SKT - Follow The Cleric
Korotir is a sullen grey skinned with equally grey and distant looking uneven eyes sitting as jewels in a crooked skull.
A half-orc, standing slightly haunched at around 7 foot. His posture is broken and battered and while he is a convoluted mass of muscle, it is the shield that weighs heavy on his left arm, a white knuckled grip to the spear in the right, and it is these tools that seem to propel him forward, quiet, purposeful and with lurking severity.
His face is pocked and scarred with jagged protruding teeth, across his face are stenciled inked forms, orcish names that revolve around his eye like the rays of a darkened sun. His dark braided hair falls into a heavy serpentine singular knot that often times wraps around his throat or shoulders and is punctuated with shards of stone and red wood.p.
Though Korotir is often quiet, perhaps pensive, he is ferociously protective and will employ the ferocity that lurks within his blood in the heat of battle. When words fail, the broadsword swings..p.
The eye of Grummsh surveys me with dissatisfaction, for when I killed my brother my blood was still, my heart heavy. Felling him was no act of lustful rage or greedy fratricide, no with deadly clarity I killed my own brother and it was righteous. For we under the open sky have no need for gilt and lie, freedom is forged from our blood and the shackles of destiny hold non of the Ulgen.
Outsiders do not understand why I would slay my kin, my brother, my shield. He who saw no wanting in my half’en blood. He shield, I spear, born free, made strong. Those who I shared a shield wall with found it strange that I felt pride and found happiness in the slaying of my own.
I have explained it plain. My brother was challenged by a stronger foe, one who would lead us back into an age of savagery, there is no notion of yielding when the leadership is claimed by another family. Korim in his wisdom and humility knew, he could not match the youth and might of his opponent, so we in our bond, knew what must be done.
I challenged my brother first, before any could call for ‘Throdun’, he paid to preserve our family’s hold, we fought furiously for his honour demanded it and with each exchange of primal battery I knew a dark and old sorrow, but the pain of one, does not have hold on the peoples under the sky. With my brother killed, the rite was complete and the ways had’n been kept. It is kept that only one ‘Throdun’ can be issued every ten years and so I secured my brothers leadership of the Ulgen, until the next cycle. I paid in part, for I knew if I stayed tension would mount and Korim’s Iron Will, still demanded the Ulgen refrain from brood’n, what the humans would call, civil war.
The Legacy of the Chief
My brother Korim is still residing chief over my tribe of Ulgen, this I can understand would confuse those who throw fealty to their kings or kahns, It is as this; under the Tsars of Ulgen, we are not servants but believers in visions set forth, these visions are forged, from respect, from feats, we follow those who have the strength to enact change, to fulfil promise. Korim had this respect and his Iron will was to carry north and find craft other than violence. I carry what remains of his blood and bone, the shield I bear carries that Iron Will with me, his journey did not end at me burying his body, it shall continue, until his will is done. When I can find where this shield should rest, I must return home, to help appoint the new Tsar, though I know not of where the Ulgen are, as they march, I hope they still find strength in the Iron of Korim.
As I said, it is plain. To be Ulgen is to relent your journey, so your kin can carry on, to endure, we are but wanderers under the open sky, born free, made strong by those that pushed us on.
Brick in the Wall
Since leaving the warming sight of Greyskin and roving field. I have kept the ways of Ulgen in some form or another. I found rank among the armies of human where qualm against my orcish blood fell quiet when they placed me in the shield wall. They trained me in their methods and the Ulgen lent me instinct, to fight as a unit is not unlike the knit of the tribe. To suffer violence to preserve the life of your brother, is not peaks apart from preserving the life of he, who is to the right in the shield wall. My tours of war were paltry and pithy, small skirmishes and disputes, nothing that carved nation or creed and so as I outlived those who called me friend, they sent me with smiles and gold to water-deep, where I joined the ranks of the watch.
There is no brotherliness between these men, they who would die for the purity of their justice, rub shoulders with those who are blind to wickedness for such small sums. I have no judgement on these folk, for in the ways of strangers lands you too must design yourself anew, do as they do. It has been too long however and I feel myself too inclined to their ways, I seek other ventures, Korim’s will cannot be proclaimed here and so I will find the road beneath my feet again.
The rites of those under the open Sky.
Relent or Endure.
Family is forged.
What cannot be forged must bend
What cannot bend must be brought to blade
If blade is drawn, there must be blood.
Blood must buy change.
respect the blood, but do not relent
Relent to endure