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The pounding of machines, the smog of the factories overwhelms the beautiful Industrial lady, she enters a tent, but she sees, him. His chest, and lower body cover in oil, he grins at her, eyebrows raised. She bites her lip as she makes her way over to him. She gently lays herself down as oil excretes from his beard, further thickening the lubricant upon his body. She goes to give a soft whisper in his ear, “Talk dirty to me,” she moans. He returns the favor, and leans over, “Oil, Smog, Monopolies,” he soon finishes with the word, “Industry.” The ear piercing moans can be heard from miles as she indulges herself within his vastly large oil pool. He gives a hearty chuckle as he goes to grasp her. They lock eyes for minutes before she turns, and swiftly says, “L-Lathros, I, I can’t. I-I have a husband,” Lathros chuckles once more, “Babeh, once yer wif me, yer husband will be nae eh worreh,” he smirks and raises a single eyebrow before he goes to lean in to passionately kiss her. She moves, he responds, “Babeh, w’ot be wrong, eh’m givin ye oil, love, moneh. W’ot else can ye want,” he says, sorrowly. She locks eyes once more, before she goes to kiss him, they kiss, and they break, “He-He’s a druid,” she mumbles before they go to kiss once more.
 
He pushes her back, and shouts, “Eh druid! T’eh filth. Ye ‘ave indugled in romantical activities w’if ‘im, do ye want meh teh be diseased w’if teh nature in ‘is soul, lasseh?” She groans, “Lathros, I-I want you.” He shuns her away, and he submurges himself in his vast oil pool once more, before she turns back, walking out. But then, sudenly, he arises, his skin, eyes, beard coated in oil, they seep into his skin, as he grins once more, “Babeh, e’s dealt wif.” Soon, two large dwarves by the name of Lord Onar and Lord Zahrer walk into the room, suppressing the woman as she bursts into tears, he sticks a large cigar into his mouth, before puffing the smoke into her face, the two other large Dwarves chuckle, “Yer Druideh ‘usband es nae more, we may spend teh rest ef teh industrial age togetheh,” She screams in excitiment, as the two Dwarves release her, she goes to run up to him. Lathros ***** slaps the woman, “Lasseh, eh do nae care fer ye, ye just eh want teh beh, eh ‘ave twenteh more beautiful women waitin’ outside meh door, and ye expect meh teh stop fer ye. Pitiful,” he murmurs. The two goons escort the woman, now in tears, outside the tent, as he chuckles to himself, and throws large stacks of moo-la into the air, as the two goons struggle to pick it up from teh ground.
 
He walks out the door, and the two very nice Dwarves (not goons in any way shape or form) move the cheering women from along side the tent, as he walks past them in a silk robe, adorned with vials of oil, and smog. He begins to walk to Kal’Arkon, puffing on a large cigar, as the ground beneath his very steps wither away into the industrial era. He gives a deep chuckle, as he approaches the vicinity of Kal’Arkon, the Dwarven capital, he turns, and looks back at the factories, fields of wheat, gold, and oil. He winks at the women, he rips off his robe once more, the vials crashing to the ground shattering, releasing the oil and smog into the air and ground. Oil excretes from his beard, getting abosorbed by the fiery red hair upon his chest, it so glorious the first twenty closeset men and women faint, and the next become blinded. He shouts, “Industreh.” The rest of the world shouts with him, “Industreh es love, industreh es loife.”
 
He turns once more, back to Kal’Arkon, and he smiles.
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Dwain just sits and stares.

Uhhhh stark? *he mumbles to himself*

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"I feel a great disturbance in the world, as if millions of voices suddenly have just cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened."

 

Prey mutters to herself.

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"Fer industreh! Ave Urguan!"

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"The folly of the Dwarves has proven itself once more; the profits and benefits of 'monopolies' and 'industry' are voided when you are but shouting 'Industry!' down the streets and doing little more than that. A true business are ventures done behind doors, deals that deal the whole world 'round. But when you have fat midgets running around degrading a word of prosperous endeavors, it means little more than their desperate attempts to retain their population and keep them entertained." says Hobs.

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(Fix up your factories I dislike the look.)

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"I feel a great disturbance in the world, as if millions of voices suddenly have just cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened."

 

Prey mutters to herself.

 

 

((+1'd for star wars reference.))

 

Nalro sees the growth of industry and wants to be a part of that.

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Gamle grins to himself as he watches the machines work.

 

"INDUSTREH!"

 

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Before all this happened:

Fimlin looks around the city, his knee aching as he strolls along. There was no room in the city for a much better clan hall. He looks around and slumps against a corner, fingering his firey forked beard as he thinks. He looks around, a few dwarves hauling carts of stone, oil staining their beards, he turns his head, unaware of what the cause was. Just then, out of the corner of his eye he sees a small, dark window, he looks further and notices the wall was once the sight of another failed railway. He takes his pickaxe from his pack and hacks at the wall, he does this for some time before kicking down the weakened structure, the sound lost in the start of industry. He peers down into the dark tunnel below, it's lights barely lit, he clambers down the stairs, looking around before dubbing the old tunnel unfit for Grandaxe inhabitance. He walks up the dust-covered steps, where he sees Balek and Kardel Irongut looking for a spot for the alchemy guild to reside. He walks over and taps Balek on the shoulder, pointing towards the tunnel, and so it began.

Fimlin sighs after he failed to find a suitable spot for his clan, the industry becoming louder as even more dwarves join in. He looks around, the city was an oven, always hot with smoke, over the walls even more industry was occurring to the west and south, the industry-stained soil preventing inhabitance. He remembers the grins of the newly iniated lads into his clan, how happy they had been and in plenty, but ever since the resignation of Grand King Hogarth Irongut the clan had went south, but then he remembered, there was still one place industry hasn't touched.

((Don't feel like adjusting this backstory to the post, so I copied it from the last one, don't give me warning points! ))

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