Gnutflap, Greatest of the Goat Riders of Old скачать в хорошем качестве

Gnutflap, Greatest of the Goat Riders of Old

Please comment a name for a new character for me to design and include in this world! Follow me on my other platforms, join my discord, and check out my store! Linktree: https://linktr.ee/davidgrayholderman?... Music Used: Nicholas Konradsen: "Dawn", "Dusk", "Red Marsh", "Three Rivers Meet", and "Moon Wheel" Bandcamp: https://nicholaskonradsen.bandcamp.com/ Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2hhdP... Youtube: ‪@NicholasKonradsen‬ You all should follow him!! Gnutflap, greatest of the Goat Riders of old. A secretive people, the Goat Riders once resided deep within the high, rocky hills of the Wickgob's Weft. Impassable land, the Weft is home to few now, though the gobs that once dwelt here were hardy and stubborn. These lived nomadically, weaving through the valleys of the Weft seasonally with the migrating herds of Wickgoats. Large and striking herbivores (both in appearance and their tendency to headbutt), Wickgoats formed the basis of the Wefter culture, to the extent that neither could live without the other. The warriors of this culture, the Goat Riders, were unrivaled when it came to skill in the saddle. Legs bowed and ungainly when on the ground sat solidly in stirrups as they would make mad charges down near vertical cliff faces. Any spare moment was spent atop a goat from an age that a gob can barely even stand on its' own two steppers. Tradition ran strong in their blood, as well as pride. The greatest of their number, hailing from a line of raid-chiefs centuries old, was known as Gnutflap, whose steed was the noble Morvin-Sire-Marvon. The headbutt of his great Goathammer, forged of the finest bronze pillaged from lowland villages is feared like no other; the gleaming horn sharp enough to reap grain, the grinning visage eager to bludgeon. This fine weapon was passed from sire to gobling for many generations, for so long that none remember its original owner. Gnutflap's fierce helm is an inheritance as well, of sorts. The great goat skull of which the main structure of the helm is comprised once belonged to Marvon, the sire of Morvin and the steed of Gnutflap's own father. Some say the fall of the Goat Riders and the Wefter culture only truly occurred when Gnutflap fell, though in truth they had been ailing for decades. Encroachment of settlements brought on increased conflict. Though their might and skill were greater than it had ever been, the Wefters found a stronger foe than expected in the recent settlers. Armed in steel, trained in war, and in greater numbers than they'd ever seen before, even the strength of the Goat Riders wavered. The grasping hand of the Slouching Queen, yet young in her holy reign, sought ever further east. The mineral richness of the Wickgob's Weft proved too vast to fear the inhabitants, fearsome as they might be. It was for this reason that our Beauteous Queen unleashed the first of her Scourings. Two of The Eleven were dispatched to the Weft, and in a single night, the entire Wefter people were destroyed. The flashes from that conflagration made it appear from nearby villages that the sun was rising early. The Goat Riders, stubborn as their steeds, however, refused to go down without drawing blood. Gnutflap himself, in a great final stand, slew one of The Eleven alone, a feat unheard of at this point, and still quite legendary to this day. Inevitably, despite their belligerence, Gnutflap and his companions were defeated. With the death of the Wefter culture, also came the death of the Wickgoat as a species, so close were the two intertwined. Despite this, some travelers, when venturing deep into the Wickgob's Weft, claim to hear the clatter of hooves on scree high up the slopes, or the silhouette of a rider on a ridge, details obscured by ever-present fog. Unlikely tales, naturally, born from the simpleminded tales of smallfolk and humblegobs, though the farthest depths of those high hills have still yet to be fully explored, even all these centuries later.