Drzzter

The High Elder sat himself at the end of the Ashguard Hall within Alisgrad. It was a comfortable enough arrangement - but a far cry from that Great Hall which hosted the Narada. His overly world-weary features had been exacerbated by the events of the past few months, but even he could not help but to smile faintly as that letter from the Cingedoz Elder was set atop a scattering of diplomatic missives by a certain beaming, ginger-haired man. He dragged himself to an unsteady stand and began to arrange with his council - his people -, the necessary preparations for that funeral pyre which would guide the fallen Vistulians to Navia, and mark the turning over of a new page for the Clandom.

A newly-sworn Krughai Brother-in-Arms regarded the missive scornfully, tearing a shred of parchment off the back of the massive amphibian as it lumbered past. "Hrr... hrrhr..." he drawled under his helmet stupidly, gnawing at the inside of his mouth as his eyes moved down the page. He spat onto the crude parchment as he read off the final words, crumbling it in his hands and tossing it aside. "...Balanz? Nubn't need tu provide balanz tu thoze lackin' in puwagh. Ib dah path ub dah Freygoth tu bi wazhd away bi da waghmachine ub KRUG'z dezendentz." he mused to himself, watching the billowing cloud of ash and smoke rise over the walls of the IRON UZG as he slammed his fist against his chestplate in fervent salute.

A chattering, slobbering goblin wiped the back of one gnarled forearm against the protuberance-riddled mound that composed his forehead as sweat beaded down his deformed countenance. With ragged breaths he continued his merciless assault of the jungle hardwoods surrounding the imposing walls of the IRON UZG, heaving jagged-toothed saw across defenseless trunk. He looked towards the sky, wild-eyed for a chance glimpse of his ancestors in the Stargush'Stroh before barking out, parroting the Motsham's ritual fervor: "LUP'LEYD! DAH KUBZ UB KRUGMAR AM ZOON RIZEN ANEW!"