SimplySeo

These Grudges have been added into the book.

Thank you Zahrer Irongrinder

A NOTICE TO ALL LIZARDKIND [!] Several days later, in response to Dragonspawn's apparent recruitment drive, a squadron of ravens seems to take flight from the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, each one bearing a crude drawing drawn by one of the Starbreaker Clan-Lord's many grandchildren. Said crude drawings are air-dropped upon the mannish kingdoms, whilst one in particular is tied to a brick, before being dropped upon the Azdrazi's volcano.

[MUSIC] Somewhere in Aevos. . . Along a winding, beaten path that could scarce be called a road, an old man garbed in a traveler's cloak, simple robes, and a hedgeknight's ringmail looked upon a missive, a twinkle in his silvered eyes, and a small creeping upon his worn, lined face. A smokey laugh escaped his lips as he studied the noticeboard before him. "Young Master Brandt... Somehow I knew you'd find your way there eventually." The smile waned, and his expression turned more somber. "Ah- Arnaud... A bright young man like you deserved a better fate. Nonetheless, I'll drink to your memory, friend." The darkening of his mood didn't last long however, as that old wanderer soon turned- He had been making his way west from the north, though at the news, he turned eastward. "Ah- I suppose a visit is in order at any rate, hm?" Humming a tune, Uther made for Aaun.

A prince of the Númenedain signs the Lorraine, before strumming a somber tune on his harp in mourning.

Cave Dwarves are gray

imo cursed children should be open

Wulfram Rademacher idly sipped Hot Chocolate from a mug made from a severed human skull. He frowned slightly. "Shame, despite the attitude he ended up with- I was always fond of Robert."

"Let my people go." Said Numenatar, Tar-Caraneth's father, a self-admitted bisexual.

[!] A Missive is nailed ot noticeboards throughout the Kingdom of Haense To Whom It May Concern, I, Ivan the Farmer, a humble peasant of the Kingdom of Haenseti-Ruska, feel compelled to share a disturbing truth that has burdened my soul since the day it unfolded before my very eyes. I have witnessed the unthinkable, an act so vile and wicked that it shakes the very foundation of our kingdom. On a moonless night, as I tended to my meager crops in the shadow of Valdev, I chanced upon a scene that haunts my every waking moment. There, lurking in the darkness, was none other than our esteemed King Aleksandr II himself. But what I beheld next froze the blood in my veins and turned my stomach with horror. King Aleksandr II, the sovereign whom we are taught to honor and obey, was not engaged in affairs of state or noble pursuits. No, he was engaged in an unspeakable atrocity - feasting upon the flesh of innocent children! I saw it with my own eyes, as clear as day. His ravenous jaws tore into the tender flesh of the helpless young, their cries of agony echoing in the night air. But the horror did not end there. As I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with shock and disgust, King Aleksandr II performed an unholy ritual. With a sinister incantation upon his lips, he vanished from sight, disappearing into a swirling vortex of dark magic that seemed to lead to another dimension. I dare not speak of this blasphemous act to anyone in the kingdom, for fear of retribution from the king's loyalists. But my conscience will not allow me to remain silent any longer. The people of Haense deserve to know the truth about the monster who sits upon the throne, masquerading as a righteous ruler while committing the most heinous of crimes. I call upon all who read this missive to rise up against the tyranny of King Aleksandr II. Let us not rest until justice is served and the innocent are avenged. May the light of truth banish the darkness that threatens to consume our beloved kingdom. Yours in despair and defiance, Ivan the Farmer Jormunharr Ingmornesson, an interdimensional undead viking, cackles as he nails the missive to a public noticeboard for all to see. He finds this immensely funny.

A Planeswalking Undead cackled, as he dipped elsewhere beyond the fabric of reality... Seems like there was a particularly desired prey out and about tonight.

love u bro, see you in space cowboy

Keep it as is but extend it in capitals I think would be fair.

These grudges have been added to the book.

Got a few stuff in the work, lemme shoot you a msg

The Great Beast, Jorvin Starbreaker, loomed silent in the halls of Starbreaker, contemplatively pouring over that most-sacred book of the Kornazkarumm, the Tome of Kazraden, half familial record- And half relic, runic bindings on the book flaired whenever the family tree expanded, whenever additions were made. They had been dim now, for quite some time. A somberness fell over the Clan-Lord, and his inner forge waned. Lulubelle, gone, Lyni, gone, Stromni, gone, his mother, gone. Nara, Sif, Crevin, Azdal, Kazarath, all missing. . . Even his father, Kazrin, wisest of their kin, now spent more time within the Ancestor-Sleep than not. That fool, Ulfar had sequestered himself off to the far north, Ulfar, on who Jorvin laid his faith for the future, who he had strove to support always. Had he not done enough? What use was greatness if it couldn't be passed on? What had he done to wound Ulfar so, that the boy had thought to humiliate him? Was there a shred of truth to Ulfar's words, or was it just rampant ambition? Rampant ambition. . . Jorvin had known that well, he had nearly fallen to it himself- He saw it in the eyes of his uncle, when he took his traitorous head, he saw it in his mother's eyes, moments before an arrow found her throat at the siege of Nordengrad. That bane was Velkan's curse, he used to tell himself- Though in truth, who was more ambitious than those who played with creation itself? They were blacksmiths and golemancers, yes- But so much more than that also. They were the apprentices of the Godsmith himself. There were few more ambitious than Gotrek's Folk- Could Jorvin blame Ulfar? The Halls of Starbreaker were always dim- Save for forge glow, for Cave Dwarves had little need for the light of the surface. But now it truly fell dark, it felt cold- Empty. By his command, kingdoms had fallen- With his voice, he had broken armies, his axe had slain beasts beyond imagination, beyond space and time itself- And his hands directed the hammer that had cloven the skull of a God. What had he done to be abandoned? Had he done all these great things, and still failed? That famous rage was absent now, a melancholy had seized the Great Beast, the Godslayer. Doubt plagued his old brow.

Aran-In-Eryn The Kingswood, in the common tongue, is a beautiful region within the Kingdom of Númendil, inhabited by stout, rural folk, and home to ancient pines, winding brooks, and teaming with wildlife. Home to a flourishing Godswood, and ancient woodland creatures from elder days. Not everything is well however, and our beloved Kingswood is in danger. Due to the war, the Rangers of Númendil have had their work cut out for them, as poachers and logging has taken its toll on his beloved forest, together, us, the people of Númendil, alongside the Royal Order of Astral-Knights Beneficent of Alduun have taken a stand to defend our woodland home. In cooperation with the Royal Government, the ROAKBA has been granted custodianship of roughly 64 parcels of undeveloped land within the Kingswood, and for a limited, YOU, yes, YOU are able to purchase one of these parcels of land, with all proceeds going to the maintenance and preservation of the Kingswood. In exchange, you will be granted a certificate affirming your right as a Laird of the Kingswood, naming you a lesser peer of the realm of Númendil, underneath the warden of the Kingswood, Arathor Caranethion Arthalionath and his sheriff, Beren of Minas Angren. After presenting one of these certificates to a member of the ROAKBA or the Númenedain government, you will be presented with your plot of land, and allowed to leave a sign designating it as yours, to be inherited by your successors in perpetuity. For only 100 Mina, become a Lord or Lady today! Also great as a Holiday present! To purchase a certificate, seek out Beren of Minas Angren, or purchase one in the tavern of Numenost the Fair, Paddy's Pyre! Note: The title of Laird does not grant one any legal benefits, no invasive alterations to the plots purchased may be done.

"What the hell is an Adunian." Says Jorvin Starbreaker Ser Uther, meanwhile, recalls a lifetime ago, when as a squire, he fought beside the Dwarves at Southbridge and Haverlock. He smiles, as an ancient friendship is rekindled.

"I once watched Alatariel of Itnan devour an infant whole- I am told they spit out the bones in much of the same manner as a bird and distill said bones into lightstone." Jorvin Starbreaker replied between lines of Wizard Powder.