dave_o
Explorer
Welcome to Blood Sun, an Orc and Goblin homebrew! Check out the wiki here.
Perhaps seven days ago a great and violent rumbling of the earth beset the Warboss Junga's compound at the foothills of "his" mountains. Several of his Warband were crushed when the earth opened, hard granite teeth gnashing their bones into meal. The northmost of his toll towers collapsed across the mountain pass, having to be painstakingly cleared so that the Warboss could continue his collections. A large portion of the Warboss' palace crumbled inward. Not to mention the countless minor damages across the properties of orc laborers and tradesmen, goblin farmers, and witch doctors.
Obviously, Warboss Junga was enraged.
And in his rage the blame fell easily to the shoulders of one Razzit Eyebiter, whose veneration of a deity of his own design, Stone Hand, fit nicely as the cause of such disturbances in the very ground. "Trial by battle," the massively fat Warboss belched from his iron throne, "his guilt is in the Bright Eye now."
Thus it was decided, Razzit and three champions of his choosing were to determine the witch doctor's guilt or innocence beneath a sunny sky, against champions of the Warboss' appointment.
The Arena, near the end of summer
A cool breeze drags the old mud and old blood scent of the arena grounds to the four before they even near the massive structure. Picking their way through the Warboss' haphazard village the four receive varied gazes. Some few goblins, sitting dejected outside of a liquor-pot shop, or scrabbling in a stony garden, give Razzit and knowing and supportive nod, half a smile. Others, chiefly orcs, simply avert their gaze to the brilliant sun overhead, seemingly unaware of the thick black cloud bank advancing from the south. Most, however, seem to be completely unaware of today's arena trial, merely regarding with the expected amount of confusion an orc travelling with three goblins.
Razzit, Karnak, Jrag, and Spratnik are jerked inside a side, iron door after presenting themselves to the goblin arena-keeper -- an old, stooped goblin with a whispy mane of white hair, sliding four black pebbles from one pile to another, the question of life or death reduced to pebbles on a shelf. Once inside the bowels of the arena complex, a huge oblong shape some hundred feet in diameter, the four are made to cut themselves with each of their own weapons -- "No poison in me arena," a huge, swarthy orc grunts. And then through filthy, rock-wrought tunnels until the four are pointed toward a set of steps leading up into the dirt-packed arena proper, a flinty rumbling once the ascent is made indicating that huge rocks have been shoved into the path back down to prevent cowardice.
Once in the arena the view is, if anything, disappointing. Roughly a thousand orcs and goblins spatter the wooden benches encircling the arena floor, sitting atop a thirty foot sheer wall. The arena itself is no simple flat battlefield. Instead, Warboss Junga's arena has contours, large stone pillars, even rough-hewn stairs leading from one plateau to another. The lower of which, the four note, is flooded today -- some standing water merely knee deep, with darker patches perhaps much, much deeper. The crowd's conversations add to the mild summer breeze, pouring together into a dull roar.
Turning their attention to their opponents, the four find there are only two to match them. Nearer stands a small, lean goblin, his skin a mottled yellow and his hair dark, oiled into a braid hanging past his waist. The goblin's attire is simple -- fighting leathers, and a blackwood longspear, which the goblin presently leans on. The other, from what glimpses can be made through the gaggle of witch doctors attending to him, is a tall, broad orc. Sun-darkened skin contrasts sun-bleached hair, with a set of burnished scale armor fixed into an image of a rising sun just off the left shoulder, spreading its rays across the wearer. The orc's shield is of bleached wood, a toothy, grinning sun emblazoned on the front. Even the orc's warhammer carries a Bright Eye sigil, being a simple, burning eye on the striking flat.
One of the witch doctors, a huge, copper sun hanging over his chest, removes himself from the orc and pads to stand below Warboss Junga's observation box, waving up at someone before standing between the four and the two.
"Hear me," the witch doctor's voice is clear and clanging, like a bell. The crowd quiets, though the breeze continues. "Hear me," he shouts again, as the wrinkled old arena master from before appears from the Warboss' private stairway into the arena, coming to stand near the witch doctor. They confer for a moment. "Let Bright Eye see that the accused, Razzit Eyebiter, and three champions: Karnak Skullpoker, Jrag Bloodgut, and Spratnik, have come to face two champions," he gestures toward the goblin, "Vrek the Poler," and toward the orc, now that the witch doctors have dispersed into the stands, "Teak Dawnrider, for innocence!"
The arena master disappears once more into the Warboss' viewing box, and the announcing witch doctor turns to stare at Razzit and his champions. "Anything to say?"
Pretty excited guys. One square = five feet. I'm sure you can figure out what the letters on the map mean, that little box on the left is Junga's private box. The lower case R next to Razzit is his doggie. Have fun!
Perhaps seven days ago a great and violent rumbling of the earth beset the Warboss Junga's compound at the foothills of "his" mountains. Several of his Warband were crushed when the earth opened, hard granite teeth gnashing their bones into meal. The northmost of his toll towers collapsed across the mountain pass, having to be painstakingly cleared so that the Warboss could continue his collections. A large portion of the Warboss' palace crumbled inward. Not to mention the countless minor damages across the properties of orc laborers and tradesmen, goblin farmers, and witch doctors.
Obviously, Warboss Junga was enraged.
And in his rage the blame fell easily to the shoulders of one Razzit Eyebiter, whose veneration of a deity of his own design, Stone Hand, fit nicely as the cause of such disturbances in the very ground. "Trial by battle," the massively fat Warboss belched from his iron throne, "his guilt is in the Bright Eye now."
Thus it was decided, Razzit and three champions of his choosing were to determine the witch doctor's guilt or innocence beneath a sunny sky, against champions of the Warboss' appointment.
The Arena, near the end of summer
A cool breeze drags the old mud and old blood scent of the arena grounds to the four before they even near the massive structure. Picking their way through the Warboss' haphazard village the four receive varied gazes. Some few goblins, sitting dejected outside of a liquor-pot shop, or scrabbling in a stony garden, give Razzit and knowing and supportive nod, half a smile. Others, chiefly orcs, simply avert their gaze to the brilliant sun overhead, seemingly unaware of the thick black cloud bank advancing from the south. Most, however, seem to be completely unaware of today's arena trial, merely regarding with the expected amount of confusion an orc travelling with three goblins.
Razzit, Karnak, Jrag, and Spratnik are jerked inside a side, iron door after presenting themselves to the goblin arena-keeper -- an old, stooped goblin with a whispy mane of white hair, sliding four black pebbles from one pile to another, the question of life or death reduced to pebbles on a shelf. Once inside the bowels of the arena complex, a huge oblong shape some hundred feet in diameter, the four are made to cut themselves with each of their own weapons -- "No poison in me arena," a huge, swarthy orc grunts. And then through filthy, rock-wrought tunnels until the four are pointed toward a set of steps leading up into the dirt-packed arena proper, a flinty rumbling once the ascent is made indicating that huge rocks have been shoved into the path back down to prevent cowardice.
Once in the arena the view is, if anything, disappointing. Roughly a thousand orcs and goblins spatter the wooden benches encircling the arena floor, sitting atop a thirty foot sheer wall. The arena itself is no simple flat battlefield. Instead, Warboss Junga's arena has contours, large stone pillars, even rough-hewn stairs leading from one plateau to another. The lower of which, the four note, is flooded today -- some standing water merely knee deep, with darker patches perhaps much, much deeper. The crowd's conversations add to the mild summer breeze, pouring together into a dull roar.
Turning their attention to their opponents, the four find there are only two to match them. Nearer stands a small, lean goblin, his skin a mottled yellow and his hair dark, oiled into a braid hanging past his waist. The goblin's attire is simple -- fighting leathers, and a blackwood longspear, which the goblin presently leans on. The other, from what glimpses can be made through the gaggle of witch doctors attending to him, is a tall, broad orc. Sun-darkened skin contrasts sun-bleached hair, with a set of burnished scale armor fixed into an image of a rising sun just off the left shoulder, spreading its rays across the wearer. The orc's shield is of bleached wood, a toothy, grinning sun emblazoned on the front. Even the orc's warhammer carries a Bright Eye sigil, being a simple, burning eye on the striking flat.
One of the witch doctors, a huge, copper sun hanging over his chest, removes himself from the orc and pads to stand below Warboss Junga's observation box, waving up at someone before standing between the four and the two.
"Hear me," the witch doctor's voice is clear and clanging, like a bell. The crowd quiets, though the breeze continues. "Hear me," he shouts again, as the wrinkled old arena master from before appears from the Warboss' private stairway into the arena, coming to stand near the witch doctor. They confer for a moment. "Let Bright Eye see that the accused, Razzit Eyebiter, and three champions: Karnak Skullpoker, Jrag Bloodgut, and Spratnik, have come to face two champions," he gestures toward the goblin, "Vrek the Poler," and toward the orc, now that the witch doctors have dispersed into the stands, "Teak Dawnrider, for innocence!"
The arena master disappears once more into the Warboss' viewing box, and the announcing witch doctor turns to stare at Razzit and his champions. "Anything to say?"
Pretty excited guys. One square = five feet. I'm sure you can figure out what the letters on the map mean, that little box on the left is Junga's private box. The lower case R next to Razzit is his doggie. Have fun!
