Luchian

This brings back a heap of memories and nostalgia. Lovely video! Almost makes me want to dig up my old old computer and rummage through the files and screenshots.

(( RP Format )) Yer name: Torsdul Blackaxe What are yer professions: Foitin Race: Dwed In which cohort do you wish to be placed in: Infantry (( OOC Format )) MC Name: Luchian Discord: you got it Skype: you got it

A Single tear runs down a chubby cheek, as Thorsdul breaks into applause. "Vereh guud! Oyvind fer king!" Raises both his fists into the air, holding them clenched "Nervak Oz Oyvind!"

X

Name: Torsdul Grandaxe Ah vote fer Korhaz Grandaxe ((Am active, just unable to get on atm.))

@Zezimus

MC Name: Luchian RP Name: Torsdul Grandaxe Skype: u already got it Timezone (EST, GMT, etc.): Gmt+1 Professions: Lumberjack (Veteran) Have you been in the Legion before? If so, when: Marshall in Aegis and in asulon, on a different char. *Note: If you were a Stoneguard in the most recent legion you will keep your rank* Do you swear loyalty to the reigning Grand King: Aye

"fokin' shoites want war." He chuckles "Coulda gon' tuu tae Grand King an' demanded justic' instead teh go public, loike tis'. Yellin' loikeh eh beardlin' straigt' frum tae womb. Seems loikeh ah still got use fer meh axe, always som' 'umans to knock some fokin' sence intu"

"A thousand minas, Only minas or would you be intrested in items, and valuables also" A pinned note says, next to the original note.

(( just to make it obivous to the people that read only the last sentence of the post, Kralek and most of the blackfists were all killed by humans. Therefor breaking the rebellion in killing the leader of it, and his supporting staff. ))

“The Vanguard was destroyed, broken upon the mountain hillside. The legion flank had been met, and what had gone so well one second had suddenly turned into a one sided bloodbath. Unexpectedly the dwarven reinforcements had arrived early, and chaos had taken ahold of our forces” - The Journal of Magnus Blackfist, Jarl of Kal’Krest. “Feck” Magnus thought as the horns of retreat sounded, this was all going to hell too fast to save. He had expected a large force, but this...this was ridiculous. And as he was about to flee to the safety of the forest, his gaze was caught upon a familiar face. To his side Varuk Frostbeard was locked in single combat with Dwain Irongut, neither one yielding to the other. Suddenly, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and as his voice was about to break free, it happened. A dark elf had nimbly snuck up on Varuk, and before Magnus’ warning could escape his lungs the dark elf had taken quick use of his knife, stabbing it deeply into Varuk. The dwarf turned to the elf, he grimaced with pain as he lunged out towards the elf with his sword. Though the blade would never reach its mark, Dwain brought his sword down upon Varuk and as Magnus turned his back sprinting towards the forest he heard the thud of a dwed body... “The forest was dark, even though the sun still stood high upon the sky. Vision was limited, and I was split from everybody except from Gomvar and some human. We had to regroup with the remaining forces if there was any chance of victory, little did I know this forest would be the final resting place of my clan.” - The Journals of Magnus Blackfist, Jarl of Kal’Krest. His eyes darted around the area, looking for either friend or foe. To his side stood Gomvar and a human he knew not the name of. As he was about to end his search his glance fell upon shape leaning face down towards a tree. He gestured for the two to watch his back as he drew close, and his face lightened up as he recognized the face and a laugh rose from him as he glanced down seeing the puddle beneath the dwarf. “Oi Grumdul, mate ye cannae pi-” his voice was cut short. The dwarf was not leaning towards the tree - he was collapsed upon it, it being the only thing holding him up. Magnus took a step to the side, and let his eyes roll over Grumdul; he soon saw the axe embedded into his back. “We had adopted guerrilla tactics in the face of an overwhelming enemy, though poor decisions would once more lead to death. We thought we had found a few of them alone and split of from the main force, little did we know they were but bait and further down the road a chapter of human knights were waiting for us to step out and reveal ourselves.” - The Journals of Magnus Blackfist, Jarl of Kal'Krest “Feck” he thought once more, his thoughts returning to the moment they had been found. Behind him he heard the heavy chain boots of men slamming against the wet ground. He turned his head, casting a glance towards his comrades and the humans following them. All it took was a moment. “Heelp” Grun Blackfist said, as he was falling more and more behind. His face was red with exertion and riddled with sweat; even from here Magnus could hear his heavy panicked breathing. One moment he ran with us, the next his feet were caught in the roots under us and he fell to the ground. The humans barely spared poor Grun a glance as they trampled him to death, chasing madly after Magnus and the other dwarves. “Varuk, Grumdul, Grun, had all died. Our army was destroyed, and only the few of us remained. Yemekar made us short, strong and sturdy but never fast runners this simple fact was to prove the downfall of the Mountain King, and never before have I cursed the name of Yemekar so loudly as when I saw my kinsmen and my king fall.” - The Journals of Magnus Blackfist, Jarl of Kal’Krest. Their short stubby feet could not outrun the bloody manlings chasing after them, he cursed Yemekar for making them short, at this moment he would love nothing more than to run as fast as an elf. His armor hardly helped either, and the forest floor did nothing to assist his flight. It was then he heard the voice of Verthaik, loud and proud. “Ah’m ‘urt... Badleh” looking over the king he could not understand how he was still running. The wound on his side was still leaking blood, and his face was pale from blood loss. “Tis’ beh et’ fer meh laddehs.” the king said, turning around towards the humans closing in on them. “Wait fer me, ah cannae run anehmore. Meh leg will nae listen tu me.” Korek said, turning alongside the king. What had once been an army was now down to three Blackfists: Magnus, Gomvar and Morug. The last they ever saw of their king was his fall to the ground, a sword piercing through him and next to him Korek standing valiant, though wounded beyond saving. “To turn your back on kin, no matter if they are dead or alive is something that will cloud your heart until the day you die. I suspect Gomvar will never be the same. Who could? After hearing the terror filled screams of your brother getting cut short only sixty feet away.” - From the Journals of Magnus Blackfist, Jarl of Kal'Krest The steady rhythm of my boots slamming into the ground as he jogged, alongside the sound of Gomvar’s labored breath, was suddenly broken by a voice yelling in fear “Ah surrender!” Two times it rose over the surrounding noise, before getting cut short a third time, accompanied with a sudden silence. Just as Gomvar was about to step towards the place the voice came from Magnus extended his hand and grabbed ahold of his shoulder, dragging him back. Gomvar turned his face, the tears flowing down from his eyes over his cheeks and down onto his plate mail. Magnus shook his head once and said “Dere is nuffin’ ye can du, Dungrimm watches over ‘im nuw.”. “We turned our back on our dead kin, our clan was butchered and our king was slain. The forest which we ran to for protection became the graveyard of my clan, Blackgrave forest I hear they call it, a suitable name for the last resting place of my clan I suppose. There is nothing left for me here. Me and Gomvar have decided to leave Kal’Krest. Dungrim curse the dwarves, loyalist or not. "We rose against a dwarven king, but it was human hands that brought us down." So the Journal of Magnus Blackfist ends.

Bringing a hand to his head Magnus whipes away the newly formed sweat around his nose and on his forehead. He treads lightly into the camp, looking around and as he is about to call out his gaze falls upon the dead dwarf. Uncertain his hand falls to his sheated blade, and rests upon the pommel as he nears the dwarf, a curious but wary glint in his eyes. As he draws near the cause of death is obivous, and a muffled curse escapes his mouth. His hand leaves the pommel of his sword, and he leans over inspecting the dwarf in an attempt to identify him, though he quickly realises it is futile. Magnus straightens his back, taking a few steps back from the dwarf. He stands before him, and utters a prayer before departing. "Dungrimm akhoral voz sirk"