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The Grand Grudge of Green Mountains


Nooblius
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Zuni Gashmorn reads over the missive sent to their desk within Karmesinfels. 

They grunt with approval and recognition upon seeing the blood-soaked signatures march  across the final page. The glint of their gauntlet in the afternoon sunlight serves as a reminder to the call for arms, and they take up quill and ink to draft a response for their own people. 
 

“Zat is ‘un hell of ah grudge. An’ ‘un I’d love to be ah part of. Death an’ zhaakin’ glory, brethren.”


 

 

 

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Ixltub laughs, as he sees the declaration "Fiwnally, we cawn sewt Nowvellen on fire. Maybe sowmeone wiwll cownstruct sowmething cuwltured thewre!" the Kharajyr notes "Nawrag owz Uwuguan!"

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The Governess of the Augustine scrunched up her nose at the missive before groaning and then  lamenting to her bodyguard and confidant, Brandt.

 

"A shame, truly,  for I remember a band of dwed played such good music for me when I was a little girl. I suppose though it is about time for a battle. The minds of men always seem to be fixated on war. Ah, no offense to you dear!"

 

Shortly after the woman placed down a card on the table. 

 

"Go fish!"

 

@champ

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5 hours ago, Bhased said:

Evar'tir Oranor, High Prince of Elvenesse regards the global climate he just inherited. "Lucky bastard, Feanor.."

 

The recently retired Elf in question receives word of the grudge shortly after making his rounds to return keys to Evar'tir - barely thirty Elven minutes after resignation, he receives the notice. The Sylvaeri fondly recalls the Three Months War of Arcas and nods, briefly hit with nostalgia.

"Ah, I recall the last time humanity settled on the Dwarven mountains. This does not bode well for Man."

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Davli Goldhand sighed deeply as he ran from place to place preparing for the grand expedition he was to embark on when he found a copy of the missive "Efcohse wen ah euh goh 'weh! Den dey gonnae stab lobstehs! Ah well mabeh dah wah well stell beh goin' on wen ah come back! "The boy remarked returning to his preparations

 

Somewhere in this realm or the next a familiar grumbling could be heard loud and clear as The late doctor Darrindrabor went on about cowardly medics and shoiteh  orenian incompetence in medicine, also something about bringing the axe.

 

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"Are you fuckin'...-? Mmh." The Governess' confidant and brawn's half-lidded eyes raise from the missive onto the card on the fine, mahogany table between them. Tiresomely he groans, exhausted by his third loss over the countertop with her, though with a smile befitting their friendship: Brandt lets his wrist fall and fingers lose their grip, his handful of cards splaying out atop the dusted, wooden surface. "Let me shuffle the cards next time, ah?" He muses; sedated and calm, genuine and earnest; compliments to the sun's smile her chipper nature often folded his lips with. Then, it began to sour. Souring... souring... he sighs, and frowns. "This is going to give Wilhelm boyish ideas; put him on a leash, Hanrietta. Sooner I a conscript than him." Folding the missive over and pushing it aside to the table's flank, Brandt reclines on his seat and lazily swivels his eyes to overlook Providence in a state of quiet despondency through a grand, dyed window pane. "By the end of this, there won't be any room in Hell left. Not a plot of ground to keep a dead man down."

 

He breathes in. His eyes momentarily lid over. Finally: he bolsters his smile, scooping the deck of well-used, worn cards and beginning their quick shuffle. "Ain't a plot of ground to keep me down, either." Distributing them between them, Brandt ticks his head up at the Governess - a silent challenge, as he presses a card down.

 

"Go fish."

 

@libbybelle

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Albrecht overhears a certain Dwarven war-cry!

 

 

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Aeonn sets a hand upon the old Goldhands shoulder "Indeed 'we' shall...I plan on setting my previous home straight...one way or another"

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Velsyni Indoren began putting up advertisements for discounted, salvaged weapons and armor, as any proud, unrepentant war profiteer such as herself  would do.

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Aleksandra Ludovar whistles a simple tune!

 

Spoiler

 

 

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14 hours ago, Fiyaleh said:

Zuni Gashmorn reads over the missive sent to their desk within Karmesinfels. 

They grunt with approval and recognition upon seeing the blood-soaked signatures march  across the final page. The glint of their gauntlet in the afternoon sunlight serves as a reminder to the call for arms, and they take up quill and ink to draft a response for their own people. 
 

“Zat is ‘un hell of ah grudge. An’ ‘un I’d love to be ah part of. Death an’ zhaakin’ glory, brethren.”


 

 

 

Ilkri had just gotten home, well-aware of the news already as she'd be stocking the clinic and overloading it with everything it could possibly need. Gauntleted hands sorting herbs into jars and creating pastes for any future injuries of her Brethren, words rumbled out. "Dehth agh Glureh. Dat agh releaze da Tulkoz." She'd shake her head at that.

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Caedric receives the news as he finishes his long march home. He'd smile as the words of war reach his ear, "T'eir decadent Kingdom shall be forfeit an' we shall raise our banners over t'eir dead and fallen; all for t'eir lying an' honorless actions."

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Anastasia Rhosyln Komnenos remembers her up bringing with the dwarves. “My prayers are going for both sides. The dwarves was once my family. They raised me to be what I am, but things have changed since then. Oren Aut Mortem!” 

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Ruathar Indoren raised a brow, as he had studied the simple language of the valah Empire for years "'Oren aut Mortem'? bold to assume that if you're not with Oren you deserve death. What a bunch nonsense. Right to a life well lived can be found outside of Imperial tyranny." The ker would simply smile from the neutral settlement he resides in.

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Gail Cordius squints in Veritas, wondering what Oren was hoping to accomplish by annoying Urguan

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