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THE FINAL STRIKE


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"Do yeh want cheese wi' daht Whine?" Azkel would respond

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Gorlim ireheart would read the missive and lean back into his chair drinking a mug of ale

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"FER CENTURIES O' MISTREA'MEN'?!" Volden frostbeard screams with laughter, his howl echoing in the halls of Rhewenholm.

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"Stubbornness of the Dwarves indeed." Gildroc Goldhand remarks idly as he reads the missive in his home. 

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Gror Ireheart waited in his chambers for the Grand King's threats to be revealed as a bluff.

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“BOYS LETS GO” Kosher Daesmon yells to his kin as he rides towards his brother in arms Bakir

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*Ragrin ireheart would listen to his Clan fathers wise words with his sudden ear Ragrin would nod in agreement resting his sword on his oak table bringing his fist in the air then to slam it down "and that is enough" *Ragrin would firmly explain.

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Javier de Pelear has a panic attack at the prospect of an Urguani Civil War right as they're about to win the War with Oren! "Hijo de puto! Mobilize the Guard! Call mis hijos! Prepare Arenisca's defences! Mierda, I don't want to fight Irehearts...but I don't want to fight the Frostbeards either! Son of a *****!" With that, the aging Hyspian flipped a nearby table and stormed off to his quarters.

 

Ludwig von Audrick, on the other hand, saw this coming from a mile away. "Ich serve at the will of mein Prince, und so Ich shall wait for his word." he said calmly as he went to speak to his wife about the news ( @wowsirss)

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Father Paco read the missive and then set it down before raising up a coil of ROPE into the air and began his prayer.

 

"Dear almighteh Creator, send Bakir mi way so I cahn hang dat fat pink bastard and slap dat belleh of his. Amen."

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“Aye, d’ere at it again, t’eh sorreh bastards.” The old Irongut would rub her brow, pinching the bridge of her nose and follow it’s creasing down her face.

“‘Ave seen some o’ teh most backwards speinless cowards in t’at bleedin’ Clan. Nuu they prove et again bah blamin’ teh kingdom ‘fer no’ draggen’ em’ outta t’ere own mess! Keep yer Clan business as CLAN BUSINESS yeh sods ah mountain goats— ah likeleh brought teh most of em’ in ‘dis worl’ ahn ahm nu’fraid teh ‘nact me own part ah sum’ discipline!” The mother of many brandished her wooden spoon, the residual echo of a snapped belt resounding throughout the halls of Urguan.

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Morul read the parchment, letting out a grumble. "Bahh! Fools, teh lot o' tehm! oi'm sure both soides will seeh great folly... Gud thing oi'm safe en tis armoured 'ouseboat." He'd utter with a grin as he took a sip of his morning tea, luxury abound.

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