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The Grand Grudge of Green Mountains


Nooblius
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A subtle sigh escaped an old elfless' lips once she heard the news from the Trade Prince of Sutica, merely gazing out over the city with her golden hues as she idly stood watch. A mere longsword was next to her; one she has used for many years in battle and through war. She soon sent the news to a fellow friend, idly praying out to herself for safekeeping. 

 

 

"I cannot rest just yet.."

 

 

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The Holy Grimgold Empire chucked at the Orenian response, as apparently anyone could call themselves an Empire now despite not controlling any Kingdoms beneath their de jure.

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8 minutes ago, AlaricGrimgold said:

The Holy Grimgold Empire chucked at the Orenian response, as apparently anyone could call themselves an Empire now despite not controlling any Kingdoms beneath their de jure.

(Trust us, we know it doesnt make sense)

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1 hour ago, AlaricGrimgold said:

The Holy Grimgold Empire chucked at the Orenian response, as apparently anyone could call themselves an Empire now despite not controlling any Kingdoms beneath their de jure.

A human who was visitting Urguan when Alaric said that comment would approach him and state: "Excuse me, Mister, but the legitimacy of the Holy Empire of Oren does not come from any sub-entities in fealty to our Nation. Instead, our imperial legitimacy comes from the Crown of the Exalted Godfrey, currently worn by our Emperor, and spiritually from the rest of Our Prophets and Our Holy Pontiffs, who invest our Monarchs with such title by the Grace of GOD in the Investiture of the Regalia in accordance with the Exordium." 

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"Look brother!" A loyal Orenian remarked as she presented her sibling with the ridiculous dwarven list of demands "How very kind of the people of Urguan to provide us with a hit list on the second page."

@Jameson_h

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BEARDS IN BELTS,!

 

Cries the Holm Heir.

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Sir Erik Othaman scoffs as he files away the list of demands from the Khanate of Urguan. He'd nod to himself afterwards as he went upstairs to play chess with Kelhus Othaman. @Josef_Rippelberg 

Edited by grnappa
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Arthur Komnenos chuckled as he heard the news, a sense of nervousness and excitement came through him as he was able  to finally prove himself properly to the ISA high  command and to his family, knowing his countries  history, he  wasn't worried about losing, just worried about his  death or death of his friends  or  family moreso.

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AGHUID " LONGSHOT" IREHEART, SLAYER OF OLIPHANTS, FORGEMASTER OF CLAN IREHEART, CERTIFIED BADASS struggles to read the missive, as his dyslexia and illiteracy barred him from reading too well. Though the words he could understand brought a smile upon his ugly mug. It wasnt to often he spent time in the Hallowed halls of Kal'Darakaan. But after his signing of the Grudge, he thought he'd spend some time with his kin. As he sat alone in the tavern of the dwarven city. he sharpened his silver-steel axe. running his fingers over the leather wrapping on its hand, made from blood soaked skin of Leatranis'ap' Tahorran. As he drank, smoked in the tavern, he thought out loud "Ets a real shame tha' so maneh posehs will 'ave their blood spilled by dis axe, they would doie fer there emporer, but tha emporer would nae do et fer them, ah know mah king would do et fer meh. pfft, imagine puttin yehr undying fealteh inta a poser who cannae even walk 'roond their own citeh wiffout tha fear o' gettin assassinated by dere own subjects."

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A middle-aged soldier of Ackalandi descent shakes his head at the document as it makes its rounds, "I do wonder what diplomatic actions were attempted prior to this decree and where it shall all lead. May be some coin on the horizon. That, or wasted time."

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Rhewen grows a wide grin as he reads the heavy grudge. He walks slowly down his steps into the forge with weighted brow and lowered eyes. He lifts his gaze to view his dull and worn helm and hauberk sitting high above the forge. His mind fills with the prospect of glory of the war to come, and an ominous dread from all wars past.

 

 


"One last war"

 

He set himself to mending the chain links and sharpening his axe, as he will keep doing for the years to come. Until Dungrimm calls him home.

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Angr Ireheart would be slowly drifting across the sea on a longboat, a lone green flag waving above his sail. The waters ahead churn with uncertainty as he heads directly for Urguan. "T'ey nevah learn." He comments, tugging the lever to his rudder. His silent understanding of yet more Orenian destruction asserted as distant cheers roar out from the shape of foggy figures further back. Two, three, no, four other boats carring a dozen more Irehearts trail behind him, every last one of them barely able to contain their excitement. To them it may seem like a game, but Angr knew what this was. Their incessant bloodlust was a result spurred on by Clan Ireheart's timeless vow to serve the throne; This was not just a frenzy, this was duty.

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Bakir returned from the mountains, his axe in hand. He'd gather his things to meet with the acclaimed warriors of Almaris the Ferrymen, preparing for a great raiding spree that was to come. 

OOC: 
dwarves-meme.png

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