Acostrob

this is great, +1

"More Umros, great." Said a Doomforged maer as he heard the news.

Kargarn Doomforged shows a pleased smile "Ah expected such such business ter come ah bit later, ah s'pose Umri's got lucky wit t'at new company o' his. Ah wonder who t'at Vilkomir fella is, doe..." He ponders as he continues sharpening an axe.

Name: Kargarn Doomforged Age: 70-something Race: Dark Dwarf Culture: Urguani? Doomforged clan culture? Ties: Krugmar, Doomforged clan – OOC – IG Name: acostrob Discord Name: aco#8189

"Fockin cowards." A Doomforged smith remarks from his forge upon hearing the news.

Kargârn grins as his flaming eyes scan over the missive "FOCK YEH!" he yells out. "Ah gotta tell Umri 'bout dis!" he then added.

A certain Doomforged smith falls asleep.

It was a day like any other in the Vale, the overgrown streets of the former human settlement were quiet, save the occasional animal walking by. Morean, Brother Osprey, or as he had come to call himself in his final days, Brother Rot, left the confines of the town without a word in yet another search for enlightenment. It didn’t take long for the man to be lost in the dense forests of ancient trees that populated the western parts of Almaris. He wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, if not days, having grown used to the ways of survival in the wild. He was a druid, after all. At one point during his pointless trip he was met with a threat, a pitch black towering beast of fat and muscle, with teeth as large as the elfs’ head. Popogoth Drekür’Ungri. The elf was easily overpowered, perhaps the gravity of his situation overwhelmed him, or perhaps he cared not about defending his life anymore. The elf was then tossed into a bag like a piece of inanimate meat, and carried deep into the Uruk homeland of Krugmar, where the Ologs' kin cheered, eager to bring another sacrifice to The Maw. The Great Maw, as seen in the lush forests near Krugmar. Morean was placed upon an altar, the Ologs' fist crashing upon the elfs’ head making him spit out teeth. He was raised, spitting blood and teeth at his captor, chanting a final prayer to his gods, his patrons. He uttered the name of Morea, as the enraged Olog snapped him effortlessly like a twig, tossing his lifeless remains into the endless, fleshy depths of The Maw. Unbeknownst to the present Uruks, nature grew quiet in mourning, a grim sign, known only by those attuned. A single Osprey flew around the shores of southern Almaris pointlessly. It carried not a message, nor a goodbye, for the Mali’ames' name was scarcely known. Morean was no more, his dream unfulfilled.

Goro Shirokuma peered upon the frozen shores of northern Almaris from atop his clan's vessel. He squinted, drawing in the cold, salty air through his blue menpō. He placed his hand on the hilt of the blade resting on his side squeezing it lightly, yet soon letting go. "It will take time for us to settle, but this land will do." Stated he, to no one in particular. He readied himself for disembarking.

idiot. i already know my ip address

what is your mother's address