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THE DRAGON GRUDGE


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A Grudge of Blood and Fire 

 

Since the time of Yemekar’s creation, there has existed one fundamental law, which all beings must obey. It is a foundational principle engraved into the heart of every dwed to have ever lived; the cornerstone of Dwarven Pride itself:

 

Nothing may be allowed to attack Urguan’s Folk and live. 

 

It is an atrocity that has been committed many times over the centuries, and each time those who have perpetrated this one, unforgivable sin have been punished severely. Yet, once again, some foul creature has chosen to rise against Urguan’s Folk. The foul and corrupted Drake known as Cloudbreaker has, thrice, attacked the Grand Kingdom of Urguan at the heart of our nation: The Capital City of Kal’Darakaan. It brings Fire hot enough to melt stone, Strength enough to topple towers, and Wings which carry it through the sky.

 

It is truly a foe which seems insurmountable, yet the word “fear” does not exist in the Dwarven tongue. If a beast soars through the air, we shall cleave its wings from its body. If a beast bears great strength, we shall sever tendons to cripple it. If Cloudbreaker brings fire against our walls, we will extinguish these flames using the Drake's own blood. 

 

The Wronged:

The Grand Kingdom of Urguan

Elder Clan Ireheart

Elder Clan Irongut

Elder Clan Grandaxe

Elder Clan Goldhand

Elder Clan Starbreaker

Elder Clan Frostbeard

The Clans of Hefrumm

Clan Irongrinder

Clan Grimgold

 

 

The Assailant:
 

Cloudbreaker, The Black Drake

 

The Wrong:

The wanton attacks on The Grand Kingdom of Urguan and her vassals, leading to the death of many good dwarves, including Gormli, along with damage to the Jewel of the Empire: Kal’Darkaan.

 

Terms of Settlement:

The Head of Cloudbreaker hung above the gates of Kal’Darakaan, and its corpse stripped and hung in the square of the city. And its teeth and claws turned into fine crafts by the artisans of The Grand Kingdom of Urguan. 

 




 

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*Meep wasn't hiding her presence during the meeting and was simply watching. Fighting the urge to enjoy her catpaw pipe. Instead taking mental notes and opting to not speak to give herself away. She found the information insightful and now looking at the missive of the dwarves with a grin*

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An automatonic lord far off hummed at the drifting news of khazad engaging in the age old tradition of drake slaying and dragon hunting. If his mask like face could smile, it might have. 

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The Archdruid reads a copy of The Almaris Times on his way towards the capital to assist his new friends with the completion of this grudge, for the Dragon had wrecked much havoc upon the balance of nature as well.

 

A jaunty tune enters his mind as he arrives at the top of the mountain to look down towards the valley protecting the Dwarven Capital, and quietly begins crafting another bar song of this adventure.

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[!] If the twisted and warped remains of Gormli Grandaxe could feel happiness or pride, it would, instead The Arbiter seethed from the wastes, awaiting vengeance, now not only upon The Spawn of Dragur, but also very Khazadmar who fight them, ones he'd call kin in life...

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A glimmer of Steel. A dull slice. A sickening thud. The assailant fell back. Glod smiled, wiping his blade on the Assassin's clothes. "Looks loik 'e wont be gettin' paid." He said with a grin smile. He would kick the corpse into the lava of the bridge. A fitting end for such a coward.

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A Vengeful poet hears word. Gathering his bronze spike and haelun'oric helm, and blessed flutes. Songs will be sung of this time 

Edited by RyuTheCoolest
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"Perhaps it is time to visit Urguan." mentioned an interested paladin as he gathered his things and set off on his travels

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Deep in the foundries of the Underkingdom, new schematics from the Order of the Golden Lion would find their way into the hands of a certain High Prophet in due time - weapons to facilitate the grudge, a gift from Xan's own servants. 

 

For no dragon would yet be the lord of the Underrealm.

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1 hour ago, AfroJoeTheOlogBro said:

An automatonic lord far off hummed at the drifting news of khazad engaging in the age old tradition of drake slaying and dragon hunting. If his mask like face could smile, it might have. 

Wilhelm ponders, turning to his nephew and asking them Should I?

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977dd82354bd6e2c657e80ef75ad31cd

 

Crackadonk and Dragon hunting enthusiast, Robert Catterthorn grunts as he holds the replica voidal medesculator in his swamp. His hat made from the hide of the false dragons as he trudges through the marshes, coming upon a declaration of grudges from the small folk.

 

"I've got nae problem wit' people bloodeh bein' as short as their knee, we've got tah realleh focus on the yearly Cracka' deaths that happen in the 'lund!"

 

He shouts to himself before continuing onwards to his own dilapidated hut

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