Skellbrieg (CVU Location Thread)

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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#1  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

"We were masters of this world once. The nuclear wars shook apart our kingdoms, awoke monsters from underneath our feet, and brought the sky crashing down. It is now the Dark Age. There is no law or order save for what you are able to protect by yourself."

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Skellbrieg is a world bathed in battle and blood. Its dominant inhabitants are naturally violent, megalomaniacal, and have evolved their biologies to be tailored to combat. Their multilayered brains are dedicated to conquering their surroundings and destroying all who oppose. It is the law that was ingrained in their ancestors ever since they first created primitive tools in the wilds of the hell-razed world. Their long history of war goes back to the very roots of the Empire of the Bloodied Hammer, as well as the founding of the first necromantic cults buried deep in the bowels of the Dark Road.

The Bloodied Hammer was the sigil of the kingdom of Kahzmor, built on the principles of their greatest champions whom they elevated to kingly status and named Kahzmor - for only one can rule, and that is Kahzmor. It held sway over much of the supercontinent that dominates Skellbrieg, even unto the northern pole of the planet.

Yet its rivals combined forces and launched a nuclear strike upon one of its provinces, sparking a conflict that would change the course of Skellbrieg's history forever.

FACTIONS

BLOODIED HAMMER OF KAHZMOR

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Bathed in atomic fire, the world shuddered and crumbled under the weight of insurmountable artillery strikes and missile bombardments. Millions were wiped out in an instant, with many more dying of radiation exposure and infected burns. Vegetation became sparse, and wildlife mutated to adapt to the horrific changes spurred on by the disastrous conflict. The citizens of Kahzmor reunited under a new leader, one who took up the mantle when no one else would, and became the Independent State of Kahzmor, still bearing the Bloodied Hammer as boldly as ever.

Kahzmor is based on the Eastern Fringe of the Skellbrieg supercontinent, dominating its coasts and mainland cities with an iron fist. It is ruled solely by a ruler named Kahzmor, whose name is merely a title dedicated to lend itself and the bearer a sort of immortality through the ages. "Only one can rule, and that is Kahzmor," is the common saying.

The strongarm of Kahzmor is the Holy Inquisition. They are tasked with hunting down and destroying mutants wherever they may be found, lest they join the armies amassing in the Dark Road. The Inquisition routinely requisitions crusades against the "lower families", or the tribes that were opposed to Kahzmor before the Nuclear Wars. Their signature weapons of fire and pseudomantium are capable of rending flesh from bone, but the forests of Le'Gorrosh hiding the Tarkhan tribes still confound their efforts for expansion.

Wherever the Inquisition goes, the proper armies of Kahzmor are not far behind. The Inquisition regularly wears the most advanced armor and sports the highest-quality weapons available, as is expected of their elite status. The footmen of Kahzmor are legion and go to war with the intent of drowning the enemy in bodies and bullets, in that order. Their mission is nothing short of hammering the opposition until they are ground to dust under tank treads and heavy boots. Such is the undertaking of amassing a Kahzmor army that the Inquisition is often tasked with eradicating smaller threats and leaving fortifications for the soldiers themselves.

TRIBES OF THE MAINLAND

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Meanwhile, the coalition of Kahzmor's rivals splintered off into a multitude of groups, each embodying different ideologies. The Tarkhan resurfaced as a prominent sub-cult of these various paramilitary practices, creating a name for themselves in the strangely-untouched jungles of Le'Gorrosh. Only they know the secrets of the mutated flora there, and use it to their advantage as a screening zone for would-be invaders. Kahzmor would never dare to boldly invade their territories, and they strike out with a vengeance.

The various other tribes of Skellbrieg are constantly shifting power scales and memberships. One day, some tribes might even exist where they didn't the day before and others have been completely eradicated. To be a tribesman of Skellbrieg is to live in unrelenting conditions. Tasked with holding the line between the Bloodied Hammer and their homes, the tribes might collaborate for a month or so before falling apart under the weight of the onslaught. Or, in other areas of the massive No Man's Land on the various borders, there might be a military upheaval as tribesmen combine forces and lay waste to a Bloodied Hammer stronghold.

Borders are always changing, and maps are never up-to-date. The stalemate between the Bloodied Hammer's coastline empire and the mainland tribes has been raging ever since the fallout of the Nuclear Wars, when the Coalition that instigated it fell apart and their leaders were scattered and killed. To survive, the tribes had to elect new leaders or be erased. Combine or die. Owing to their natural stubbornness and bloodthirst, cooperation never lasts forever and treachery is always afoot. No one can be trusted when there is profit to be had, as is the law of the Dark Age.

MUTANTS AND ABERRATIONS

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Mutated offspring of the native humanoids were either discarded or killed following the bombs falling, lending to a catastrophic drop in population increase. Yet there were still those who raised their deformed children and still those who mutated them further, seeing this as a genetic rebirth for their species. Mutants living in this age are hired on as mercenaries or thugs who are trained from an early age to kill using their bizarre deformities and extra appendages. Yet, they congregate within the Dark Road as amassed armies of strange and unsightly beasts capable of catastrophic destruction when spurred on by those who would seek to gather them.

In contrast to the fantastic powers normally associated with mutants, those derelict lifeforms on Skellbrieg are often hulking masses of fleshy tumors and ropey muscle that are able to throw normal men aside like dolls. Such is the raw power of these behemoths that a single one is a terrifying sight in the midst of battle. Bullets ricochet off its leathery skin, and multiple arms shoot out and crush limbs and torsos while a specially-made artillery-grade firearm launches off shells the size of skulls into the ramparts. The Dark Road holds sway to many sub-breeds of these mutated creatures, and are witness to a mass-production of them under the supervision of their necromantic overlords that have waited centuries to reemerge. There is no telling just how many mutants have found refuge under the surface of Skellbrieg, but if their raids are any indication, if they were to unite they would crush all opposition before them. Luckily, the necromancers who bind them are just as arrogant and divided as the surface-dwellers and war more amongst themselves than with those above.

There are also the cannibalistic cyborgs to consider.

BINARY LEGION

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Those who were trapped in the northern poles of the world bore witness to the crashing of civilization from a relatively untouched distance. Though the empires of Norrath and Karda remained resolute in the face of disaster, they were soon besieged on all sides by creatures more strange than the mutants who attacked their borders.

Within Norrath, there were a multitude of untested bioweapons meant to be used as a last resort if the Bloodied Hammer triumph over the Coalition before the Nuclear Wars. One such weapon was of techno-organic composition and viral in nature. Upon contact with the skin, the virus spread until the host organism was completely converted into mechanical matter. Cells were replaced with cold pseudomantium, blood with oil, and minds with computers.

Cold logic dictated that all organic life must be purged, for they caused the Nuclear Wars and by extension the Dark Age. Those who yet lived on Skellbrieg were errors in their own ecosystem. Thus the kingdoms of Norrath and Karda fell, and the Twin Cyberlords Teslai Khan and Mundus Gigante emerged from the smouldering wreckage of organic civilization. Mundus Gigante, the more militant of the two, ventured without mercy into the Dark Road and forged a path of carnage, earning the moniker The Impaler when he started building fences out of those who opposed him - regardless if they were living or dead, they were put upon a pike and left there.

Now his eyes are set upon the Bloodied Hammer, but the mutants of the Dark Road continue to harass his armies. The largest target remains the tribes of the mainland, however, and their internal political strife plays well to his cruel strategies.

GARGANTS OF ADMUND TORR

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The gargants of Admund Torr are the everlasting scourge of the wastes. Awakened from their primordial slumber by the Nuclear Wars, they march out in small numbers but with horrifying force against the more modern races of Skellbrieg.

They are armed with massive clubs, axes, and flails, for nothing else crosses their minds as effective weaponry. Sometimes an errant rock or chunk of rubble might find its way into their hands to be thrown, but other than that their ancient minds only thirst for the bloody tithe of melee. That way, they can fight and enjoy a meal at the same time.

Gorthok the Fleshcleaver is their undisputed leader, who rules from a throne around which are heaped mountainous piles of bones. The skeletons of the gargants' enemies are their greatest tribute to Gorthok, who devours any who refuse him payment for his tyrannical rule.

The gargants, as well as their Gundaragh and orugg cousins, are strange stonelike beings that seem to have evolved out of the deepest places of the world, only to adapt based on their current habitats.

GUNDARAGH

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Wherever the gargants walk, their terrible size and strength either destroys or enslaves those around them. Hundreds are butchered in their wake, and those who survive are often swept away into cages.

Their closest relatives are the Gundaragh, miniscule in comparison to the titanic gargants, but still monstrous to normal humanoids.

The Gundaragh inhabit mountain passes, canyons, and abandoned road systems, infesting the countryside in immense numbers. With behemoth muscle and leathery skin, their bulletproof disposition and iron-fisted approach to combat make them excellent shock troops when used in massive formations. Nothing barring a concentrated artillery barrage can hope to put a dent in the rising tide of charging flesh and ropey muscle, and even then there is no guarantee the Gundaragh will actually stop.

Primitive and incredibly violent, the Gundaragh were reawakened from an ancient age by the Nuclear Wars and spread like a virus throughout the wastelands.

ORUGGS

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Lesser than the Gundaragh and gargants are the oruggs of the Dark Road. Long have they infested the derelict tunnel systems of that forsaken underground labyrinth. From back beyond the count of years, before the very first organism from the oceans made its way to land, the oruggs were dominant within the Dark Road while their Gundaragh and gargant cousins stormed the highlands and mountains of the world above.

Oruggs are naturally violent and prone to acts of barbarism unthinkable to normal people. They delight in the suffering of others, and actively pursue bloodshed and battle as a means of entertainment.

They are intelligent enough to understand that what they enjoy doing goes against the laws of other civilizations, and that retaliation is inevitable. Oruggs don't seem to care, however, as their contempt and seething hatred for all things that do not share their foul blood outweighs common decency.

This violent behavior was only exasperated in earlier generations by the wars against the First Men, who build cities within the Dark Road and constructed vast wonders in the honor of their god-king Grungnir.

The oruggs butchered the First Men with sadistic joy, and ran away when they saw the battle get out-of-control. They utilized monstrous beasts and enslaved countless smaller devils in order to drive back the First Men, and eventually they struck a wound upon Grungnir that spelled the beginning of the end for the burgeoning empire of stone-skins.

Yet, even with this grievous blow, the First Men continued to fight back. Thoragnar the Unbeliever finally beheaded Gargog Bloodgulper in the final battle to open the gates to the surface. When the First Men won the fight and saw the nuclear wasteland before them, the oruggs saw their opportunity to raid as much as possible in this new and foreboding landscape - since they thought the doors were just locked.

Now the oruggs marshal out in terrifying numbers, often using their larger Gundaragh or gargant cousins as shock troops and mercenaries in order to seek out the bloodiest fights of this new Dark Age.

THE FIRST MEN

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Long ago, in the primal ages of Skellbrieg, before the primordial organisms of the Cambrian explosion emerged from the waters of the world, there were the First Men. Stone constructs made by Grungnir, a wandering godlike being who saw fit to make his claim to Skellbrieg, the First Men created marvels without number within the deep places of the world. Grungnir fought back the underground terrors at the forefront of this millennia-long conflict, winning many wars and killing countless worms and flesh-eating giants that spawned within the tunnels of the Dark Road.

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Soon, however, Grungnir suffered a terrible wound and turned to diamond at the center of his great empire, entombed for all time as a glittering monument to the former glory of the First Men. Ever since then, their borders have been dwindling and their monuments have been broken. Bloody reigns of expansion and recession have seen the conquest of perhaps a single mile, paved with the sacrifice of thousands of First Men. Isolation underground drove many to starvation, as the hordes of the Dark Road closed in around from all sides.

With the rule of Thoragnar the Unbeliever, the First Men broke through to the surface for the first time in generations, hewing apart the horrors below with indifference and disdain. Thoragnar looked out and saw the devastation of the lands above his realm, that the farmers who were upon the surface were left to whatever dark death claimed them. Corpses were petrified clawing at the doors to their kingdom, desperate to get inside to safety. The First Men had reemerged to a land sprawling with unnatural terrors.

And they would meet them head-on.

SEIWAN

The Independent Country of Seiwan

STRONGHOLDS

ADMUND TORR

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The birthplace of the gargants and their smaller cousin species, it is a massive and intimidating labyrinth of caverns and canyons extending for many miles in any direction. Situated in the heart of the South Coast, Admund Torr was long ago thought to be uninhabited. That, of course, changed with the advent of the Nuclear Wars.

With the atomic bombings scouring the world with fire, the monstrous beings locked in hibernation there awoke and the oruggs managed to find a way to the surface.

Those provinces defended by the humanoid tribes are hardy folk, surviving off petty rations and fighting at a nearly-constant rate against the behemoths that spill out into the countryside. They see fighting from oruggs mostly, weathering their raiding parties as nobly as they can manage. Yet it is the rare orugg mass-uprisings that see these southern provinces pushed into unrelenting service. For in these events, the oruggs often bring their larger cousins to seek out the bloodiest battles they can find.

THE DARK ROAD

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Nowhere on the surface of Skellbrieg, not even with the ever-changing borders of the No Man's Land, is there a larger battlefield than the chilling darkness of the labyrinths below.

The Dark Road is a massive undertaking of the ancient species of the world, who burrowed out gargantuan empires over the course of many millennia in the heart of Skellbrieg. These derelict kingdoms fell into disrepair, and were conquered, or converted to other purposes. The mightiest was of the First Men, under their god-king Grungnir, who led them into the depths combating the bloodthirsty oruggs and their worm-slaves.

Yet even this great republic collapsed into decay, and would have fallen completely if not for Thoragnar the Unbeliever, who led an unprecedented campaign to open the vaults for the first time in centuries. What he saw beyond was a world awash in fire and death, though the ashes had long ago settled.

The Dark Road has always been open to outsiders, however, for the war between the First Men and the oruggs was merely a blink of a percentage of its scale and complexity. Mutants spurred on by necromancers in shadowy caves, cannibal cyborgs from the fallen kingdoms of Norrath and Karda, oruggs from the deepest pits of the cavernous void, all of them and more collide on an hourly basis in enormous battles.

LE'GORROSH

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Along the Western Coast are unexplored jungles and mountains covered in vegetation that was mysteriously spared from the Nuclear Wars. With the return of the tribe of Tarkhan to their section of No Man's Land, they found a province rife with devastation as oruggs ransacked their old homes and villages upon emerging from the Dark Road. Gundaragh marauders followed suit, though the enormous gargants were thankfully absence from this incursion.

The Tarkhan retook their province with an outstanding show of force, building trenchworks and fields of razor wire as they went. Artillery barrages crept along the orugg-claimed territories, smashing them apart into mangled chunks. Long ago, the Tarkhan held a kinship with the forests of Le'Gorrosh. That proved to still hold to the present day when oruggs retreating into the jungles were mysteriously killed. The Tarkhan counted their blessings and retook their villages within the mountains, at home in the wilderness that in turn kept them safe from invaders.

It had seemed the radiation generated a genetically improbable mutation within the plants themselves, for their distance from the main focus areas of the Nuclear Wars lessened their initial scorching. The plants adapted a primeval intelligence, remembering the kindness of the Tarkhan to the green places of the world, and sought to repay them in turn. Foreign planes taking flight over the forests find their engines clogged with spores and failing. Armies marching to war must maintain careful burning distance, or else be consumed entirely. Even armored columns disappear within the jungles, only to join the iron graveyards within.

KAHZMOR

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The largest single province of humanoids on Skellbrieg is also its most militant and outright cruel. Before the Nuclear Wars, some of the first conquerors of the world scoured the land and began the line of Kahzmor - tyrannical rulers of the Empire of the Bloodied Hammer. Though the kingdom itself was also called Kahzmor, the name was more in reference to the iron-fisted monarchs who held sway over its people. Brooding, hulking monsters of men whose strength to rule was only matched by their strength in combat, every Kahzmor throughout history has been headstrong, patriotic, and megalomaniacal in the extreme.

This pattern continues to the modern age, as the current Kahzmor utilizes both his Inquisition branch and the vast manpower afforded to him to crush all who oppose the Bloodied Hammer.

Time and time again, a Kahzmor would die in battle or be assassinated only to be replaced by a crueler and more power-hungry successor. That pattern has and will not be diminished, for only one can rule over Skellbreig and that is Kahzmor.

The entire eastern fringe of No Man's Land is consumed in heavy fighting in the name of the Bloodied Hammer, as the deepest cuts into tribal territories have been brought by the legions of Kahzmor. It is a primal and deeply-rooted hatred that spans back generations, one that is destined to cause bloodshed for decades to come.

THE IRON FRONT

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No Man's Land extends from the deep south of Admund Torr, to the Western Coasts of Le'Gorrosh, to the Eastern Fringe that is dominated by the Empire of the Bloodied Hammer. It also touches the frigid north, where nuclear winter unleashed a bio-weapon that turned living organisms into mechanical slaves for the hive mind of Gunda Ragh and Teslai Khan, twin emperors of the Binary Legions.

The Iron Front is where the cybernetic hordes make their presence known on the surface, with entire provinces being held under siege by Gunda Ragh the Impaler as he strides into battle leading his robotic warriors without remorse or pity for the "fleshlings".

It is a costly war in the north, as the organic humanoids defending themselves against Gunda Ragh's tireless advance lose more and more ground every day. Their retaliatory strikes win back miles at a time, but with the cost of manpower being a significant target for Gunda Ragh to exploit. The cycle continues much as it does anywhere else within No Man's Land, and the cannibal cyborgs keep marching on.

NO MAN'S LAND

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No Man's Land is a constantly changing border that the humanoid tribes of the mainland guard against their myriad foes.

It is a massive network of artillery complexes, bunkers, trenches, and various other methods of suppressing any and all comers or pounding them into submission against weight of bodies and ammunition. The tribes protect their own section of the No Man's Land, and sometimes build across the borders to other tribes.

This of course creates tension and often civil war, resulting in the collapse of a province or the ransacking of both by a larger third party. Whether this is by a foreign faction or another tribe is inconsequential, as it happens too often to be considered anything less than negligible.

Such is the size and scope of the No Man's Land surrounding the mainland that no measurement has truly been able to comprise it's circumference at any given time. It was once the heart of the Nuclear Wars, and now it's myriad ditches and valleys have been laboriously converted into staggering war machines.

The tribes of the mainland may bicker over territory and resources, but in the event on an imminent invasion those closest to the threat will always prove a stubborn foe to overcome.

OOC:

  • You are able to join any faction that you want. Doesn't matter, go crazy. Please note that if you want to aspire to a role of leadership, the tribes are constantly changing and will be your best bet. Kahzmor is a title owed to the ruler of the Bloodied Hammer, earned through conquest and usurping the previous Kahzmor. Your character must be renamed Kahzmor IC if this is your aspiration, for only one can rule, and that is Kahzmor.
  • If you want to rule over a den of mutants, then you are able to make a supreme mutant who corrals them together. Making a necromancer is not required. Mutants are exceptional as mercenaries and hunters.
  • The cybernetic north is more strict and concrete. Gunda Ragh is a highly feared and massive robotic warrior, while Teslai Khan is his more astute and calculating twin counterpart. If you want to make a cyborg, then it's entirely possible to make one that branches off and does its own thing. Computers aren't perfect, especially on a place like Skellbrieg.
  • Pseudomantium is basically just steel, but making steel on an alien world would be weird.
  • Questions can and will be answered below.
  • Have fun!
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Added a few races, working on locations now.

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Formatting on mobile is a nightmare...

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Okay, I'm about to finish this for now...

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And that's it for the moment. More in possible expansion posts, but for right now have at it.

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Landriksgard, Nesarig Province

No Man's Land

No Caption Provided

The Nesarigians, or "Nessies" as they were often called, were and still are a hardy breed of soldier. Nestled between the giant-infested deserts of Admund Torr and the relentless borders of Kahzmor, Nesarig had seen its fair share of battle. The Nessies enjoyed familial pleasures in the small absences of war, often eating and sharing stories with neighbors.

Yet, even in the relative peace, the shadows of the artillery guns always loomed overhead and the radars were primed and ready. Soon, the sirens went out over the city of Landriksgard. The armies of Kahzmor were on the move.

It was an unimportant mining town to the far north of Nesarig, small enough to be considered an ignorable target to most. Yet the hammer of General Orof Schaeffer fell hard upon Landriksgard, as he committed over a dozen full battalions into bombarding and capturing the settlement.

He believed with all his heart that ensnaring even this small mining town in his grasp would be enough to secure a foothold in order to launch attacks deeper into Nesarig, and then eventually topple the province under the iron fist of Kahzmor. It seemed like a foolproof plan, as Landriksgard did link to other larger settlements that eventually led to Nesarig's capital of Helenstaad. Taking the roads meant faster travel for the army, and the lightning warfare of Kahzmor could not be contended with in full momentum.

In response to this, Captain Lorons Kalipht was assigned to the duty of repelling this assault - but his company was three days away from Landriksgard. The message went out the following morning, as the artillery started falling in both directions.

No help would come to Landriksgard any quicker. They had to hold, or surrender the roads to Kahzmor and risk dooming all of northern Nesarig to the Bloodied Hammer.

They were not expected to survive.

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#8  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

Northeast as Landriksgard sits, along the trenches...

These barricades were made ages ago. Every nook and cranny splattered with blood, bodies still rotting topside. They've lived their entire lives next to a mass grave, never daring to venture out into the dreaded creeping grey. Artillery was a song of life. If it did not echo from the distance, the day was not complete. If the rocky hills and broken walls did not shake with the thunder of tank treads, the children would ask their parents why it was so quiet. Not that it brought them any modicum of comfort, however, for either way the Nessies of Landriksgard were trapped. Civilians had to be ferries away in droves along the farm paths deeper into Nesarig, closer to Helenstaad. There they would be safe.

But for the militia regiments of the 888th Landrik's Guard, it would be a hell unlike any other. They numbered barely twenty thousand, with minimal heavy armor and artillery support plus a few planes and bombers - rickety old machines scavenged from crop dusters found in tool sheds. They were dug in against an army many times their size, with far larger guns and more machines of war. It was all in the vague hope of support from Captain Lorons, who would be coming fresh from his defense against Kahzmor many miles to the south. It was a diversionary tactic, pulled to accentuate the enemy General Orof's plan of pushing down upon the undermanned north of Nesarig.

Only now did they realize the extent of the Kahzmor officer's plan. It would three days until Lorons arrived with his Giantslayers Company. The 888th had to survive until then, using the network of bunkers in the mountains only as a last resort because from there, it was impossible to retreat any further.

It was Oswalt Norringer that took command of the militia. A well-respected miner and expeditionist into the tunnels, he often took the fight to the errant oruggs wandering through the depths and putting his workers in danger. Oswalt's brother Theod became color sergeant, on account of his voice box being replaced with a loudspeaker due to a mining accident. Theod had a harsh voice before, but the metallic amplification only made it grind on everyone's nerves when it was just a noise in the aqueducts and sleeping camps. Now it was a welcomed sign of familiarity in this grave and bleak situation, something strange enough to cling to in light of imminent death.

Some people called it hope that swelled in their chests. They were not soldiers, they were people who husked corn and polished coal for a living. Most only had hunting rifles, intent on claiming proper firearms back inside the bunkers due to low ammunition stores. Their ragtag assortment of hardened steel hats made them out to be tunnelers, not regular infantry. Some even still had dents in them from deflected rocks.

Theod charged up his voice amplifier, and began to speak, shaking some of the softer men around him to tears.

"Good morning gentlemen," he rasped.

"Today is a marvelous day, isn't it? The sun is shining through the smoke. Birds are chirping somewhere. But that is because Nesarig is strong and beautiful, yes?" he roared enthusiastically, getting a mixture of responses.

Those who were shaking earlier were quiet. One vomited. Those with stronger constitutions cheered back at him, but there were not many. The artillery crept closer. Mortar rounds shot plumes of dirt in their faces. A grown man fell to his buttocks, grasping his legs with his arms. Theod shot at him like a dart in the night and pulled him up by his arm, though he was limp as a corpse.

"Do you love your country, Herstod?" he glared into the man's eyes. He was young. Young enough to have gone to university instead of being here. Young enough to love, to see the world. He didn't answer with anything but a nervous nod.

"I said do you love your country Herstod?"

"Y-Yes sergeant!" his legs rooted him in place, and his knees locked. Theod let go of his arm and swept off some dirt from the shoulder of his uniform.

"Good. Because your country loves you. It survives because of what you do. How you will see this day through,"

A shell slammed mere yards away from the trenchline, sending a tidal wave of panic through the stalwart earth. The men still able to understand focused on the sergeant's words and only his words. Those unable to comprehend the situation fell into instantaneous despair and wept where they stood. Men kissed their wedding rings. Said prayers. Pleaded that they would wake up soon.

Theod continued without commenting upon any of this. It was their business what they should do in their final moments.

"You will not be forgotten, my brothers. You share the same blood that flows through my veins, the blood of Nesarig," he took the small chain wrapped around his neck and pulled out a small whistle.

The artillery stopped. An uneasy quiet fell upon the trenches. Theod's line had not been spared the brunt of Kahzmor's assault, however. It was just beginning.

"FIX BAYONETS!" his mechanical voice box shook with infernal fury.

The line did as the sergeant commanded, rolling the metal point upon their rifles in a commanding haste. Kept sharp with rocks, they were not surgical weapons. A cut by them would be messy, wide, and glaring. A stabbing thrust was certain death, as the wound would be stretched and opened as to cause maximum bleeding. A slow, agonizing death, surrounded by smoke and fire and screams. Theod placed the whistle close to his mouth, and took a rung from a nearby ladder into his hand.

"First line, about face!"

And the men did as they were told, quiet and pale as stone.

The quiet was broken by the shrill scream of the whistles going down the line, and then again by the roaring of a thousand men leaping from their miserable havens in the dirt. Theod's Charge began - straight into the Kahzmor line.

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#9  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

@lowlaville:

The gargants, as well as their cousin species, of Gorthok's brood were notoriously cruel and power-hungry. Yet there were still rock-beings who existed to maintain the world. Gargants who wanted peace convened for the future of their species beyond the mountains of Admund Torr, and invited the monstrous Klytius to join. Though, the subject matter would not change if he attended or not. Their message was the same.

Gorthok must be destroyed if their species were to survive. The path of war he initiated against the First Men long ago continued to the modern day, and it was not stopping soon. Within a matter of centuries, they would be extinct.

The steps had to be taken, and if Klytius had been present he would know instantly. If not he would be sent the details later.

Fort Bonecrusher under the command of Magokash - an orugg chieftain who answered to Gorthok - held dominance over the mountain pass leading into some nearby humanoid encampments. Magokash was infamous for raiding at night, and only served to fuel the fires of contempt between humanoids and oruggs at the behest of the Fleshcleaver.

If Klytius were to stop Gorthok, he would have to capture this fortress along with several others stretching across the mountains of Admund Torr.

No Caption Provided

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#10  Edited By lowlaville

@thisisgonnahurt:

Klytius would not miss a chance to convene for the future of his species. They had gathered, the Gargants like him who wanted peace, who wanted Gorthok dealt with, his menacing ways ended for good. He had brought wars, in the absence of many of the ancients of his kinds. Or perhaps he was just the first to have awakened. His ways were not for Gargants. They were destructive, and he thrived on the flesh and blood of his brothers and sisters. This had to be stopped.

Klytius raised the issue of his intent to conquer the vile ruler with the might he possessed within his being. Few opposed this method, but even those that did knew how capable Klytius was. He was old, he was one of the first of his kind given birth by the world. They existed to maintain the world. It was their duty to make sure that the land continued to be passed down to future generations of those that inhabited it.

Gorthok had given birth to sons and daughters, and they had carried on his destructive and cruel nature. The Gundaragh and Orugg were the ideal of their ancestor, but they were nonetheless forces every Gargant commanded under them.

After the meeting, Klytius would head back to his camp. Rumble, Rumble, Rumble. His Orugg chieftain had set up camp, prepared his warriors, prepared catapults, prepared weapons, and prepared battering rams. Archers, Warriors that rode massive beasts and War Drummers, all aligned in perfect harmony.

The preparation had taken close to a year to complete. But at last, Klytius's war engine was ready to move. During this time, the Orugg Chief, Zimbala, had already gathered intelligence reports on various encampments, fortresses and cities in Admun Torr which was under the direct command of Gorthok. These locations, fortresses and households had to be demolished in order to make Gorthok come out of his lair. It would take time and resources, but the Gargants were patient creatures.

Klytius's army totaled to 3 million soldiers on foot, roughly 1 million archers and half a million riders. These made up for the sizeable chunk of the army. There were of course the Siege Machines, Catapults and Battering Rams, The Fire Spewers and the Maulers. Causalities of conquests were high, Klytius knew that. He lead his vast army towards the stronghold of Magokash. He was a night raider, one who enjoyed raiding the nearby human encampments during the night.

It would take him and the army a few days to reach the fortress. Roughly 2 miles out, they would come to a grinding halt behind the cover of some mountains. Klytius and his army would rest. They had marched non-stop, and the time to do battle was nigh. And rest they would, but after that, Klytius would lead his army towards the Fortress in broad daylight. He would break off a jagged mountain peak, intending to use it as a weapon. The massive fortress was roughly the size of he himself. It was massive. For his army to get past its defenses would take an immense amount of time and effort.

For Klytius, he merely swung his weapon at the walls of the fortress, and created a hole the size of a 20 story building. Klytius would then stand aside, and let his army do the work.

"JOIN ME, AND ME SHALL BE MERCIFUL." Klytius spoke, his voice booming out, ringing in and around the area of the fortress. Klytius commanded his army to spare anyone that swore allegiance to he, and kill anyone that resisted.

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@lowlaville:

Magokash emerged from his inner sanctum in Fort Bonecrusher to a sight he was not accustomed to seeing. His orugg armies were in disarray, having been pacified by the heavy hand of a gargant looming over the shattered iron walls of his establishment. Normally, Magokash would have opened fire on the creature such as anything else - if not for the fact that the beast was large enough to bring his entire operation down just by sneezing.

"Wot? Ya wont us ta give up? Jes like dat?"

He started to laugh, but one of his subordinates ran up to his ear and told him about the millions of soldiers waiting outside - oruggs just like them and Gundaragh rock beasts in the thousands. He stopped and a grim expression came over his face, followed by a coy smirk.

"O-Of course we will, boss, ya jes give us our new orders, yeah?"

At this point in time, he didn't want to insult the giant. As long as he was standing on his front porch with so many warriors at his beck and call, Magokash had no hope of anything else besides complying.

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Elsewhere on the supercontinent...a crusade is brewing...

No Caption Provided

The wars of Skellbrieg are many and endless.

Perhaps none are more deeply-rooted than the animosity between the Empire of the Bloodied Hammer and the tribes of the Mainland. Since before the Nuclear Wars that tore their nations apart, the numerous sub-factions of the Mainland have survived against the encroaching weight of the armies of Kahzmor by pure grit and stubbornness. Between them is the largest-spanning continuously active warzone on the planet, over three thousand miles long and a third as wide straight across the border. It is a massive grave of bodies and armored vehicles, where trenches are objectives and victory is measured in inches.

Though the Mainland tribes have managed this long by determination, Kahzmor has turned it into a pseudo-religious effort to push through to the heart of the continent. Currently, it is Kahzmor the Iron Hand who has taken the throne of the Bloodied Hammer, and it is by his indomitable willpower that his armies have won deep into the contested territory, flattening the line more than ever closer to the Mainland.

For over three hundred years, this constant age of battle has turned the Empire into a ruthless war machine. Children are taught to aspire to the front lines from an early age, with propaganda spread across the realm by the Inquisition. Dissenters are made silent quickly. Post-traumatic stress disorder is almost a non-factor, as the brutality of Kahzmor mandates the teaching of war in all schools. Battlefield surgery and weapon maintenance are required for graduation from every established university, which is more barracks than campus.

The current status of Kahzmor is a brainwashed populace, told from birth that they are the rightful heirs of the world and that all other races must be put to the torch. Of course, there is suitable evidence of military defeats on all fronts despite Kahzmor's substantial power. It is not as black and white as a race war, but more of the fact of vengeance culminating in the hearts and minds of a wartorn people that has faced the horrors of cyborg mutants, monstrous giants, and abominations from another age. Every Kahzmor has ruled through their own strength at all times, going to the front lines and asserting their mission of keeping their people alive at all costs - even if all others must be purged.

It is as it always has been, for only one can rule - and it is Kahzmor.

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#13  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

A Brief History of Skellbrieg Pt. 1

"Our destinies were our own, long ago. Now we are just lucky for a scrap to eat without bloodshed being involved."

No Caption Provided

Skellbrieg is an ancient world, comprised of many ancient species. Although most of its landmass is concentrated on the supercontinent also called Skellbrieg, the Nuclear Wars changed the scope of the planet forever. Such was the intensity of the atomic bombings that the tectonic plates shifted and crashed against each other for a whole ten years, resulting in what was called the Apocalypse Decade. The planet shook and rumbled as new landmasses were forcibly ripped out of the flanks of the original supercontinent.

Now, massive chains of islands connect two individual continents on the world while the ocean covers much of the planet itself. Skellbrieg remains the dominant theater for the myriad factions and clans all vying for control or for survival. Yet that second unnamed continent is entirely unknown to them, as the age of exploration has devolved into war and bloodshed. The only faction that could feasibly have access to it as of the moment are the seafaring mutants of the Shattered Archipelago. Their lifestyle demands constant expansion and raiding, after all.

The reemergence of the gargants, Gundaragh, and oruggs have become a scourge over the 200 years since the Nuclear Wars. While they roam the surface, their natural enemy in the First Men does not dwell silently in the mountain strongholds. Many of these were wiped out in the cataclysmic bombing and the subsequent earthquakes that shook the planet apart, but those few that do remain are perhaps the most well-defended bastions outside of the Kahzmor's capital city of Mohz-Rallah and the constantly-evolving fortifications of the cannibal cyborgs under Mundus Gigante. The secrets of the First Men are being sought after by many human factions on Skellbrieg, though they only divulge them to travellers who prove themselves worthy of their trust. It is in fact that the humans are direct descendants of the First Men, hence their name being such a profound moniker.

Humans are capable of harnessing the powers of the First Men in bursts, but only through intense training and exemplary acts of bravery. The tribes of the Mainland have varying systems of captains and champions, but all of them exhibit these raw talents of strength, speed, and agility and are capable of knocking fully-grown gargants unconscious using these techniques. Though, the amplifications only last a short while and necessitate incredible energy consumption. The stronger the user, of course, the more energy they are capable of mitigating towards the task at hand. There is nothing quite like seeing a gargant being toppled and having the man or woman responsible leading the charge straight into an orugg horde.

The Mainland tribes are more humble in their pursuit of science and technology, some even eschewing it entirely in favor of shamanism and strange forms of mysticism. These tribes often produce immensely powerful warriors who are sought after as shock troops, as their connection to the Blood of Grungnir is almost palpable. Humans at large have no idea who or what Grungnir is, but his history with their ancestors is unmistakeable. Grungnir was a titanic manlike god, who taught the First Men to fight back against the oruggs who often raided or killed in their territories. These oruggs were of the Brood of Lukgrash, Gorthok's distant ancestor, lending to the ancient times in which Grungnir lived due to the average gargant's lifespan sometimes measuring thousands of years.

Grungnir kept the First Men safe as they forged with their bare hands and made weapons and cities in the Dark Road as the spark of life emerged above on the surface. It was eventually revealed that it was Grungnir who had made clay figures on the surface much in the likeness of the First Men, and gave them life and imagination. While these are not confirmed to be the ancestors of humanity as it is on Skellbrieg, these figures still do exist in Le'Gorrosh. They are the Watchers, but instead of human-sized they are massive creations dotting the landscape in the sentient jungle area. It is often speculated that these statues became dormant after a time when Grungnir created them, perhaps even when he became a diamond sculpture in the greatest stronghold of the First Men - Kharakaz-Andor. But now they are silent, some in different positions while sitting or even standing. Whatever they were huddled around has long since vanished.

Another theory is that these sculptures used parts of themselves to make humanity proper, but that is just often the ramblings of old philosophers who were too sickly in their youth to go to war like everyone else.

But Grungnir eventually fell ill to a wound he was afflicted with, and transformed himself into a diamond sculpture at the heart of Kharakaz-Andor. It is the most heavily-defended fortress on the planet known so far, and is the highest concentration of First Men. It is a holy mecca for their people, where their god and creator is buried and preserved for all time.

It was Thoragnar the Unbeliever who led his people out of the Dark Road and constructed this fortress after he saw the nuclear devastation surrounding the mountain. Ethereal communication with many other strongholds was lost. Oruggs of the Brood of Gorthok, Lukgrash's distant descendant, ran rampant over the hills and countryside, laying waste to whatever they could find. Thoragnar deigned it necessary to prepare the surrounding tribes in case of an attack, but they could not find support. The efforts of the humans were focused on attacking and killing each other, rather than protecting themselves against the growing orugg menace. Gorthok the Fleshcleaver was also on the rise as a prominent power in this new world.

Thoragnar took his people back to Kharakaz-Andor, and made preparations to solidify the First Men where they emerged, rather than spread out unnecessarily. The tribes would understand soon that they could not function alone.

No Caption Provided

The Apocalypse Decade brought with it such tremendous geological catastrophes that Skellbrieg as it is today is fully half of what it once was. Elongated chains of islands now run the circumference of the planet, with a second supercontinent formed on the other side of the world itself. Due to this, the threat of the fallen kingdoms of Norrath and Karda is somewhat forgotten. The Iron Front separating them from the Mainland is only a fragment of what it once was. Cannibal cyborgs constantly stream into the battlefield, either dying by the hundreds or converting many more to their cause by means of viral transmission. They were not as they are today. Long ago, Norrath and Karda were neutral twin empire situated far from the fighting between Kahzmor and the Coalition of Tribes that used to be made up of every Mainland tribe. They developed weapons just in case of an attack, but when the bombs started falling the tectonic upheaval caused some of these weapons to unintentionally trigger. One of them was a biomechanical conversion virus, where flesh turned into metal and brains turned into computers.

It was meant as a last resort, where the master control responsible for maintaining these new automatons would reformat their brains into a more peaceful pattern. Due to the nature of the atomic firestorm raging across the planet, however, these orders became skewed and the master control adapted enough to take over the minds of both kings of the countries. They became Teslai Khan and Mundus Gigante, respectively, and their only purpose now is to conquer all of Skellbrieg and destroy any trace of living flesh where they see it. They are miserable shadows of a former life, and the newer cyborgs sometimes retain memories of their past life and scream in agony at what they have been forced to do under the brutal regime.

Mundus Gigante and Teslai Khan are the oldest "living" beings on Skellbrieg, as they survived through the Apocalypse Decade and into the modern century on hatred alone.

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Admund Torr's outskirts:

In the mountains neighboring the Admund Torr's forsaken wastelands lies a world-renowned inn, one gathering adventurers and soldiers alike, sheltering them from the frequent bloodshed scattered throughout the land of Skellbrieg, clashes that brought pain and demise to men and beasts alike, yet could never subside. Those scarred figures sharing drinks under the gentle sounds of shared laughs and mugs bumping for a toast. Drinks united people, made a petite group of survivors of such atrocious world have some sort of sentiment of humanity, laugh with friends for what could possibly the last time.

All men cheered except one.

A gloomy presence, eyes that had seen uncountable clashes, hands that had butchered more men and creatures than the multitude encompassing his lonesome figure, perhaps he had even murderer more than all their kill counts together. Dick Hardy, legendary mercenary, a war veteran with tales dating far back in time, some way too far-fetched to even be considered more than myths, yet all based on some truth or another. He could have had all of it, riches, money, women... Yet the battlefields were his home, for his name was only renowned for brave deeds during wars, it was almost as if he disappeared from the face of the Earth, just to emerge once more, bloodied sword in hand, slaying many in the most inhuman carnage possible. Many say his ferocious tenacity mirrored that of the beasts, his strength far surpassed those of men and his blade could only halt when a puddle of body was formed underneath his boots.

Armyslayer, it was a fitting moniker.

Yet there he was, a glass of catchpenny ale, smoke coming from his pipe, hood veiling his figure. Not one soul dared to look his way, at least not if they had no reason. It was rumored he had returned, but this time seeking for something else... Who would unveil the answers to the immortal warrior's challenge?

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@lowlaville:

Magokash emerged from his inner sanctum in Fort Bonecrusher to a sight he was not accustomed to seeing. His orugg armies were in disarray, having been pacified by the heavy hand of a gargant looming over the shattered iron walls of his establishment. Normally, Magokash would have opened fire on the creature such as anything else - if not for the fact that the beast was large enough to bring his entire operation down just by sneezing.

"Wot? Ya wont us ta give up? Jes like dat?"

He started to laugh, but one of his subordinates ran up to his ear and told him about the millions of soldiers waiting outside - oruggs just like them and Gundaragh rock beasts in the thousands. He stopped and a grim expression came over his face, followed by a coy smirk.

"O-Of course we will, boss, ya jes give us our new orders, yeah?"

At this point in time, he didn't want to insult the giant. As long as he was standing on his front porch with so many warriors at his beck and call, Magokash had no hope of anything else besides complying.

Klytius ordered his chief to apprehend Mogokash and assume control of the fortress and his Orugg Army. His first conquest in the lands of Admun Torr.

In the coming weeks, the fortress would be repaired. Work would start to increase the size of the fortress to accommodate the many more troops Klytius possessed. He cared not for words of this to spread. In fact, Klytius wanted word to spread. Any who come to oppose him would be dealt with, and Klytius would take possession of their armies for himself.

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@armyslayer:

No Caption Provided

Gargants rarely moved out of Admun Torr. But Klytius missed the days when he was free to roam the world. Each step he took covered half a mile. Each step he took shook the Earth. His steps were like a heart beat thudding at the core of Skellbrieg.

Klytius did not care of the disturbances he brought to the Orugg and Gundarargh that resided in the mountains and caverns of Admun Torr. Not too long ago, he conquered a fortress, and now, he simply awaited for an attack from Gorthok. It was sure to come. But until then, there was little reason to remain station.

Some of his Gargant breatheren had moved their camp close to Fort Bone Crusher. The mountain pass had been turned into a stronghold in no more than 5 months.

North of Admun Torr

There was a tiny inn, far too small for Klytius to notice, which he was going to step on if he was not stopped. It was not his fault. He was 400 meters tall and this inn was like a stone or pebble on his path as he took his casual walk, Fortunately for the little people, Klytius could commune with nature and people telepathically. He noticed their presence before his giant foot had managed to squash the inn.

"You should care where you place your houses," Klytius said, his voice booming. To the people below though, his voice would sound like a thunderous roar, and then he would place his foot aside, and halt for a few moments.

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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@lowlaville: @armyslayer:

The highway clattered with a regular beat of sandals, each wooden strike against the broken cobblestone not really planned - just happening naturally. Each step of the road had been uneven, though it was hardly anyone's fault. He almost had to climb to the Inn of Dreams, where adventurers from across the world convened and shared their stories. The man supported himself on a large surface of rock, pulling back his red hair from out of his eyes with his only hand. Of course, this was before the thunderous words of something above him alerted him to the presence of a monstrous creature looming overhead. He didn't remove his arm from leaning against the leg of what he could only assume to be a gargant, though he never saw one so large.

He smiled, clearing his ears of the noise with a tongue click, and inhaled deeply before roaring up at the face of the towering giant.

"HELLO UP THERE!"

He practically jumped with the effort of yelling, but stepped back and waved hysterically in an attempt to get the giant's attention. His smile only widened further.

"WHAT DO YOU DRINK?!"

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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THE WORLD SO FAR, SIDE 1

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The inn was suddenly overtook by sudden thuds and utter silence, no one dared speak a word as the thunderous rhythmical tremors got more and more frequent, dropping tables and spilling drinks everywhere, many didn't acknowledge the presence of the gargantuan until its words reverberated throughout the place, as boisterous as his size indicated. Unbeknownst to most, the Armyslayer was quick to recognize the threat: a Gargant. Sighing as he leisurely strode its way, the man was promptly met by another odd figure.

A red-haired pirate, ostensibly aloof to the dangers the immense rock monster could possibly impose. Humans were odd.

Sword around his waist, sheathed on its scabbard, Dick decided to play along. Fighting was monotonous regardless, so he should at least try something unusual. Perhaps he could find what he was looking for. Climbing the monstrosity's leg in a few leaps, his gaze also shot upwards as he yelled. "OI, YOU SPILLED MY ALE!" His hood suddenly fell, and underneath it the azure threads of hair and the well-nigh trademark red bandana made it clear that was no usual meaning. Legendary monsters, legendary warriors, truly an odd day to be alive...

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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@lowlaville: @armyslayer:

Gaiseric watched as the newcomer emerged from the bar, and whistled as he leaped up the mountainous giant standing before the two.

"HEY!" he yelled after him.

"FIND OUT WHAT GARGANTS DRINK! I WANT TO BE HIS FRIEND!"

The red-haired first commander of the Whale Pirates was no stranger to making acquaintances around the world. From here to the Pale Country, there was no one he couldn't find himself wanting to talk to and share a drink with. Food and ale went a long way in a world like this.

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@thisisgonnahurt: @armyslayer:

As high as he stood, voices of tiny men was not something he could hear. Klytius couldn't hear the voice of a red tiny man shouting at him. But then he noticed a hooded man climb up his body, close enough that his voice could be heard.

"OI, YOU SPILLED MY ALE!"

Klytius's gaze lowered to meet the man whose hood fell off, revealing who he was. Even as secluded he was within the territory of Gargants, even he had heard legends of the man. This man was an absolute monstrosity that had slain Gargants in his lifetime, a truly admirable existence. "Sorry. Didn't see you guys down there!" Truly. He had no intention of stepping on little people, but was inevitable sometimes.

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@lowlaville: @armyslayer:

The first commander of the Whale Pirates sighed, seeing the commotion leading away from him.

That is when he initiated something the people of Skellbrieg called "Blood of the First Men," something common to all humans on the supercontinent. His muscles started changing, if only for an instant, and he went from ground level to the tip of the gargant's nose in one single leap. As soon as it happened, the mysterious power vanished entirely, and Gaiseric found himself climbing the giant's face to a suitable level - and there he stood next to the legendary warrior he didn't initially recognize. He just knew him to be a good sport in racing up the height of the towering beast.

He put his only arm on the man next to him, grabbing him in a half-hug and cheering as loud as he could.

"HAHA!!! I'll reach the clouds someday, friends! With your help I'm almost up there, big guy!" his attention was almost entirely focused on the gargant as he let go of the warrior and sat down with his legs crossed.

Up here, the air was thin, but it was fresh. His red hair darted over his eyes as he smiled.

"So, how about we get you something to drink?"

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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No Caption Provided

---

Reality. Nothingness. All here, in the palm of my hand.

Time and relevancy fade.

Space dwindles to void.

The stars shimmer into nothing.

All light dies.

All darkness begins to breath whole again.

We are here.

We are here.

We are here.

The antithesis of self.

Ambivalence.

Emptiness.

We are all here.

Between the cracks of sight and mind.

Waiting.

---

A red mist sprays from the throat of a human on Skellbrieg. They are murdering each other for another few inches of land. Trenches that will be filled with corpses. Fields that were once crisp with life, now ashen and barren. Nothing can live here. It is the malignant rot of the world, its gangrene tumors come to fruition. Warzones span the supercontinent, while there is life on the other side of the world. Fledgling things, spawned from gestation pools of biological soup.

The stew of life, mixed and churned with the tremors of a failing heart. Beaten into a mold, and birthed. Clockwork, broken and shimmering in the rust. How many have died believing salvation to be impossible? Too many. Generations march into the abyss. Few come back, and are only sent back when their time comes again. Men who have grown old on war only see it time and time again. Women who have seen their children fade into the horizon cry familiar tears as others follow that same path. No single person or event is to blame.

It is all part of a cycle they must endure. Forever cranking, moving. The red mist condenses. Coagulates. The man in uniform is twitching and dying. No one helps. He closes his eyes thinking of home, of his wife and child. He receives one final dream of his son coming here one day, of the cycle continuing, and he weeps as he dies.

There were times when the people of this world could have stopped and considered different options. There were times when peace could have been brokered, no matter how temporary, when the bloodshed could have been mitigated and clogged for even the briefest of treaties. Yet it escalated, and continued to do so, until this dark age claimed the minds of Skellbrieg's inhabitants.

The infinite realms of sight and mind. Of understanding, and the capability of understanding. So intertwined and complex, yet simple to unravel. Long ago, on a different human world in another dimensional plane, a man tried to conquer all who stood against him using the very corpses buried in the sands beneath his feet. Yet he was defeated, sealed away, and only recently returned. His compounding failures were truly colossal to behold, for his name meant many things in his time. Nhumrethaz, the First Necromancer.

A fine addition to my collection.

---

My collection.

I have seen it all.

No matter how far away I seem.

I am always here.

---

In the eternal webs of the cosmos, there have been many like me. They shared my name, lived their own separate lives. Some heroes. Some villains. Megalomaniacs, entrepreneurs, inventors, conquerors. It seems pointless to list them all out, and indeed it is. Empires fabricated and erased on their whims. The faintest whisper inspiring hundreds or sending them all crumbling into nothing.

Boring.

Boring. Boring. Boring.

I am no exception. What I have set out to do, however, is remove these anomalies - these beings who call themselves Warsman. Only one can exist. Only one may rule, as is the saying throughout Kahzmor. But I do not wish to rule. I do not wish to create, at least not in the entirety of building and seeing it progress. I desire deconstruction at its core, the antithesis of structure and order.

I desire only war. Pain. Suffering. Death. Catastrophe.

Chaos.

Discord.

My mind is addled with the panicked screams of the forsaken, and I enjoy what I wreak. Havoc. That is why I watch Skellbrieg with such fascination, such adoration. Cataclysm. It is a strange emotion for me. It is a strange quirk in my mental state, to know this world to exist and to see its endless bounty of misery.

That is why it, too, is a fine addition to my collection. I believe there are classifications in order. While there are many realities spanning the spheres of the collective "world tree", only one is my own. Where I compile my most treasured jewels of structure and order.

That is why I adore it, I wonder in my waking dreams. It is such a profound hierarchy of hatred, that I must keep it. Those minds upon its surface are too small to comprehend what I have done. It was once part of something else, and now it is part of my Warscape.

I want them to die. I want to see them in their continued struggles for survival on this cruel world they cannot escape from. It... is good.

---

I am.

Perhaps it is my playground.

Where I am separated from all who come here.

It is strange, this feeling of loneliness.

I have seen things, but it is all futile.

A being such as myself...

Do I believe in my own power?

Am I truly rendered so incapable of acknowledging my own loneliness?

It is my greatest weakness after all - this crippling nothing.

I can do so many things, and yet it is completely neutered by that fact.

Gods truly are worthless beings, aren't they?

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The heartbeat of this world is merely moving. Its fading glimmer transfers from one understanding of the cosmos to the other, and nothing changes in-between. Those yet alive on Skellbrieg will feel nothing. They will know nothing. Their races have yet to comprehend space travel, they are not ready to explore. They merely want to fight and to breed, to obey the strong and cull the weak. That is their society, formed out of generations of hatred.

Even now, as they materialized into what those with comprehension call CVU, they would yet be in the dark. With its removal from the Warverse, it functionally ceased to exist, as Warsman himself surrendered the power to maintain it. His godhood became bland, and he desired the ambition to attain it again rather than to merely have it in his grasp. The adventure of finding that perfection had been in his past, locked in memory, and now it was at his fingertips again. His purpose was still to conquer and to destroy, however. Yet he would remember none of it. Finding the journey to become what he once was to be more satisfactory when he couldn't remember anything at all, Warsman locked his memories away in a distant part of himself, and split his power into several artifacts that would eventually be lost to time and space.

Civilizations would rise and fall based on the power of these indestructible relics, and soon even the echoes of these empires would fade into absolute nothing. For Warsman was concerned with finding Earth, the baseline crutch of all reality, and making a start there.

It began in Old Ackerby, Pennsylvania.

A child was born in the hospital, and doctors were baffled by his appearance. Mutated, ugly, and blemished, he was thought to have had some sort of skin disorder common to infants or rare in some, far more dire, cases. Yet he survived, and vitals improved. His appearance, however, remained much the same. Old Ackerby as a town mysteriously diminished from the maps of rural America. Its streets became washed over in thick fog, and the townsfolk disappeared or left never to return. The event managed to reach national attention, and ghostly images of an infant wandering the streets began to go viral on image boards and news forums.

Only time would tell if this child would find out what he truly was, or shape his own destiny.

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Reynard-189

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Old Ackerby, Pennsylvania

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Darkness fiddled in the dirt, endlessly playing a macabre symphony in this dead town. No one was who was left was alive, and everyone else had left. No animals, no spiders, not even ants remained. The town had been plagued by a never ending mist. The trees around had all died, the leaves had fallen and rotted away. The grass had been consumed by the ground too. The air was a poisonous chill, a bitter feeling that struck itself into your bones and made it impossible to do anything but shake compulsively.

The humidity in the air had feasted from the paint in the walls, its bare bones were beginning to show from the constant punishment. The wall outside the church were cracked, pillars broken, shattered windows. It looked as if it was being held together by divine power, but there was nothing angelic in this place. Inside, the walls had been painted with blood to create symbols of a language from above and below. Bible pages had been ripped from their binding and spread all over the floor, stuck into the ground by dry blood.

A corpse was hanging from the cross, it had long decayed into bare bone. The corpse wore a colorful tunic that had blue, yellow, and red patterns. The gold patterns had been stained by blood, but the majority of the cape blended perfectly with it. Another woman was there, with red and pink garments who had equally decayed. From inside this morbid scene, a portal opened and the man in black walked out, stepping on the woman’s arm, crushing it beneath his boot.

He looked back down at the woman and then turned around, staring at back at the man with his dead eyes.. The Man in Black looked at the symbols and picked up a speck of salt with his fingers “Ameteurs.” The Man in Black turned around and walked out of the church. Right at the steps, a baby was sitting endlessly staring into the sky. He turned around and looked at him with his red eyes when he heard him approaching.

The Man in Black got down in his knees and picked up the baby, raising him up from underneath his armpits, looking back at his demonic stare. “Now...Let’s save humanity.”