lev

Deep within the hollows of a desecrated cave a twisted metal creature would brood in hiding, his iron gauntlets rasping upon a wretched throne carved from the very stones of the cave. His heavy guttural breathing being the only sound to pierce the quiet dark of the cave. This cave, this tomb, The Dreadknight Varrond did not know which or care which, his silent contemplation being disturbed for but a moment by the sounds of vermin scratching within his armour, the maggots wriggling within the fabric of his tabard, a brazen symbol of proud heritage to the lands of Oren now ruined, torn and all but forgotten. The silence of the dark cave enveloped him, until finally his rasping gauntlet finally stopped. The sound of creaking metal would be heard as he would strain to peer down at the goblet of wine that had long since turned to vile vinegar. Starring momentarily his dull eyes would scour at the contents of the cup, knowing even now he could not taste it even if he wanted to. Suddenly in a shrill cry of anger he would bring his gauntlet down upon the stone throne with a mighty clatter of metal on stone, before brushing aside the Goblet and its contents, watching it let fly! Smashing into the wall with a crack! Watching the Vinegar flow upon the floor of the wet cave, Varrond would merely peer into the darkness with disgust at what had become of him. He had waited long enough, his old master upon the Iron Throne, Dreadlord Fablius Bile, would not answer his calls. Rising from his stone Throne with the sound of heavy footsteps and shrieking metal he would simply let loose a guttural roar from his hollow chest. The sound would echo through the the void, striking into the hearts of any Dreadknights still standing. Before a challenge would be issued. “AAAARRRGH, BY MY RIGHT AS FABLIUS BILE’S LIEUTENANT, THE TRUE DREADLORD, I LAY CLAIM UPON THE IRON THRONE! BOW DOWN BEFORE ME OR SUFFER MY WRATH; YOU PATHETIC WEAKLINGS. GLORY TO IRON., GLORY TO VARROND. DREADLORD OF THESE DESPICABLE LANDS. FOLLOW ME OR DESPAIR, FOR YOU SHALL NOT BE SPARED.” The self appointed Dreadlord would slam his heavy plated gauntlets into his chestplate with a hollow thud sound following. Before grabbing the Morning Star of Fablius Bile, pried from his long rusted hand. Before stepping outside the tomb he had so long condemned himself to. The sound of the heavy morning star scraping upon the floor behind him as he dragged it along the floor. Before disappearing into the night, to carve out his new kingdom, a kingdom that would be forged in Iron… and blood. Written by Blundermore

Pretty edgy Harrison ngl

"What sodomy is this?!"

Probably should have hired @Nummy lol

i, levirad, sign this petition to remove mjsc and marcos from the lotc community.

"Can't trust the Northmen not to interfere, nor the Raev to slaughter it's guests, history only repeats itself." Bors chides.

Ocran Sparrow curses to the seven skies in a thunderous bellow. 'Me saintly ancestors I shall avenge ye names!'

Ocran Sparrow throws a chair across his office "Why 'teh fock are we 'elpin' witless Ogres?! They 'aint even sentient!"

Thomas is the most incompetent person ever lol

((You're alive?!

It's hardly a relevant priority right now tbh, just because that's when you were active before being banned doesn't make it the best **** since sliced bread.

http://www.planetminecraft.com/member/lukylucaz/

An old Kaedreni man cheers. ((is dat real stevie ornah))

Alakabam

The cries of a new born babe echo through the walls of the Hetman's Ostrog. Whilst the Emperor's words of succession wrought true, the pretender Aleksei Staunton, though an infant, had entered the political fray.

'They have the nerve to use the crow on their sigil?!' A horrified Raevir cries out!

A written letter is delivered to the Patriarch revealing that Gregori Svyatovich is supported for Atamen, followed by a list of names; Dobro Peytrovich Nergui of the Steppe Dogan of the Steppe Sinan Crawfyod Yaropolk Crawfyod

guck tries too hard to be funny

Two letters are sent to each accepting them into the imperial army "Report to Lord Denis de Bar, to enlist."

A courier wearing the black and yellow colours of house Chivay runs up and hands a letter- 'Master Kolya, you are informed that his Lordship Dorian Chivay accepts you into the Wettan levy as a man-at-arms, come by Castle Wett as soon as you are able, yours truthfully, Bruta Thersist, Captain of the Wettan Levy'