BDanecker

Dor Irongut toys with coin on his table, eagerly looking forward to the festival

*Dor Irongut snorts after reading this announcement, saying “Humph, Dwain nae ‘as greh en ‘is beard, and ‘es t’a oldest?”

*Dor Irongut would be in the back of the crowd, his arms crossed as he says to no one in particular as he watches “Hmph. Let’s see ef ‘e can put some power be’ind t’ose words.”

*Dor Irongut grumbles something about a unfulfilled request by the arcanarium*

Dor Irongut looks yearningly at his worn captain’s hat in the corner of his cave, his fingers twitching for the sea

As the Onyxhearts arrived at the tower, bag of ores in tow, Dor Irongut would grin profusely, as if he were a Goldhand who had stumbled upon a gullible client. He quickly takes the bag, and passes Bolgnir, dressing his wounds, saying “Oh ye wuss, ah’ve ‘ad worse on me EYE!”

*the tremors would shake the ground beneath Dor Irongut as he sits, unfazed as he waves his hands in the air doing various thought experiments*

“Now t’is!” Dor says as he smacks the report in his hand, “T’is es gud.”

I am new but still saw you as a pretty cool dude, the only Admin name I know well, so i’m glad for that, and have fun!

Dor Irongut squints his eyes as he reads outside, taking a rest from testing a ballista . “Wot es t’is?! No vulgariteh in ah dwarven founded citeh?” He hits the paper for self-emphasis “Holm es full ove PANSIES.”

Dor Irongut rides into Merton on his ass, reading this from his newsboy. “Bah,” Dor says, “let t’a dogs eat eachot’a alive.”

Dor Irongut sharpens his sword with his whetstone somewhat overenthusiastically, saying to himself “Ah won’t miss t’is loike ah did last toime.”

Dor Irongut has had multiple races on the railway before the announcement of it even existing.

Good wholesome content

Dor Irongut drops his paper as he falls through a hole in his keep he forgot to patch while constructing it

You smacked Dor in the Basilisk event yesterday with Lightning and blamed it on MikeMeist smh

((Dor Irongut, minus the glasses)) The day knows no difference in the status of men. The mice do not change their ways based on whether or not a distant man becomes a king, or fails as one. But, as Dor Irongut comes back from his urgent trip through Atlas after receiving the word that his seat as Consul of Holm was voted to another, he learns that men are not like the day. As he enters the city, Dor looks bewildered at the townsfolk and nobility alike, at the change of tone, the lessening of cordiality, and the dropping of respect from those who once venerated him as their Consul. He slowly walks up to the senate chambers, in which all of Holm's politics take place, and terses the side of his mouth, saying whilst shaking his head, "Well, at least ah've learned wot men are capable ove eh?" He gives a short chuckle and wraps his robes tighter around himself in the breeze cutting through the Silver Hills. Dor thought to himself as he walked, thinking about how he was shocked the most at the change of character of those close to him, even those of his council, all in the name of the beast who calls itself Politics. Never did his ears hear the complaints, never did he receive reproach, but was plotted behind, with a support prior to the most recent election of a majority vote, to a support of no more than two votes. As so with that, Dor thinks to himself, he had learned all that he had come out of his hermit lifestyle of mining in deep caves for; his endeavor to learn about the bounty men stored in the form of relationships had come to fruition, and it was something he had gambled in coming to Holm, and he had lost. He tread down the cold stone stairs that led down from the senate chambers and up to his home in the Cloud District, opening his door to be greeted by the residential cat, rubbing it's head against Dor's legs, just as it did when he was Consul. Dor digs hurriedly in his oak chest, looking for and finding his sapphire, and clutches it close to his heart, stepping back to his table, taking a heavy seat in his chair, it creaking under his weight. Grabbing his silver goblet, he takes a long drink of his rich wine and leans back against the cracked stone brick wall, looking through the grated window overlooking the wooded valley below him, and sighs, content. He falls asleep, and wakes hours later, ready to find the riches he searches for, elsewhere.

The Valor and the noble deeds of both parties spurs even greater nationalism in Consul Dor Irongut’s stony heart, content with the public fame both received. ((What ibrah said, one of the best posts I’ve read))

*Dor Irongut chuckles at the paper, not in spite, and says* “Heh, seems t’a editors nae know t’a meanin’ ove plurality ove words.”

Dor Irongut would be passed out in front of the fire, quite literally a heavy sleeper.

Dor Irongut puts a piece of paper with $5000 written in the forge, realizing how valuable it will become.

Dor Irongut squints his eyes, and spits as he speaks “Woy ah can nae read t’is stupid paper ef t’a print es t’is small!” and crumbles up the paper, throwing it at the cat in his home.

Signed by Dor Irongut, Consul of Holm and Prelate of Dungrimm.

Dor Irongut is glad to see his teacher of mettalurgy rise to the rank of Prelate like himself.