-- A Cryptid in Nusrum --

[Random_White_Guy]

War in its very nature brings oddities. Tales of men and women performing miraculous feats beyond understanding. They defy logic, convention, and the known practice. Wartorn regions filled with larger than life tales of heroics, atrocities, monstrosities, and more. Wherever corpses are piled and burned, wherever men shatter shield and crack helm, so too go these tales.

On Adar 11th one such event occurred upon the Rampart Nusrum.

As the sun crested over the hill and darkness consumed the world, the Moon began to rise in defiance of the darkness.

...Only...
Wait, the Moon rises in the east.
This was no moon.

From nearby watchtower or the Rampart stonework could be seen.
A massive pale figure careening down the Hillside from the west.
A massive round belly scarred and tattooed.
Untamed and wild black hair.

The screaming began.
Distant at first,
But grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard from high on the watchtowers.
A singular, unhinged, uninterrupted scream.
No Orcan scream.

Turning to face the noise one Cohort of the Thousand Clans received a thrown spear into his torso.
Before the second could react the beast was upon it with gnashing teeth and hammering fists, cracking against the metal unabated.
A rusted sword one moment. A bootknife the next.
The second cut down.

Ripping the spear and viscera from the dead the scream seemed only to grow louder as blood shed. From the Harpas Valley where the a Last Suppressor Clan had won the day, one of their own - A Frenzying Bloodletter took to answer the call. Racing up the Hill as quick as it could and bounding over the top.

A moment later it was seen fleeing back down the Hill, eyes wide and wild. Terror gripping it, nearly losing its Greatsword from shaking hands.

On its heels came the beast. No quarter was given as a Spear erupted from its chest having entered from behind.

A once proud Bloodletter, in witness of his entire Clan in the valley below, spent its final moments fleeing in terror before perishing like a dog. Its corpse would tumble and slide errantly down the hill before settling at the basin.

The figure though was not satisfied. Bounding over the corpse of the Bloodletter it raced and covered ground in moments. A pair of Cohort soldiers eager to succeed where the Bloodletter had failed charged into the plateau.

The first of the Cohort was met with an incomprehensible sight. For a moment there were two moons in the sky. The creature diving upon it with full force! Leaping from a nearby rock, arms open and wide, body-slamming it into the ground. The Second gave a moment's pause in shock. Its companion's throat ripped out by gnashing teeth.

Not Tusk. Teeth. Glimmering in the moonlight yellow and bloodied.

After the second orc shook free of the moment it dodged the incoming thrust of the cleaving spear, parrying with an axe cut into the creature. An entire chunk of flesh ripped free but the pale figure showed no sign of relenting - or even acknowledging, that it was harmed. It simply continued its scream, voice cracking and breaking, as it over and over slammed the Orc's head upon the nearby rock until the Helmet dripped goo.

At this time though the shock had worn off. The horns were raised. The Drums beaten. And with this ominous noise came The Chargers. Tearing through the Valley with marching Cohort and Unproven on their heels.

The monstrosity that had slain five orcs was, by overwhelming numbers and recovered discipline among the Orcan ranks, driven away. Chase given out of the valley - though along the way many of the Unproven would meet their end.

If any were to wander the nearby structures of Nusrum at the odd hut that looked a mix of Archaeological Study and Mage's Nook they would find disarray. Shattered bottles of Ephian Water, broken potion bottles, and numerous pouches stripped bare of narcotics found.

Simply...Human?

But it moved and acted like no Human ever to reach the Nusrum.

It had not the Banda Rossan demands of contract or surrender or else at cruel Modan Steel.
It had not the Al-Sayyadin's Balladeer flair for drama and adventuring-motley organizational magics.
It had not the Baz'eelan poise of the Janissaries in lockstep march of green cloak.

Ten orcs cut down. Four Cohort, a Bloodletter, and Five Unproven.
No treasures taken. No divvying of potions by a six man march.
A Human. With a Stick. And a Sharpened Rock on that stick.

This was different. Primal.

Barbaric.

[Random_White_Guy]

Two dead Legates are strung up in grotesque and brutal effigy. One thatched in a cruel crucifixion. Another piked and impaled fully from behind with a spear protruding from its mouth. Between them lay the severed head of Selriah the Eviscerator, Harbinger of Deceit.

In a midnight raid of the Har'Pas valley did an all too familiar cry ring out. A Feral and unhinged scream. This time though it was not mere unproven to die first. A patrol of Five Chargers ways waylaid, a bellowing howl of "I RETURN" ringing out from a pile of lizard, corpse, and a flurry of activity as the Orcs encircled.

...The Barbarian returned. No longer nude but adorned in the armor of a spider-beast. No longer alone. The billowing rose cloak of a Recluta, the orange scarf of a Torchbearer, the tan robe of a Scholar, the green and gold of a Waradim's boots, and the black coat of a Modani.

Where in previous raid did ten orcs perish, four score and eleven. Where from watchtower or onlooker from the Wall may have seen odd movements, now a tide of green and brown clashed with the invaders. Near a hundred Orcs put to spear, blade, and death. Two highly decorated Legates among them.

This was no bounty call of La Banda upon a Chieftain stronghold,
This was no contract from the Lower Board for prize an glory.
This...was tribal?

With the Torchbear guide were regions marked off.
Ingresses made, elevation scouted.

This was not a raid...
This was Corpses piked...
This was Crucifiction dotting the landscape.

This was marking territory

[Random_White_Guy]

As the cruel demon crested overhead, a beastial howl rung out, matched by a primal shrieking. A brutal contest between a massive Direwolf that had been eluding the Orcan Patrols known as Dunecrawler Blind. After it an its mate were cut down, the chest cracked open. The heart removed. It was feasted upon in primitive ritual.

In the aftermath of the heart's eating came a different sort of raid, one yet encountered by the locals. It was not the Har'pas Valley, it was not the hills and slopes of the ruthless and blood caked dunes. This was an invasion.

Face caked in Wolf's Blood and teeth thick with chunks of heart did the Barbarian that has been plaguing the landscape in the last few days breach.

The Deep Roads invaded as the patrolling Clansmen within pushed to their brink, their armors and bones shattering beneath the onslaught.

In the dark, where patrols thick and corridors narrow.

Arrows did nothing.

As Cohort and Bloodletter took to swarming, there was no sign of relenting. The primitive man cutting a bloody swath with nothing but hide and spear. Their shields smacked aside by raw force, their armors pierced, their death-howls echoing through the deep and cavernous paths.

At last though he would be pushed to limit. Facing off against a Rager of the Thousand Clans and two of his cohor. While the Cohort quickly dispatched the Rager proved a match of raw and primal fury. In extended, singular combat were Old pots and archaeological wonders shattered from wide swings. Beneath the weight of force as the bodies pushed each other about the ancient fortress trading blows.

As the onslaught of the Greatsword took chunk, after chunk, cutting deep and nearly slaying the primitive assailant.

Mankind though, if anything, are adaptable. When the tool fails, the ape uses his thumbs.

Absent the spear the Orc was simply LIFTED off the ground with massive and meaty paws.

And in a thunderous body slam, was the Orc Rager horrifically impaled upon a Palisade.

One spike skewering out of its stomach, another its throat, as its last raging and frenzied snarls fading to a rattle.

...Outside of the Deep Road at the abandoned Encampment of the Ingress piled like cordwood the corpses of Orcs. Flasks of oil cracked and littered, the stick and sickly smelling spilled in wide and sweeping arcs.

A massive bonfire lit.
The corpses of over a dozen and a half Orcs sending black smoke billowing upwards.

The figure stood watching the burning until the Sun began to set.
Then from the sands nearby a trophy was collected.
In one hand the head of Dunewalker Blind, the Dire Wolf Bounty.
In the other, a Massive Orcish Greataxe stolen from a victim.

The Age of Stone and Spear passes.
Orcan Bronze acquired.

And with it,
As all civilizations move to the use of Bronze,
Begins conquest...