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[Mitescere Confederacy] Great Warchief Wool

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[O] Great Warchief Wool
In the dark and under the moonlight shone these tall trees, and among them all surrounded crackling light. Twas a campfire and many small more.

A large temporal settlement.. Crested with orange colours and strange paraphernalia. The men from the east, other tribes, the Mitesceres. These people were pushed away from their homeland and ran west of Annoi for safety, they were looking forth of guidance from the High Chieftain.

There were folks steeling axes already, men smithing away with hammers. Shields crafted and clothes being weaved and the tanning of leather. Bows skirted their way to targets and swords dug deep.

In the middle of this tribal settlement, a chief. Not any ordinary chief. A warchief. Revered by all tribes in the confederacy and probable future high chieftain. Great Warchief, Wool. A leather bag enveloped his whole head with tied knots, his towering bod excreting intimidating vibes as he coarsely breathes in then out.

The huge man was sat on a log. He brandished out his great axe from behind, then a outfitted knife for him, he begin to steel it away. Every slide made it sharper and every time he did. He mellowed out, "Home."


'Great Warchief Wool of one of the greatest warchief the confederacy has got to offer. Trudging into battle with no fear and no doubts, who learnt bloodshed in the fields of horror and showering continuously in bloodshed, still trample alive undefeated. '

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