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THE GREAT DEBEARDING


herculean_wud
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THE GREAT DEBEARDING

OF BAKIR, LORD IREHEART

 


 

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Commotion drew brothers, sisters, snagas, honouraries and guests from near and far flung regions to the fire pit. A disgraced warrior would be put on trial, after all. In normal circumstances, an esteemed urukish warrior would fight the accused in a duel of honour -- but the dwarf would be granted no such privilege for his multiplicity of transgressions. Instead, a tribunal would be called -- to be held before witnesses, spiritual and temporal, with Targoth Fishbref as judge, and his attendant brothers as jury. 

 

“Lord Ireheart is to be found guilty of the crime of refusing an honour duel levied by a sitting Targoth. All those in agreement say ‘yub’!”

 

A litany of ‘yubs’ followed.

 

“Lord Ireheart is to be found guilty of the crime of warmongering and sowing discord among the descendant races! All those in agreement say ‘yub’!”

 

A litany of ‘yubs’ followed.

 

“Lord Ireheart is to be found guilty of disturbing worship and matters spiritual! All those in agreement say ‘yub’!”

 

A litany of ‘yubs’ followed.

 

Targoth Hu-din stepped forward to render and deliver his punishment. It was decided that his beard would be removed -- his face as bare as his dishonour, for all the world to see. But, he would not be executed. Instead, the uruks would be merciful. Where they could have forced him down a mine, or quartered him brutally, they instead allowed him to leave with no more scratches on him than when he was captured. For where Iblees had cursed them with bloodlust, Krug had given them an honourable way of life to follow.

 

And so, the Ireheart went on his way, now a few grams lighter, and as naked faced as when he was born.

 

The next day, a missive would arrive at the dwarven hold:

 

 


 

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“Hear us, ye of Urguan,

 

You have brought nothing but disgrace upon your people. You levy bandits and petty raiders to bolster your armies, and have failed in all but one of your incursions upon our lands.

 

We, kin of Krug, call an end to this conflict. Cease all hostilities and return to us the Fort of Ireheart and no more shall dwarven blood be spilt.

 

Fail to fulfil our demands and more dwarven bodies will enrich the soil upon which we tread.

 

We eagerly await your response.”

Edited by grubgoth_wud
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Al-Uk'Lur can be heard cackling and laughing up a storm as one of his political envoys brings him a artistic depiction of the beardless Lord Bakir  Ireheart along side the missive send towards the dwed which as always he gives more mind to once his laughter subsided  "Nevah mi peeped zuzh globbizhnezz... Ah beerdlezz ztowt?! Prizelezz!.... Bub mi thynkz edz tik tu ehnd diz globbizh konflikt wiff dah Ztowtz" the goblin places the missive down putting the sketch of the debearded Ireheart  in his robed coat for a gentle chuckle in the future

Edited by ThatDutchFellow
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Rydia Atmorice had been present for the actual shaving part and grimaced slightly when the bleeding dwarf was cast out of the city. "Gruesome..." she muttered as she walked away.

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“Nooooooo!!! Ja shall have my revenge!!” King Sugarfoot II stares in ire as his comrade has his beard shaven. The halfling unsheathes his longsword, marching out to meet those of another fantasy roleplay server — and the famed Sheikh Tornado. “Allah will protect Lord Ireheart! Ja mon, I come to kil dem mon.” 

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Hu-din shakes his head as the bandit dwarf leaves the goi of San'Velku after being captured as part of a raid on Krugmar, "When did da ztoutz turn into banditz."

Edited by L0rdLawyer
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"They're all f*cking dumbasses." A certain, Vortician elf rolled her singular, blue eye. "Wondering if they mean ours though... not sure. Aren't they trying to be peaceful or something?" Athri rambled on for a moment- before stopping herself and moving on with her day.

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[ooc] 

 

Just from a ooc standpoint lads! I recently noticed some tension between orc and dwed players which honestly is kinda wack from orcish leadership just know we do this from a irp standpoint we don't hate anyone personally 

Edited by ThatDutchFellow
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"I wonder if they'll try to call this cruel and unusual when they skin orcs and take elven ears." Fiil'Yar asks as a casual observer of the de-bearding.

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'Lo, for some weary Elfess of repute came to hear this news, blinking in surprise as she read the offered missive in triplicate... and once more, for good measure.

 

"Well... This can only end badly. I must find the Lord Ireheart, and soon..."

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The High Prophet wonders if peace was ever an option.

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Henry Bishop sharpens his sword with a whetstone "Well then, Ich suppose mein sword arm will be in use once more. Sedan stands with its Urguani liege."

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Kor'garr's laughter continues to rumble through San'Velku, the grey orc nearly keeling over in his mirth.  "Dah ztowt... nub beerd! Vunniezt tyng Kor'garr evur peep'd!" He pats his large handlebar mustache, face aglow with a tusked, superior grin.

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Levian'Tol Grandaxe rests in a tiny corner of his palace. A book about the travels of the great Smallaxe in his lap as he slowly flips through each page. A merchant, barkeep, steward, and now Grand King. As he sat back, his eyes trailed up to the ceiling, he recalls the calamity of the last war with Krugmar. A war he was against, a war that should never have happened, and a war that ripped Krugmar apart. He remembers fighting side by side with Turge'Ram against the guards of Elvenesse, his klomp with the former Rex, Yarrow'Lur, his rapport with the Golden Rex and many visits to Krugmar over the past 30 years. The accession of Kor'Garr even crosses his mind as he remembers the laughs and jokes they shared then.

As the Kings eye's lowered to his lap, he would see nothing but the crumpled up remains of a book, the iron binding clattering on the stone floor followed by the heavy sounds of thick droplets smacking against the floor. He raises his bloodied hand infront of him inspecting it for a few moments before letting out a small sigh. 
"... Tempeh, Tempeh."

 

Spoiler

The story of the last battleship to see combat, ill-tempered USS Wisconsin  | War Is Boring

 

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Fleiver Horen smiles the suns smile

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As he gets to know the rest of his kin and the capital, Grimdal learns of this most disgraceful deed. As he is able to find the full story of what has transpired it would seem the young beardling has come to a conclusion. "Dah beard es sacred. None s'all touch et wet'uut dah wearers leave!" he huffed, a typical rage and energy for a young dwed seemingly growing. "Dah beard es sacred, ah sanctity guarded wet our blood 'n honor!" he cursed to himself as if he had just found out something he hadn't truly grasped before.

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