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Broken Silence


ThumperJack
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"You joined their war and picked the side of their enemy, what did you honestly expect to happen?" asked Ser Andrik.

Edited by ReveredOwl
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"They would even take our oem'ii- our children who have done nothing wrong. To sell them, to who knows who!" A mother cried out as she read over the missive, a letter clutched tightly in hand. "War or no war, their king should be ashamed."

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Euphemia Norvayn smiled upon seeing the missive above. She nodded approvingly to her brothers written words before speaking to herself, "Soon enough the dwarves will run themselves into a corner."

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A redskin let out a grunt as he peered upon the missive.

 

"That's whub happen when lat get cockey. Deserved."

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Eloen, having just recently been returned to her home, followed by her grandfather's feet as he posted a copy of the missive within the walls of Nevaehlen. She peered up at the words - though at such a young age, she was unable to comprehend them. The child rushed over to find her mother then, who she'd been separated from for many, many days.

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Theroden smiled sadly. "At least some have not taken leave of their senses. Sad are the times indeed when folk make excuses for slavers and brigands. The honorable will stand together, though the realm may collapse around us."

 

Narn'amae gathered more arrows for the next bout, pondering the true meaning of "The Wilds know ne honor."

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Grumwar Ireheart, a beardling yet to complete his trials, procedes to count the elven ears he has in possession "One.. 'igh elgus ear..." he then struggles to find the other ears needed since he didn't have them yet "Shoite.. Ae need twu moore tree-'ugger ears n' t'en aem dune. One dark elgu n' wood elgu."

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Thonar Frostbeards reads the missive as he takes a hit on his Rex Widow blunt. With bloodshot eyes, he begins to laugh outloud "Aren' 'ey tah fock'n reason weh started t'is wah!?" He slams the table in hysterics, then crumples the missive and throws it into the fire 

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“Tey’re mad t’at tey’re losing.” Theodore Frostbeard remarked, desiring a collection of ears himself.

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AnnStone Regular sits upon the dwarven crafted and chiseled seat of the Ireheart Bone Throne as a beardling approaches the Clan Father with a missive of Nevaehlen in his strong dwarven hands. He hands it to Duren and briefly reads it aloud to the Irehearts at the table before him while they eat breakfast with their dire wolves. 

 

"So they woul' dispatch warriors to defend an Umri Kingdom rather than their own land then weep how vulnerable they are. Seems we must remind them that our grudge with Nevaehlen remains without deliberation since Almaris. Our kinsmen Bakir Ireheart lost his hand for attempting to remind the Vale we would nae forget the grudge only to be given a false charge of 'assault' by Norland over a touch upon the elgus iron despite the Book of Grudges warranting worse. There is a price to pay for spilling dwed blood, and your attempts at naivety shall be noted within the book."

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Voryl Ireheart dramatically gasps!

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"Alas, they speak up! But to what avail?" A 'fenn wondered from his newly-found home.

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