribe. Leaving the fort was a step into a new world, much different from the old uzg, yet familiar.
They walked up to the Shame entry way. Its inky blackness called to Skrug. The sound of grinding rock and flame and wind from within was more intense, in a way it sounded not just louder but purposeful, more awake. The five orcs readied their weapons, notched arrows, readied staffs and ran headfirst into the darkness. WAAAAAARGH! Was the battlecry heard echoing off the stone walls. One by one, the earth, rock, fire, and wind elementals fell to the team. They clamoured down, deeper, into the darkness.
They came upon a structure there in the darkness, magics swirled around it. Human magics. Something tugged at Skrugs mind again.
“Clog. Mite meyks rite...” he whispered. It was time the tribe knew clog again, and they rushed into the human fort! Hacking, slashing. Orc magic flared. Orcish arrows sung through the darkness.
And as is with tradition, all the humans died, and the orcs once again knew Clog.

SKRUG

 

[DJ_Sandman]

Week #3 Orc Adventure on Catskills

It was dusk when Skrug sat beside the fire. Its flames flickering, casting dancing shadows through the trees. They danced in unison, an ethereal ballet.
Skrugs eyes danced from fire to shadows, and back again. The fire was the strength behind the shadows movement. “Ghaash amb de Clog....” he whispered, “Buurz amb de... amb de....” He held his breath and closed his eyes.
His thoughts trailed off, thinking back to Shame, how the tribe clashed against the elementals, how at times they were scattered, and how once together and working in unison, dancing together, they became stronger. His thoughts drifted back to the dancing shadows.
“Ghaash ambd be clog, buurz amb de snarf...” Snarf, the dance, the tactics... what could Clog be without the dance? “De urks muzt gruk de snarf...” he thought He released his breath and stood, knowing what must come next.

 

[DJ_Sandman]

Week #4 Orc Adventure on Catskills


Skrug stood from the campfire. It was almost like the old days, standing in the Yew fort. It truly was just the Yew fort now, the signs of the previous orc clan long washed away. Only the refuse, stench and guttural broken language of the primordial orc species remain. The uruk-hai long away... He walked to the ramp, and placed one foot on the crumbling runway. The fire crackled and spat sparks and the shadows danced. Skrug pulled out a small stone from his pouch, examined it quickly and tossed it into the fire.
The flames surged upward and turned from green to red and back again. A billow of green and black smoke rose high into the air. The shadows danced and seemed to call to him. The signal fire was lit, and soon the orcs made their way from their hiding places to meet inside the old epicentre of the orcish might. Skrug watched as they arrived one by one. He was proud of the tribe in their strength in Clog, but he also understood that the could be better.
He called the orcs into attention with a “LINEUB GLOBS!” It was time to test their teamwork, or rather begin the learnings of clomping together as a tribe. Snarf was knowledge of tactics and teamwork. He had almost forgot the name, as he had been alone and wandering for so long.
“Dis muun, Skrug habd stared entu de ghaash, aghr fownd whiul lats amb bubhosh wif da Clog, lats amb nubhosh wif da Snarf!” “Uz whil clomp dis muun, aght uz whil guw deep deep intu de playz ob buurzum agh ghaash... entu Hythluth.”

The orcs arrived in hythloth, Skrug quickly called the orca to attention before the kighagh (bloodlust) could take hold.
“LINEUB LATS! ASH MUR TING! DIS AM TEZT, NUB URUKS DIE DIS MOON OR UZ STARD OBUR!” Down the orcs descended, cleaving a bloody trail of monsters. The sound of orcish steel, the crackle of orc mojo, black arrows slicing through the dark dungeon, and all the while the orcish drummer banged away a marching and cleaving beat.
The teams strikes seemed to march the beat of the wardrum, the firelight from the torches dances, and the shadows, and the blades, until they reached the very bottom of Hythloth.
And through all of that, while bloodied and bruised, no orc died, and once again the tribe knew Snarf....







Afterward... the orcs gathered at the bard circle... to drink the cider and show the humans their new battle scars, proud as new parents orcs are with their rites of battle.
Skrug told the story of the ghaash’drum in honour of their newest tribe mate and tribe drummer.





SKRUG