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A WAR OF RETRIBUTION


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Bakir Ireheart readies his axe, blowing a warhorn summoning the kin of Yavok to WAR. The fury of the Irehearts would no longer be held back and the sounds of shields and axes would soon be heard surrounding the orcish capital. War has come to Krugmar and orcish blood will be spilt.

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The Marshall of the Crimson Edict, a steadfast ally and vassal of Urguan, reads over the missive with an excited grin. "Zo finally, ze day haz come. Finalleh, Krugmar zhall get ah tazte of ze hell zhey bring down to otherz. An' we, along with our Dwarven brotherz an' zizterz, will be ze 'unz tah deliver ze final blow." The Orcish knight sets the missive down, soon retrieving the impressive poleaxe that never truly leaves their side. A rumble stems from their gut, rising into a shout within their Order's castle as the blood runs high in their ears. "Death an' Gloreh! Aruuuu! Death tah ze zlavin' baztardz!"

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Far away, a retired but notable Mali' catches wind of the declaration from Urguan's Sons. He scribes a letter then to his fast, stout friend Levian'Tol. @Willstertheking2

 

"Levian, my dear friend.

 

It is a fine sight to see the progressive acts against slavers in all their forms - be they men or orc. I shall not bid your steel swings true, for none can truly match the might of Dwarven Steel, granted by the Forge Father and Yemeker himself.

 

However, I shall offer you a warning from wisdom. Try to boomsteel proof your courts against the cowards."

 

Narvak oz URGUAN,

In Kindness,

Feanor Sylvaeri 

 

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Drommkopf Doomforge stands atop the walls of the Stygian Hollow, the rain pouring onto his armour plate as he looks towards the north. Tormented spectures swirl around him as he mutters the following....
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Alisa Camian sighed quietly as she caught wind of the declaration. "Suppose it's that time again. Well, mark the calendars," She stated offhandedly to those around her at the time. "We can expect another of these in..." She trailed off a moment to count, and then concluded, "Fifty to seventy years. That's my prediction."

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Yazmorra Blackroot glances over the Grand Kingdom from atop Anbella's Idol Tree of Dol'Anym. "En teh name an' 'onor ov Dungrimm.She lifts her staff, swinging her bow around her back. "Teh uruks did naye learn afta teh war ov Arcas... weh will sureleh remoind t'em." She raises her staff in the air. "NARVAK OZ DUNGRIMM! NARVAK OZ URGUAN! AAAAARRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

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Haleth grins, reading the document and laughing.

“That seems quite idiotic… wonder if the elves will help. “

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Azkel looks upon a picture of Karl 'Orcbane' hanging within Rhewenholm "Seems daht teh Uruks have neveh learned, even frum centuries ago"

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Upon reading the news, Iscesi scribed and sent birds to those who occupy the seats in Stygian Hollow's council. "War is nearing, and it's nearing quick..." He says, soon after raising both the Stygian and Urguan banners within the city.

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A figure cast in pure gold sat within the hulking caverns of Urguan. It slowly cracked open; twines of smoke and ash parted to reveal a stout dwarf — an Ireheart. Slowly waddling out, the dwarf picked up his old chef’s hat and a frying-pan. “I am Aurar Ireheart. Dey shal heer ma’ name ooonce mooooooh!”

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Sitting alone upon one crimson throne, one's verdant eyes did widen upon viewing the missive - then, a wicked grin. The Dark Lord did spread his hands across his wingspan, his vicious cackle echoing throughout the chambers of his accursed halls. 


"Yes! Yes!! It is all coming together now!"

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Only a few stone weeks after reaching the Capital of the Grand Kingdom, Grimdal would hear word spread like wildfire. A war was the only solution they said. As the young beardling, who was able to follow the events closely from the Capital itself, heard the news he had to take a moment to think. He read the missive again, going over the statements, claims and demands. Eventually he scratched his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Then he opened them. "May dah crimes agaenst our people remain unforgiven 'n etched en dah buuk 'till dah Brat'mordakin deem dah grudge settled. May our ancestors smile frum Khaz'A'Dentrumm as weh bask en t'eir gloreh." the youthful dwed whispered as he treated and maintained his Warhammer. 

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"Wonder who pays more for a contract to hire the Band." The Redcloud said once he read the missive. He crumbled it afterwards.

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“All be fair in peace and war, a medic nevar realleh retires”

sitting once again in the clinic, a grin on her face

“rally the medics, we be ready”

the old axe resting on the table in front of her, the old leather bag of tricks restocked once again.

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