Assemble The Rally

[Werew0lf 24180]

"It is a sad display, in truth. I had little intentions to conquer them, for this was an agreement I upheld with my father -- though, verily, I desired conquest. However, the dwarves played the first act, and I simply carried out a suitable response!" The Emperor's lips shifted into a gentle smile, before turning to continue on with his day-to-day administrative duties outside of wars. He spoke only to himself, "Yes, oppressed people of the Empire! Dwarven masters will be your saviour! I am sure they will treat you with more kindness and honesty,"

 

"If the dwarves held any political finesse, they could have garnered more allies. Now, they are stuck with mud-balls and rock-slingers."

 

 

[Riot 743]

Dorin Starbreaker sets the hammer down with deliberate care, the sound echoing through the stone hall like a closing bell. The forge behind him glows with the quiet power of long hours spent shaping iron and will alike. Scars line his arms — old cuts, burns, and blade marks earned in war, ill-fitting a dwarf of only nineteen years, an age most of his kin would still call a child.

 

Yet there is nothing boyish in how he stands.

He draws a slow breath, then speaks.

 

“Lūna… sel’va enna.” His brow tightens. “Aye… still rough on th’ tongue.”

 

He straightens, every movement measured, the posture of someone forced to grow too quickly. Crates are stacked nearby: refined ingots bound in heavy cloth, weapons awaiting final balance, and bundles of mountain herbs prepared for clinics and healers across allied lands — evidence of a life spent not in comfort, but in service.

 

“So… war’s come ta us.”

 

His voice does not rise. It does not shake.

 

“Make this clear. I don’t judge folk by blood nor banner. Dwarf, Umri, Elf, Orc — makes no odds ta me.” He presses a gauntleted fist lightly to his chest. “It’s deeds tha’ make enemies. Always ’as.”

 

He pauses, then deliberately shifts languages again, careful and practiced.

 

“Thurûm khaz’drak. Stand together.”

 

The road beyond the hall stretches outward — trade paths, borders, and distant holds he has already walked despite his youth. His travel pack is secured, tools arranged with the discipline of a seasoned smith preparing for campaign rather than journey.

 

“I’ve been learnin’ th’ tongues o’ our neighbours. Moon Speak. Dw’ed.” His jaw tightens. “Diplomacy’s a craft same as smithin’. Takes patience. Takes practice.”

 

His hand settles on the pommel of an unfinished blade — left unsharpened by intent, waiting for purpose rather than haste.

 

“Sel’eth na’vara. Peace comes first.”

There is no innocence in the words — only resolve learned early.

 

“But if me friends are threatened… if vassal lands tha’ placed their trust in us are trampled…” His grip tightens, scars pulling faintly along his forearm. “Then words won’t be enough.”

 

He turns toward the forge one last time — the heart of his short but heavy life, firelight reflecting off steel and stone alike.

 

“I ride soon. Ta gather materials. Ta trade. Ta forge.” A brief pause. “Weapons fer defense. Aid fer th’ wounded.”

 

His gaze hardens — young, but already tempered.

 

“Khaz’dur imbar. Th’ mountain remembers.”

The forge door closes behind him with a resonant clang that carries through the hall like an oath sworn too early, yet held all the same.

 

“This is war. An’ I’ll meet it prepared.”

 

 

Edited December 28, 2025 by Riot

[Wulfric 472]

Obok Metaldrinks sighed heavily outside his house as he heard the eldritch inheritance thief inside, pulling up his sleeves he would go to evict @Random Kobo a THIRD time from his house before installing bear traps in front of the windows and doors. ''Oi will be rid of ya one day ye darn pest! mark me words!''

[fizzyquack 564]

"Death to the empire!! Ha!" Celia cheers from inside of Perduran's clinic while nobody was in the clinic... She may have her legs broken now... but she WILL have an imperial teeth necklace someday to give to her llir... Then she will place an imperial skull upon her shelf. Then slowly gather more body-parts and feed them to her pet rat. Celia- was indeed excited.  
 

[Medvekoma 2073]

An elderly dark dwarf made her way to the Grand Kingdom, a note sent to the Grand King. Her armour gleamed with the colours of magma, wrapped around her frail, malnourished form.

 

"Narvak oz Thrummaz. Kavir oz Umros."

[psychra_notte 618]

A flaming-eyed dwed, who had not seen war in some decades, peered at the missive as chared lips curled into a smile. "So, it is time for the Kin to march to war, eh? I, Unri Doomforged, shall answer then." And slid on blackened armor, decorated in the colors of Magma, to prepare to march to war.

[Riot 743]

Dorin would take note of this missive