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BathRugMan

A declaration of war

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[!]Qalasheen slaves, chained and whipped arrive to each major settlement, a missive stapled to their flesh.

 

To the Descendants of Arcas,

 

I speak to you as the growing Sultanate of Ca’rne expands across the abandoned waters that you left abandoned as we pressed against your defences. The influence of my growing empire has felt ripples against the entirety of Arcas, yet I will lay my claim upon the bay that lies just beyond by eye-sight. For my claim is cemented by the Holy Relic of the Hammer of Urguan, I press my claims against those of the Elven city of ‘Aegrothond’ and their surrounding creatures. For this, I shall offer a condition of surrender to allow your kind to willingly fall under the influence of one of my Sultans, for no bloodshed shall be allowed if my requests are followed.

 

For you have extended your hand and shown your firepower against the elephants of Al’Faiz, now you are left snivelling behind your beds and crying, waiting for us to march upon your cities and decimate them where they stand. I lay claim as the one true Sultan, extension of the will of Drazhana to their fabled subjects. For the weapon of Gold marks my faith and dedication, it has latched onto my form and I feel the call and beckon of this relic, and it tells me of my true purpose. For the Sultanate of Ca’rne feels happy to welcome those of the elven kin into our fold.

 

If our claim is not respected, then we shall make the subjugation of Al’Faiz seem like a happy dream, where Aegrothond shall become the Bay of Nightmares.

 

The True, Eternal Sultan. Ma’ga’nus C’arne. True heir to Arcas, leader of the Sultanate of C’arne. Extension of Drazhana’s will and heir to the Princedom of the depths.

 

 

tldr; inferi are marching upon Aegrothond

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“Teh fock yea will, yea ugleh cun’!” roars a Starbreaker

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The REX would frown upon the new. "Thiz goi whil nub fall lyke that ob Al-Faiz! Tha Eternal Uzg offers etz zupport!" He says leaving the Haense Palace.

 

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Ayred silently glances over the missive, a smile cracking across his face... ”Now I will finally get the action I’ve been seeking with the Inferi... Finally...” The ‘Fenn reminisces of his recent service with Norland.

He hands the letter off to the pair waiting out the rain with him, after it gets handed off to him by a courier!

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Kergran the zar’ei utters out the demonic promise. ”We will wrong the rights of the past.”

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A monk peacefully meditated in his tower for a moment longer before standing and, for the first time, preparing for a war.

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“****,” mutters a small halfling, reading the missive. “...wait who? Does ‘his guy ‘hink ‘he en’ire world knows ‘im or some’hin’?”

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Aghuid rips the paper off the post it was attatched to and smushed it beneath his golem feet “Yeh take moi Legs, oi seh yeh yes sniveling *****, oill take yeh ‘ead and ‘ang et on yeh woll, and oill take t’e ammmer from yeh graps and shove et up yeh own ARSE!” He then tosses to paper into the hot forges magma, his anger burning brighter than the magma.

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Fredegar Puddlefoot, ninth of his name, of the Pennywhistle Puddlefoots, rose from his bed upon reading the declaration and went to his floorboards. He lifted them off and found his unlocked chest covered in dust: his armory. He lifted up the dwarven crafted shovel, forged by master smiths in Urguan and laid down his elven cane. He took a deep breath in worry and concentration, but a coughing fit overtook him. He doubled over, dropping the shovel and grabbing for his handkerchief. He reached, almost blindly for a chair, and grabbed it to sit down.

 

The coughing fit lasted for another minute and then, he lowered the handkerchief. It was covered in blood. He looked at it and sighed, then tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. He grabbed his cane and used it to stand again, then found the shovel on the floor, which he placed next to the door in anticipation. The gray haired halfling hobbled to the door to his burrow and began to head to the tavern to talk to the others and enjoy a good meal. Not many left of those now, but Fred was ready for this, his final march. He was one hundred fourteen years old and all his other friends save the elves were already dead. And those elves had taught him well. He would show the inferi why they should not mess with the Wee Folk.

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Dorimnur Goldhand scoffs when he hears of the gruesome message. “Tough talk fer ah fellah w’o nae defended ‘is own damned elephants!”

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After reading over the bloodied missive, a pink haired man gave a slight tsk of his tongue.  With a shake of his head, the man turned and strode back to his home. Pulling a Starbreaker forged axe from his storage, he went to sit on his balcony rail. The Mali looked out over the southern seas towards Korvassa, honing the edge of the axe under the clear evening sky. 

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Avius snorts upon hearing the slave’s snivelling words. “Perhaps I will slay this ‘true Sultan’.”

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The underbrush and forests surrounding Aegrethond and Siramenor would begin to grow eerily quiet in the months after the announcement. Odd noises would often be heard at night.

 

And in the distance, The Peon would prepare.

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Dimlin Irongut would blink “Ye’ think mental illness is prevalent wit’ t’ese usurpers”

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