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Wagh hozh for da orconomy. Lat needz to man up and klomp in da WAAAGH.

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"Finally. The Honnorable are speaking out, may the old orcs finally beat some sense into those children runing around as Adrian dogs." *Onon grumbled to himself upone reading the misive. Shaking his head gently though he remarked* "Took them long enough, yet better later then never. Only to hope the others will be able to pull they brains together and come to similar conclusions... I really dont want to make a stop at Krug next."

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"Hes ******* alive?" A certain reader pondered as he shoved the missive into his face, at the signature part with a loud hum. "HE IS ALIVE! I'm glad these idiotic mongrels still has a SMART Uruk amongst them. I need to visit him once more."

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An old Fisherman smokes that good uruk bush in a small wooden fishing hut somewhere in the north as he read the missive with a smile. A single *puff* came from the insane man of fish as he cheered "Y'know, I do love some Orcish Green. That hits different!"

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"Mi jus' wanna klomp, mi dun care fer who er why. Mi radder bi klompen' den listenin' tuu mojobruddaz" -Kazynk

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A uruk warlord would take one of these missives and would read. His eyes getting blurry filled with rage he would tear up the missive and say  "mi canub belieb diz zkah"

Edited by olpx
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A young Uruk nodded along as he read the declaration. “Hozh. Mi hab been thinkin’ da sayme , bruddah. Da spiritz am peepin’ agh mi nub gruk iv dey am proud.”

Edited by Crymson
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Grothzark'Dom takes the lower half of the torn missive from Wargoth Apek, reading the signature "Champion of Ogrol... Da spirit of despair?" He asks aloud "Figurez."

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Atop a small sand hill overlooking Orcgrimmar a Orc would stare into the town below, it would be a large beacon of firelight in the dark cold wastes of the desert, the loud voices from inside would ring out across the valley. The mountain Orc who had only joined the Iron Horde a seemingly short time ago had been aged, now a veteran of several battles, all defeats. " Troo, Akaal da spyeak word-truth. " Urug spoke to himself, his hand clenching and unclenching the sand to his side. " Many bruddahs klomp 'n spillz dey grish for da wagh, wuld be a insultz to dem though. "  He quietly said to himself.

 

Urug reminds himself that they are fighting those who defile the great Desert, and no insult that large can result in them turning tail because of the death of his fellow warriors. " Da wagh is fo' Uruk blarg, we cannot give in to da pink skin tongue-dancers fo' dey are cursed by da spiritz to spillz dey grish to Urukz. " Urug would begin speaking sternly, wrestling with his thoughts.

Edited by Smallest_Cloud
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An aging Legate waved the flier toward Sybille, a brow poised. "Remember when we tried to tell them those damned Adrians would lose?" he snickered. " 'We fight for the stronger side' my arse." @HIGH_FIRE

 

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Clang, clang. A fe-uruk sharpened her waraxe, sweat beading down her forehead. "All pinkiez week -- we shuld hab warred both sides, hozh grizh!"

 

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