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A Harsh Return from the Cold


Terry
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Glod grins as he spotted his old friend walk through the gate "welco' back Ulfric!" He called out, as he went to open the gates. "Lot bin 'appenin' since ye left."

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13 hours ago, Terry said:

The truth is as plain now as it’s ever been. Urguan is bloated, locked in the past. Too much land but not enough Dwed to effectively administer it. Too much pride, but not enough dwed to share in it. Too many grudges, but not enough dwed to see them through. Urguan must become something more if we are to live on. 

 

"Dwedmar ye illiterate savage." Jorvin Starbreaker corrects angrily. Continuing to carry out the ever-important task of preserving the sanctity of their ancestral language. His task done, the Starbreaker returns to fishing in an underground lake, perfectly content to let Frostbeard and Ireheart alike butcher each other, muttering some half-baked analogy of two stones with one pickaxe.

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Gorlim would sit atop a tree trunk deep with the east reading this letter he would muse to himself"Per'aps ets toime eh foind meh way 'ome"

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Dimlin Irongut would very briefly stand from his bed in his former Darakaan Manor and look outside, towards reality and away from his soap opera books. His gaze shifted towards a gilded set of Legion armored, long rusted, and the Dwarf who once wore it “Well shite, ah suppose a new ‘ome defense system moig’t be best fer t’ese sort of toimes” He’d state simply, completely ignorant towards the dire state of the Kingdom. After a moment of contemplation, he’d slither back into bed, in the comfort of his books.

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