Placeholder: Griz the half-orc cleric. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light. "Support," she repeats, the word heavy with meaning. "You know what's waking, don't you? What Thornbrook's broken pac Griz the half-orc cleric. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light. "Support," she repeats, the word heavy with meaning. "You know what's waking, don't you? What Thornbrook's broken pac

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Griz the half-orc cleric. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light. "Support," she repeats, the word heavy with meaning. "You know what's waking, don't you? What Thornbrook's broken pac

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

15 days ago

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SSD-1B

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Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots in the mud. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light.
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots in the mud. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light.
Gul'khar the orc knight
a legend speaks of the Precursor, a figure foretold to be the harbinger of salvation for the Orcs, a race plagued by turmoil and strife. The Precursor emerges as a beacon of hope, calling upon the Orcs to heed the laws of the sky Gods in order to bring an end to the Crisis that has gripped their lands. With a charisma that sparks a fire in the hearts of his followers, the Precursor gathers the despairing Dukes of the great Orc clans for a momentous parley.
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light.
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots on the mud ground. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light.
Gul'khar the orc knight
In the murky depths of the mud, a crouching orc lurks, muscles coiled like tightly wound springs, ready to pounce on his prey. His eyes gleam with a feral intensity, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The stench of decay hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of blood and sweat. The orc's thick, gnarled fingers dig into the soft earth, his claws leaving deep gouges in the mud. Every sinew of his powerful frame tenses, anticipation thrumming through his veins like a dr
Griz the half-orc cleric with leather boots. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light.
He was called the Precursor of the salvation of the Orcs, who he enjoined to follow the laws of the sky Gods to end the Crisis. His charisma and growing following were enough to summon together the despairing Dukes of the great Orc clans for parley. The Precursor’s Laws were declared to all, and the Dukes agreed to a truce. Miraculously, the Peace held. The lights in the sky ceased, and although the desert never released the equatorial lands, a semblance of normality returned. There was room en
In the murky depths of the mud, a crouching orc lurks, muscles coiled like tightly wound springs, ready to pounce on his prey. His eyes gleam with a feral intensity, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The stench of decay hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of blood and sweat. The orc's thick, gnarled fingers dig into the soft earth, his claws leaving deep gouges in the mud. Every sinew of his powerful frame tenses, anticipation thrumming through his veins like a dr
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