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A CONCISE VICTORY


Terry
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Bakir "Orcs Blood" Ireheart toasted Levian'tol with a group of Irehearts in the Urguani tavern. He'd stand up before them putting out his drink "How Empires and Kingdoms fall to the Irehearts, how wigs are snatched by those shorter than them! The ISA crumbled beneath our axes, their generals no match for Ireheart prowess and how King Philip II fled like a dog as we marched up his city. The man who is named Duncan will never find a place to truly rest, as the Irehearts will never rest until we have his HEAD! But today is a great day, victory against the humans, but let us hope this other philip does not make the same mistake that most kings do, and underestimate the might, the unity and the true strength of the Kin of Urguan

 

Edited by Elite_Snipes_
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Mika Uialben read the missive from up in his tower once more, enjoying a nice hot beverage within his hand as he read such, gaining a slight smile in the process "Ah, some rest to my bones. The throngs can go home once more and I can finally hang around again without being stabbed in the gut."

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Volden Frostbeard sits at the mouth of the mountains of Urguan, beholding the vast valley before the tumultuous rocks behind him. He saw the fields riddled with blood and flame, the haze of war strewn about the hills. Shaking his head he puts the thought behind him. There is important work to do. 

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r

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Atandt Irongrinder would nod at the King's proclamation, "Our king is wise, there is a reason we pay him the big bucks after all." 

Edited by gandalfo
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Garagrim sets down his smithing hammer, nodding at the news of another dead wig-bearer. “Yemekar’s balance always finds a way.”

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Sir Ledicort d'Azor would speak to his aid, "The small men are not just small in size but that also in the capability to use their brain. May God teach them the errors of their ways and allow them to think logically." 

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Checks his pulse and utters "Seems I'm still alive" He laughs drinking some wine finally coming out of his undisclosed location with a smirk on his face.

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Ferek would lean back in his chair, his room in the bastion of Rhewenholm shimmering as snow blew through the windows. His journal lay sitting on his desk, the ink drying quickly in the dry, frigid air. "Damn 'et, ah was 'opin 'tat 'tis'un'd last ah few good battles, 'tis book was goin' 'tah be mah best one yet..."

 

The dwed would stare out his window, watching the sunlight glint off the falling flakes of snow, wondering what the future might hold.

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"Is this the point where both sides start declaring victory over the other?  At least the good working people aren't being sent to die on the front lines anymore," remarked Celiasul in a brief bout of sobriety, until she found out her flask wasn't quite empty yet.

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Madron chuckled at the missive. “These short men should be comedians. They’ve chickened out of a war they started.”

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"They wanted Duncan Vuiller, three thousand mina and a public apology. They got none of it and... think they won?" Samuel Gendik did not understand politics very well, but he wasn't that dumb. It was clear these dwarves got confused!

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High Prophet Norli consults his sacred abacus, and determines that slightly less dwarves had died.

Total victory.

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