AfroJoeTheOlogBro

R

"A grand monument that will surely bring out the talentless leagions of hacks and less-thans with no true vision. Those that call themselves these many titles, yet bear no real passion in their hearts...disgusting...but useful, perhaps." The elder automaton begins scribing out a few letters to his ancient masters and colleagues, seeking their thoughts on the matter.

Damn, ya really got me there

"......Wub duh zkah?" The ancient goblin squints hard, his sorvian newt'lak holding the missive for him as he read the words again and again.

I havent even caught up with animism and shit. Now theres more new stuff? 👴

"Im certain the lad will find something else to do with his time. He is an emissary of Yemekar's will within the cosmic flow. He'll find something to bide him...though, what's wrong with supporting epythites? Theyre just the same as I am...sort of." The mechanical lord shrugged then, before returning to his work.

"Were I not wanted dead for crimes unrelated to myself, the king may very well have had the best...I pray whomever he gathers has the skill to aid his mood, lest he perish from the Tagum of an unfulfilled inspiration..." The Machine Lord muttered from the comfort of his home, reading over the missive that made its way to him.

"A....circus? How...hah...hehe...How laughably droll! HAH!" The mechanical lord crackled with laughter in his modulated voice, tossing the missive aside in true fashion. A professional indeed at not having fun.

"Elves." The machine lord grunts, tossing the missive aside after finding it in passing.

"Theyre just attacking whomever they please now I suppose. Typical war time Urguan...pathetic.

Theblackbobross Rylanor Goldhand #64281

The elder Lak sat back, nursing a bloodied face as he spoke at length with Marosh, nodding his head at the young blood's ideas. He may not agree with them all, but it was no longer his place to decide, only to offer guidance. The Swamp Awakes, and with it, The Aengul Slayer rests at last.

A sorvian newt that looks like Murdok awakens the actual Murdok'Lak with the missive in its hands. Blearly eyes and a head swirling with visions reads over the missive, before humming lowly to himself with a nod.

LETS ******* GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[!] Sent across the realms in the claws of a near storm of automatonic birds and other creatures is a missive of black parchment and golden ink. The telltale sign of The Lord of Avarice stamped against the bottom of each page. The pages would fall over the Grand Kingdom, a message for all Khazadmar.[!] "Ive heard much word of late, from my many ears across the world, of some grand and terrible tragedy that has befallen the family I have not been close with in decades. My mechanical heart aches with a sorrow untold, and yet it is coupled by my fury, my outrage at what has befallen my people's name. To know that I am implicated in the most heinous act of kinslay, while I sit and try to grieve. As I sit here with my son, in one of my many homes, having to fear whether or not I am next, due to my name alone. I have reached out to my Uncle, and to the King when the bounty first reached my ears, and yet I have been given no word. No...only a death sentence with a paltry sum of coin attached to it. Perhaps I am easily cast aside for past grievances and crimes done, for which I have served time for and faced the punishments of. I know not what tagum has infested Torsun, or the rest of the kingdom, for my name to be so flagrantly drug through the blood and mud, but mark me. I will not be threatened, I will find my brother, I will find Torsun, and I will do what must be done. I beseech that any seeking to know what I DO know of Torsun to send me a bird post haste, so that I might cooperate with the magistrate and laws of our people, instead of living in fear for the care of my son, and what remains of my family. Did I not fear for what I have to leave behind, I would simply go to the kingdom, but I am wanted dead, implicated without a chance to even speak. I return to my grieving, and to my writing, to plan out the funerals for those lost. I am, and always will be, and always have been, Rylanor Goldhand."