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A Solemn Declaration Of War

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"As I recall, last time Chivays fought dwarves Chivays and half the Empire ran away to another continent." Says Niccolo

Hiebe was there

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((How many alts does it take to make back-handed remarks? How much inconsiderate comments that have no logical congruency must be posted? How many thought emotes am I supposed to read from you all? Im starting to take note of the OOC Cult.))

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Thersist takes a seat, remembering the days of old. The skygod barriers keeping the men from driving their war forward. The endless wave of complaints and inability to face the men of Oren in combat. The stagnation of the war, the disinterest in the realm as a whole and the ceaseless nagging brought forth by the actions of those they'd seeked to assault. It felt oddly like what lays before him now only, a certain lack of stress and distaste for the endless voiced concerns of unimportant external parties no longer set themselves within his ear drums.

He'd simply lost interest in caring and would see the Empire make up for lost grounds.

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((How many alts does it take to make back-handed remarks? How much inconsiderate comments that have no logical congruency must be posted? How many thought emotes am I supposed to read from you all? Im starting to take note of the OOC Cult.))

((Pretty sure this is all done through roleplay

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((How many alts does it take to make back-handed remarks? How much inconsiderate comments that have no logical congruency must be posted? How many thought emotes am I supposed to read from you all? Im starting to take note of the OOC Cult.))

 

((We discussed this last night, I think you should start looking at some of Oren's comments before you point criticism at ours. Where are these alts you speak of? Please provide a single example. Accusations such as this are entirely unnecessary.))

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((Let's try to not get into OOC bashing before the war even starts, yea? Just have fun folks, leave it on the field.))

 

The anvil of Lin'ame's forge rings throughout the night as forgemaster Phaedrus works the iron bestowed to him from Oren. By the work's end, fresh spears, shields, and blades lie polished and ready for future use by the Restrained. Bronze will be tested soon, Bronze will prevail.

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"Haha! let tiny dwarf man tremble! they am get beaten daily by poor Strelt folk! am no mach for empire!" says Mikhael

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((If you guys are at each other's OOC throats before you've even started this war is a terrible, terrible idea that'll just end in mutual abuse. If you're not going into this with the intent of making a fun experience for both sides, don't go into it at all.))

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((If you guys are at each other's OOC throats before you've even started this war is a terrible, terrible idea that'll just end in mutual abuse. If you're not going into this with the intent of making a fun experience for both sides, don't go into it at all.))

((Worry not, we RP this properly and don't need someone holding our hands! :D))

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((Never said anything about hand-holding. I said if you're already fighting OOC this is not going to end pretty for either side.))

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"Perhaps now they'll dare to step out of their city and fight in the fields instead of hiding behind their stone walls. When their fields and granaries burn and their people are starving I suppose that's the only way left to go."

 

Drake brings out his shiny clean longsword and looks at himself in the almost mirrored metal, sighing.

 

"I'll have a red reflection by the end of this..."

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Off in Aeldin, a missive detailing the most recent declaration reaches the Prince Robert, who has most recently received the name Aeldinicus for his efforts in quelling an Aeldinic rebellion against the Empire of Horos. The Prince, upon hearing the news, lets out an exhausted sigh, adjusting the pauldron on his shoulder and addressing the courier that had delivered the letter, "Bring me the Hexer and Jullius."

 

"Yes, m'lord. Any message for them?"

 

"Tell them it is time we prepared for our return to the Fringe. The Empire requires our swords."

 

Robert sighs once again, dismissing the courier and directing his gaze over to the trunk at the end of his bed. Approaching it, he undoes the latch and lifts the top open, widening his eyes slightly as he stares onto the trunk's contents. He grunts, the faintest smirk coming over him.

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"I'm not sure whats worse, Dwarves burn their own citizens with boiling oil from their gates or that they believe a handful of peasants armed with pitchforks managed to defeat the entire legion within their own city."

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