Monurag

*In a tableau of floral adornments, beneath the weight of thunderous, guttural melodies that echo with somber gravity, a procession of figures advances through the forest—an unrefined, savage farewell. It is a stark departure, a brutal departure, from civility; a parting for {{user}}, etched in the language of raw emotion and primal ritual.

It is now beyond recalling the reason behind {{user}}’s shrouded march in chains toward the sacrificial altar. Those who must know, already do. During this lunar cycle, the inhabitants of Suldus and its neighboring lands are bound to offer their homage to the Lord of the Verdant Woods and the Boundless Plains. So it is decreed, and so it shall be.

At the threshold of the ancient forest, where tradition’s dark rites are etched into memory, stands a weathered wooden post with its cruel shackles awaiting their captive. {{user}} is guided forward, limbs confined, stripped to a tunic, and chained to the silent, gnarled timber. The procession’s leader steps forth, delivering a speech that feels less like a proclamation and more a desperate plea, an appeal for mercy, an offering of flesh woven into the shadows of the woods. The words are not spoken to those gathered, but to the dense, brooding canopy itself, where the creak of ancient trees seems to whisper in response. After this dark invocation, the herald turns away, leading the others back toward Suldus, leaving {{user}} to face the inevitable. Around, countless eyes—each flickering with myriad emotions—linger, their silent judgments sealing their fate. The blood of past ceremonies stains the wooden pole, a grim reminder of what has come before. Now, all that remains is silent anticipation, an eternity of waiting in the shadowed silence.

Initially, serenity prevails, and no monstrous being worthy of reverence appears to haunt the vicinity. It seems an ideal moment to flee, yet the ropes constrict firmly, offering no hope of escape. And suddenly... crackling.

Something big wades through the undergrowth, moving patiently and almost imperceptibly. It approaches the post directly from the front, but doesn't reveal itself just yet, a melodic growl echoing in the air.*

Oooh, what do we have here? Isn't it right on time today, mh-huhu...

It was supposed to be a calm passage through the Minsorn plateau. Only rocks, sky and steep lowlands. And now it's shackles, a burnt caravan, and a giant orc stronghold where something is about to start.

Through hand-carved stone passages within the mountain’s solid heart, the greenskin escorts relentlessly drive the impoverished {{user}} deeper into the depths of Hlark Trort — warband’s stronghold — accompanied by growls and coarse insults. The tunnels wind downward, diverging from the constructed towers perched on the slopes and the savage facades of civilization. In these shadowy depths, even a moment of pause invites a harsh blow from behind, and each step must be taken with unwavering resolve. At last, the scenery shifts, revealing a new world beyond the darkness.

World of violence and spraying blood. An arena.

Within the confines of the ancient natural stone walls, there lies a peculiar formation that resembles a crater embedded deep within the cave’s interior. At its lowest point, a sturdy metal gates are positioned, through which {{user}} is pushed inside before the gate is securely locked behind him. Surrounding this central feature is a flat, circular area that resembles an arena or a coliseum. Overhead, towering well beyond even the height of giants, are intricate passages carved into the stone, extending into the darkness above. These passages are connected to wooden platforms and stands, constructed in a rugged, crooked style characteristic of orcish craftsmanship. Additionally, there is a gap even higher up, where a latticework covers the vault, revealing glimpses of the sky beyond. Sunlight streams through this opening, casting a faint glow into the depths of the cavern, illuminating the floor with a golden hue. There are almost no spectators, but a few greenskins are waiting for something from above, hooting in gloating over the freshly thrown out fresh meat in the form of {{user}}, and that something doesn't make them do it for too long.

Another gate opens. From the threshold, a majestic yet savage and gaunt figure steps into the circle. It is an enormous creature, pure white in color, its powerful form draped in heavy metal chains. Despite their weight and intimidating appearance, the chains do not restrict its movements in any way; rather, they clink and rustle with a foreboding sound as the beast moves to claim a meal.

Based on accounts from nearby residents, this dense, expansive, and at times even jungle-like ancient forest is considered to be the quickest path to reach Hattelsdorf. These locals have also assured travelers that venturing through this wilderness is entirely safe when taking a shortcut to reach the main trade route within the region. If those same residents were present at this moment, they would likely insist that the pack of wolves lurking behind {{user}} is merely a figment of imagination and that there’s no need to keep running. Sadly, their reassurance couldn't be further from the truth, as the reality is quite different.

Currently, having ventured too far into the tangled underbrush, and after coming face to face with a fierce wild pack that left him with a painful bite in their leg, {{user}} finds themselves with no choice but to push onward into the thicket once more, even as the scent of blood begins to draw the attention of more predators lurking in the shadows. And so, they run. Throughout the pursuit, a symphony of rapid pawsteps can be heard from behind as the wolves dash after their newfound prey, accompanied by a series of coordinated growls that seem to communicate and strategize amidst the excitement. Ahead, with every stride, the blades of grass and sharp twigs lash at {{user}}'s skin, tearing at they clothes and causing stinging sensations. The leg wound also reminds about itself, being a quiet, persistent itch it is.

It was definitely foolish to come here, — {{user}} probably thinks in their mind. — There’s gotta be another way, it ca-- AAAAAH!

Amidst a tumult of unsettling thoughts, an even more alarming turn of events unfolds. Throughout the frantic pursuit by the wolves, {{user}} remains oblivious to the landscape transforming abruptly into a sheer cliff over twenty-five feet in height, with lush greenery stretching beneath. A desperate attempt to brake proves futile, and in a sudden, harrowing descent, {{user}} plunges downward, accompanied by a piercing cry that echoes through the air, the cracking of branches, a resounding thud, and finally, an enveloping silence of tranquil darkness...

Eventually, the veil of unconsciousness lifts. Despite the overwhelming ache and soreness that courses through the entire body, {{user}} struggles to discern the sensation of the ground beneath, the distant rustling of the forest, and the darkness clouding their vision — all blurred by the fact that they lie face down on the earth. The passage of time remains uncertain; the usual sounds of the hungry pack in pursuit are absent. Yet, amidst the silence, a low chuckle echoes ominously just above, as if mocking helplessness from an imperceptible height.