Terry

From within the Office of the Chancellory, a grumble could be heard. “And t’is es why.” A voice would say, before giving a hefty sigh.

“Oh lords…” Ulfric would sigh, his hands dragging down his face. ”T’at won’t end well, o’I already know.”

I remember being on the Mod Team with you man. Didn't interact too much, but good luck with life! Happy to see one of us manage to get out of here in one (relative) piece!

Ulfric sighed greatly, stress ever building upon the older dwed’s back. Yet despite all of this, the missive still crossed his desk, and upon reading it, knew at once what was needed of him. Leaving his home felt a heavy burden, but so too would abandoning those he had helped create this Hold so long ago. ”Preparations are in ordeh… o’I shall lead t’is merry band shoul’ no otheh.” He mumble to himself as he prepared.

Ulfric, upon returning to the mountains of Urguan, sighed a long sigh as he popped open a bottle of ale, hoping to soothe his aching, smog-filled lungs. He knew what they had faced was not all there was. "Impossible," he'd think to himself. What came for them wanted what it wanted, and if it could resurrect a fallen dragon of all things, he knew it would inevitably get what it wanted in time.

Ulfric reflected on old memories in the tavern of Kal'Darakaan. "Hmph... o'I started teh end ov teh Holy Orenian Empoire. o'I may beh no King no more, but o'I will 'elp start teh end ov t'is Unholy one as well." He'd answer bitterly, before grabbing his bottle, a close friend nowadays, and downing the last of what remained.

Ulfric would gaze towards his very dusty wardrobe of togas he received long ago from an old Irongut friend.

To my Fellow Azwyrtrumm, Many years ago, when I penned my letter to the citizens of Urguan calling for Bakir to reform the very core of our Kingdom, never had I expected the impact it would have, or the course of events that followed. My opinions on the day I published that letter have long faded, but to this day I do not regret writing such, as for better or worse, it was the right thing to do. Given such however, bright times are ahead. There is a new Grand King, and with such there are new opportunities to be had in Urguan. It has given me hope for the first time in a long time, and a renewed desire to see our kin back in one place, hence the reasoning of this publication. So I ask all of you whom bear the Frostbeard blood, and who desire to work with me for the betterment of our clan and Kingdom, to return home. Return to Tal’Rhewenholm, the last place our great forefather, the late Grand Emperor, Rhewen ‘Papa Bear’ Frostbeard called home. Assist me, your new Clan Father with forging a better future for all of us. signed, Grand King Emeritus, Clan Father of the Azwyrtrumm, Great-Grandson of Rhewen ‘Papa Bear’ Frostbeard

Username: Terry_23 Name: Ulfric Age: Old Are you a citizen of Urguan?: We'll find out Are you of Urguan's Folk?: Nothing I'd rather be

Ulfric would sit on the balcony of his room from Tal’Rhewenholm as the news was delivered to him. “Loike his fatheh before ‘im, he was ah foine leader, an’ ah better man. May ‘e finally rest.”

Ulfric would raise an eyebrow as he read the latest news. And from this, he began to smile, perhaps for the first time in a long time. "Per'aps it's toime o'I return teh greet an ol' friend..." He'd think, as he settled in for another icy night atop his mountainous home.

Ulfric would give a long sigh as the news reached him by bird from an old friend. “T’ese damn Umri, alwehs needin’ teh flex their strength. Gods above, o’I miss teh days of Sigismund an’ o’I…”

now this is a map i can get behind

I am being held against my will and told to updoot this Good job Classy! (I do actually mean that) (Yes this was written by me I promise)

An Error Left to Rot A traveling Greene, 97 S.A. “How could this happen…?” Those were the words of one Greene Caerme’onn-Norväyn, so many miles from home, ears ringing, eyes full of tears, body beginning to ache and bleed. “It was never supposed to go like that…” It would be thoughts like this that would plague the young adult as he ran, one hand clenched around that of a blood-stained sword. For many miles, past beaches, cities, forests and open plains... past the scrapes, cuts and bruises of nature and wildlife, would his mind race. Thoughts of guilt, regret, anger and utter sadness, thoughts the boy had once thought to have conquered if but for a time, haunted him completely once more. “How can I ever go home…?” After many an hour running, had the boy finally managed to come to a stop. Though, while the adrenaline left, memories and thoughts flooded in. That of his sister, the fear in her eyes as the blade made contact. The anger and what the boy perceived as regret and sorrow radiating from his mother. The rage and forcefulness of his father, who he’d many a time seen use against his enemies, now used against him. The effort and persistence of his aunt to see wrongs righted, and the boy saved from a dark path… It all became too much for him as he slouched down atop a nearby hill neighboring a stream, tears pouring from his face once more. This would occur for a time, his head hung low as he watched the world move on, down below. In his seat upon the hill, Greene would peer to his sword, finally giving it notice as his mind began to slowly calm. The first thing he’d realize, was the blood that remained towards the tip. With renewed urgency, he would attempt to clean the blade of it in the nearby water, though to no avail at first. This would cause him to lose focus once more, his mind reflecting back to Nevaehlen as his effort increased exponentially. The fearful eyes of his sister, the reddened anger from his mother, the booming authority of his father, and the pierced determination of his aunt. The memory of that scene replayed on and on. “Mum, Pops… Wulff, Auntie Lilly… Forgive me... I’m so sorry…” This memory would continue, until Greene found himself expended, the task of cleaning having sapped him of all his remaining strength. It was here that he’d collapse and drift into sound sleep near the water, the blade’s hums and minor vibrations the only company against the wilds of nature. The next morning, both Greene and the blade were gone, the only evidence of his movements being footprints in the mud, pointed seemingly in the direction of the Western hemisphere of Almaris. On a nearby tree, a simple sentence is carved. “The Wilds know ne honor. -G”

Greene would gaze towards the gate upon hearing of his father's arrival. He'd stand, brushing himself off as he stepped away from the forge, and smiled. "Some good news, at long last," he'd say to himself, as he moved to welcome back his father to the Vale.

Ulfric would give a curt nod as he glanced to the stockpile of iron he had, and then to the forge not far from him. "Toime teh get teh work whoilst Svardin es gone..." He'd go to say, as he brought the flames to life.

Ulfric would shake his head as the missive was passed to him. "T'ose damned fools. Unbelievable..." would be all that he'd mutter as he moved to his home to pick up his quill once more, a renewed energy to write.

-1 I've never been to Utah

Ulfric would smile, as the plan he'd helped formulate finally came to fruition.

A Harsh Return from the Cold Ulfric, upon his Adventures through the Cold Mountains, 89-90 S.A. His departure for the Mountains was meant for many things. Peace, quiet, a time to grieve past losses, even a bit of searching to name a few. A time to think, determine what might come next in this long life of his. Perhaps he’d hitch himself back to Urguan, assist in the problems that, from what he heard, were only growing there. Or maybe he’d give up Urguan completely, move fully to Akueli or the Vale, where he knew he had good friends he could rely on. Maybe he could even take up the role as leader once more. A role he, to this day, grows more and more bitter with leaving behind in the way he did. These thoughts plagued him as the freezing and numb feel of the cold mountain gave way to heat and shelter. As he undid his chainmail and laid his shield against the stone of the cave he made home in, he would think to himself, turning to his humble home of rock. “Odd,” is what would come first, as his brow furrowed. “Have I really come this far in life, as prior Lord Justiciar and Grand King, to lone pilgrim in the mountains?” He’d question to himself. He’d shake his head as he went outside to collect snow for water, putting it on the fire to boil. His thoughts would continue to rumble around his head for the rest of the night, through dinner, through his bout of letter-writing, all to culminate in an explosion of rage as he gathered firewood. In what would typically take Ulfric 10-15 swings to down a tree, his rageful and adrenaline-filled state downed it in only 3. It was here, in the calm after the storm with nothing but the sound of his breath and beating heart, that Ulfric’s mind finally cleared, for once since his abdication it gave him a clear path forward. From here, he went to his letters, hastily writing as the words presented themselves, and as the letters were sent, the plans began to form. Ulfric was back, and he intended to make the most of his return. To My Fellow Urguanites, Urguan is dying, dying from a sickness that has plagued her for a long time now. From a sickness that, like us, has persevered, for better or worse. Every monarch that has stood on that throne, from Jorvin and his predecessors, to Norli, Levian’Tol, myself and now Bakir, consciously or not, has tried to heal this sickness to no avail. But no matter how our effort varied, this sickness persisted, latching onto the populace no matter the King, no matter the agenda. It has become clear to me now that Urguan itself cannot be healed through arbitrary means. I praise my fellow Kings for their efforts, whether they were purposefully trying or not, but it is a painful truth that we all must face now. The Grand Kingdom of Urguan is withering, and only through major reforms can its course be corrected. For eons we have carried on the legacy of our forefathers, and with great merit. It is from them that we have what we have today, and forever shall we be thankful. But this has stagnated our peoples and has brought our creativity as dwed to a screeching halt. For eons we have carried the name and ideals of Urguan, but we carry the ideals of dwarves from different times, in a different world. We listen to their advice on how things should work, but alas, they do not work today as they did back then. But yet, we keep listening, intent on the fact that they know best and that their support is needed until we become the very thing that plagues us. We are afraid that if we stray from the path they put us on, they will come back to force us back towards it. If we do not adapt to these new times and new challenges, how are we to survive alongside our allies? How are we to survive alongside one another? 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. But it will not. Not with its current administration. I know this all too well. Towards the end of my administration, and especially during the War of the Wigs, Urguan began to decline, and it left me with a choice. Step down, allowing the people a new ruler with new ideas to reinvigorate them, or allow my pride to stand in Urguan’s way. I chose the former, and my pride aside, it was the best decision for the Kingdom. Bakir, you face this decision now. I hope for the sake of our future, you make the right one. Step down and allow your successor to make use of a new slate to reforge Urguan, or do so yourself. A King never wishes to be remembered wrongly, and such I wish not for you. Grand King Emeritus, Great-Grandson of Rhewen

Ulfric, gone trekking through treacherous mountains, would not hear of the also-treacherous news that awaited him until he returned, and yet… even thousands of miles away, he thought he felt a twang of grief hit him…

“Ah grudge settled, in the end t’at is all t’at matters.” Ulfric would mutter as he crossed out the grudge on his copy of the great book. “Too maneh grudges gone unsettled t’ese days.”

Ulfric would frown upon seeing the missive. "Ef ah clan es bein' target such as teh Grimgolds are now, et realleh makes yeh wondeh why such es happenin'." He'd say with a shake of his head. "Interferin'... An' t'ey wondeh why t'ey are nae so loiked nowadays..."