Willstertheking2

Wholesome Willy gave a small smirk as he raised his mask over his mouth. "And here we go."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe awakes from a drunken stupor as he runs outside with his axe above his head as a loin cloth barely covering himself as he sees a slew of dead Orenians around him. "Wow... t'at sucks... t'ey couldn't live long enough fer meh ta even make maself decent." He mourns his loss of a fight.

Levian'Tol Grandaxe sits just at the edge of East Hub repeating over and over again, losing sanity at the lack of wigs on the horizon. "Orenians, come out ta playay, Orenians come out ta playay."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe raises a mug to the victory. "Ah, victory taste so much sweeter w'en teh sun es still up."

The Enemy of My Enemy Part 2/3 [!] A party of Rustlers, Ferrymen and Irehearts do good work on the roads of Oren. The sun, though beating down heat onto the land of men below, was met with a cool breeze that made for a comfortable atmosphere. The Rustlers, intending only to cripple Orenian supplies, could be found ambushing caravans and trade wagons alike as they sought refuge in the City of Burning Clocks. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The hooves of a horse echoed throughout the field only to be silenced by the driver wishing to stop and rest at a nearby tavern. A gust of wind caught hold of some brush near the side of the road, parting a few leaves and opening a line of sight. Piercing blue eyes stared through the brush, the gaze serious yet clouded with eagerness. With quick and intent movements, Elsil’Ceru sprung into action. The young elf let out a whistle, akin to that of a bird that was local to the region. The caravan looked around in a state of confusion, then interrupted as Iscesi ‘the Doorman’ leaped into action, firing an arrow into the chest of the caravan driver. With the same speed with which the Rustlers appeared, the lives of the caravan guards ended. As the Rustler band cleaned their weapons, they were set upon by a messenger loyal to their cause. The Orenians began their march. With haste, Elsil’Ceru ordered that birds be dispatched to some allies of the Urguan war effort. They set their quills to parchment and sent the messages off with haste. In a nearby forest, the elfish Ferrymen, Vydrek and Diome, walked idly by with their long time friend, Yonash. The trio strolled calmly, taking in the scenery of Orenian lands one last time before they were set to the flame, when a bird flew down and landed atop the shoulder of Vydrek. Yonash stepped forward, grasping at the bird and holding it tight as he removed the attached message. While the man silently read, the two elves readied their weapons. Between the two, they shared centuries of experience in war and knew what a bird sent from the direction of an enemy must mean. The three Ferrymen returned to their horses and made for the nearby Ferrymen camp. As the reinforcements made their way to the roads of Oren, the ISA readied themselves as well. They had received reports that their caravans were being attacked and their supply chain cut off. With their usual haste, the ISA made for the roadside tavern, mounted on the finest steeds the Empire could muster and armed to the teeth. As they arrived, they were met with the host that they sought out. A coalition of Ferryman and Rustler stood at the ready, their numbers lined across the road, ready to meet the ISA’s finest. The two sides stood at a standstill, neither making the first move, but both ready to draw first blood. Silence befell the terrain as the two small armies stood there, offering nothing in the way of words to each other. Diome eyed the mounted men of Oren, his eyes flickering between the groups as they usually did when he was formulating a strategy, when his focus was broken by a sudden shout. “Narvak oz Kjellos!” a voice shouted, booming through the fields as Bakir Ireheart charged in, mounted atop a mighty ram. Bakir swept between the two groups, his warhammer spinning wildly before he swung it at the head of an ISA recruit, his head coming clean off. With the valiant acts of Bakir, the silence was finally broken, replaced by the clashing of steel and flesh. The Ferrymen and Rustler coalition strode forth, their shields tight together as they forced the ISA back toward their hamlet. Yonash stopped as he looked about the battle field. The man watched as the Orenian troops fell to the blades of the allied forces one by one, “Diome!” he shouted toward his comrade “Press the attack! They fall to our blades!” With the rallying words of Yonash, coupled with the charge led by himself and Vydrek, the combined army of Ferryman, Rustler and Ireheart cut down the last of the sixteen ISA soldiers. Bakir turned to Elsil, offering a nod to the Rustler as he blew into his warhorn, signaling for the band to regroup on the roads. Iscesi limped from behind the treeline, wounded but not yet beaten as he returned from slaying several of the Orenian party. Diome and Vydrek returned together, supporting their comrade Yonash as he triumphantly returned to the group alive. The men, elf and dwed all looked around. Led by Bakir, they all began to chuckle lightly with relief. It was comforting to see that all twelve of their group had returned to the place that the battle began, alive and well. Diome made his way up the road, the coalition of forces bonding from the tales they had made during the battle. He found himself beside Elsil as the duo walked. “A fine show we put on didn’t we Ferryman.” said the Rustler. Diome groaned, in annoyance or pain, none could say for certain. “The enemy of my enemy, Rustler.” uttered the veteran Ferryman. [OOC] The information/names used in this post is not public information. This post is a recount of events that occurred in-game and is not to be used to influence RP. The purpose of this post is to share the events of the road skirmish in an RP friendly manner. Thank you.

Levian'Tol Grandaxe particularly enjoys victory. Especially the ones of his kin.

Levian'Tol Grandaxe is already felling Orenians so he is just happy to now have the legal backing to do so. "Tis es a good piece ov paper."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe smirks are the prospect own owning a share in an Orenian company.

Levian'Tol Grandaxe can't contain himself as he laughs throughout the Ancient City of Might. "T'eres focken Ummrehs. T'ey are racin ta meet t'eir crossed god. Suppose we are doin t'em a great 'onor by slaughteh en t'em on teh battlefield."

Never played a dwarf ;-; Peace out Neo. Best of luck.

"Et would seem t'eir memories are infact much longer t'an ours. Cause 'ah remembeh t'ere pitiful excuse fer an armeh en Arcas. T'en t'eir disgraceful showin over teh past few months." The ash-covered armor of the Grand Retiree, still stained with the blood of an Orenian and his Azdrazi pet rattled against itself as he rose to his feet. "Ef deat' es w'at t'ese Orenian want so badleh. T'en 'ah will be t'eir salvation." "W'en yer churches burn around ye, 'ah beg ye pray ta yer crossed god ta smite meh down. Fer 'ah will gladleh watch ye despair as e does not'in."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe watches as the two Orenians fight before one emerges victorious. "Well t'ere was some good entertainment."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe can't help but to mumbled "Based" under his breath. "Now es teh true toime ov wig-takin."

Levian'Tol reviews the details.... or rather lack there of. "'Ah'm s'ocked Ire'earts can actualleh wroite so 'ah guess 'ah shouldn't be offended t'at t'ey 'ave a complete inabiliteh ta recall aneh details ov teh actual foight."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe exits his dwelling. More and more missives crossing his table with each passing day but as this one does, old ash covered armor adorned the Grand Retiree once again.

Levian'Tol Grandaxe reads over the open letter as a crow flies it into his dwelling. A small grin appears as he remembers the time the settlers of Stygian Hollow came to him when he was the Grand Steward of Urguan. How they spoke of Orenian treachery and distaste for their coal skinned appearance. While he was not one void of the amicable jab for whatever reason he found this group of elves unique and aided them in establishing their city in his mountains when he rose to Grand King. "Seems t'at teh Brat's 'ave guided meh down teh correct pat' once again." A small chuckle fills the room as the Grand Retiree returns to his work. "W'en teh Grand Kingdom stands united, all will break infront ov et."

Levian'Tol Grandaxe eases back in his chair etched with "Grand Retiree" and reads through the missive that flew to him. He smiles down at the letter before returning to disembowel a [REDACTED]. "Aye, T'umbrindal es long overeh due es toime ta take up teh Clan Fat'eh mantel." He tosses some guts over his shoulder. "Eh as been a foine leader en teh shadows fer decades, et es toime fer em ta be brought ta teh loight." Soon a bright golden light fills his dwelling as a crow with bright glowing gold eyes flies out to seek the old Blackaxe.

The invitation never reached Levian'Tol Grandaxe till after the date had already passed. The former Dwarf King now looking far older than he ever has sits by a hearth staring into the flames. He thinks of the simplicity of fire, how it burns and does nothing else. Though in the flames he sees memories. Memories that have almost completely left his aging mind brought full force to bare as they consumed his every thought. His eyes would quick well before his hand shot into the flames of the hearth, his eyes drying in an instant as the pain overtook the memories. He would slowly take out his hand and look over the pink flesh while thinking of his friend. "Seems t'at et's done."

Somehow, somewhere, Levian'Tol Grandaxe feels like his feelings are finally being noticed by senpai's but cringes at their cringe that he seems to just sense. "'Ah 'ope t'at t'ey ain't bein cringe oveh t'ere en Suti... Savoy. T'at would not be good."

The Notes of a Retiree [!] The former Grand King had almost sat down in his chair with a bottle of ale and a pipe as missive after missive seemed to travel through his door. He relinquished the ale and pipe for the papers and read through each one with a heavy heart. Though as he finished reading he felt himself not consumed by sadness or anguish at the thought of his kin fighting and his Kingdom splintering but a sense of excitement. For the former King’s temper was well known. To all those who dwell in the Grand Kingdom, I have attempted to stand aside and allow those who now hold power to handle the issues that they now face. Though I cannot hope but feel that some of these issues were compounded by me, I may have grown busy and perhaps allowed things to fester and maybe allowed others to slide. I assure you that my time is now free and to all those who seek to subvert the Grand Kingdom, you are given the honor of choosing how I spend this newly acquire time. Either I can drink and smoke myself into an early grave, or you can force me to wear my armor and draw my ordaz and right any wrong you have committed. To all those forces that now stand in opposition to Urguan, I recommend standing down and seeking forgiveness from the next Grand King, or I will gladly remind you why you waited till I stepped down to be traitorous fools. The Grand Retiree,

Levian'Tol Grandaxe frowns as he reads over the missives laid out infront of him. One of Vortice and the other of Draakopf. His frown slowly twists upwards in a malicious sort of way. "Seems t'ere es no place fer boredom an peace fer teh old Grand King yet." He would slide the armor made for his kingship on and move towards the door. "Toime ta go dragon 'untin."

Levian'Tol was about to sit down in his retirement chair and smoke with his wife as he heard someone shout the news in the street. He would straighten himself out and pick up his Lunarite Ordaz as he moved to the door. "'Ah was so close."

The Abdication of a Brewer [!] Within the Grand King’s Palace of Urguan’s capital city, Kal’Darakaan, whose stone hewn walls are carved into the mountain itself, Levian’Tol sits at an oaken table before a hearth. Like many of his brethren, a pipe rests between his lips while his dark gaze traverses the paper before him. Each word is inked carefully, each sentence finished without flourish. It was not every day that a King informs his kin of a voluntary change in regime. Denizens of Urguan and my kin, Though I was elected Grand King nae even an age ago, I am content with what I have done. I now realize I face a path that every monarch before I has had to tread - that of forcing one’s reign to continue or stepping down and allowing another to serve our Nation. Our past kings have chosen the former. They have refused to reject power that is not their own and our people have suffered for it. Yet, I seek to chase a different future. In my time, I have served Urguan with faith and loyalty from atop the Obsidian Throne. I have led the legion, brought renewed wealth and prosperity not just to the halls of Kal’Darakaan, but to all the lands of the Grand Kingdom. Urguan has grown strong with my incorporation of The Unified Domain of Vortice and the collapse of Krugmar into the Iron’Uzg fueled by dwedmar blades. The vast auxiliaries of our borders now stand to supplement the dwedmar legion each time we go into battle. The Crimson Edict, with their age-old grudge against slavery defeated for the foreseeable future, assist the Lord Justicar in discovering and stemming any outbreak of corruption against our nation. The Order of the Golden Lion stands ready in their Keep of Sunbreak to lash out against any incursion, be it from the void or otherwise. South Sedan, Vasoyevi, Stygian Hollow, Lubba’s Keep, and Myrine all stand proudly with the Grand Kingdom. Our enemies are theirs, and theirs ours. The Mages Guild has returned once more and the Remembrancer Library stands finally completed with scholars from all the lands of Almaris eager to study inside its tall walls. In the days of old, eons ago, we Dwedmar once had an Empire. I return to you now, my people, the closest we have come to that legacy in many stone years. I hope only that my successor has the intelligence to build on what I have done, rather than letting it regress to isolationism. Let Urguan swell with the riches I have gathered and flourish with the denizens I have brought in. To my kin, my dwedmar, the future of Urguan rests now in your hands. May the Brathmordakin guide your paths as they have guided mine. ~ Grand King, Levian’Tol Grandaxe [!] The Grand King would deliver a short hand version of this letter before his council before removing the Crown of Urguan, given to him from hands of Grand Emperor Rhewen Frostbeard himself, from his head and placing it infront of his Lord Justicar, Ulfric Frostbeard, as he left the Obsidian Throne for the last time to the sounds of his kins cheers. OOC: