DiamondHead

Garan, who witnessed the entire act, weeps for the heroic halfling. “The demons will pay,” he affirms to his surviving comrades.

“This war will certainly be destructive, ay?” Garan asks a fellow guard after reading one of the letters. “More glory to us, I suppose!” Upon returning home, he would gaze upon an old Kadarsi shield that was passed down to him. “The Sultanate has always stood against greater odds,” he whispers to himself. “Now is not any different.”

Garan, wandering the long road of Arcas, lets out a long sigh of both relief and sadness. “It’s over, isn’t it?"

From the Seven Skies, Menev smiles. “Keep it up, elkorin! You make me proud!” He would shout before sitting down with his Farfolk friends and smoking some cactus green.

Menev would celebrate with the rest of his Kadarsi brothers and sisters. “With all of the imperial drama going around, it is always good to see something like this. Long live Khalestine!”

“Though I only met him a few times, I could tell he was a good, honorable man,” Menev would say after hearing of Bjolfr’s passing. “May he rest in the Seven Skies.”

Menev would happily sign

Menev would walk back towards his home in silence. After arriving, he would take a seat and stare at the old glove on his left hand, shedding the first tear he had shed in many, many years.

Accepted. Keep in mind that you will start out as a child soldier.

Menev would show a copy of the notice to his farfolk friends. “They’re getting wood elves... to play the roles of Qalasheen people? Are they serious?”

Upon the announcement of the tournament, Menev would wish good luck to all of the participants.

Menev would hear of the Caliph’s abdication. He only had one thing to say: “What?”

cake sword