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Found 13 results

  1. α›žαš’αš±α›–αšΎα›‹ αš‘α›–αšΎαš·α›–αšΎαš²α›– Upon returning from a long journey Duren Ireheart embraces the many clan kinsmen in the halls but there was one he looked forward to seeing the most. Yet the beardling grandchild he raised would never appear. The Clan brought upon the hard truth of Balor’s demise by those of San’Velkuz bringing a fury of Duren’s beard. Amidst the counsel of his kin, memories of Balor’s trials return, creating a strong conviction within the Clan. A personal grudge shall be placed upon those of Krug until the individuals of the crime have been brought to justice. An investigation will take place and should any resistance be met will result in displays of Dungrimms arts. Retribution shall be manifested as the natural and just refund for harm.
  2. ᛁᛏᛋ α›Ÿαš‘α›–αš± A FINAL RESIGNATION α›αšΊαš¨αšΎαš΄ αš€α›Ÿαš’ Fellow dwarves, an ancient saying reads all good things must come to an end. It is with a heavy heart that I write to you all that I shall resign from my position as Grand Marshal. I wanna thank every legionnaire for putting their full trust into me as Marshal. I also wanna thank Grand King Bakir Ireheart for granting me such an important position. We've enjoyed a lot of victories, and even won a war. Though my fuel tank ran out, and i wish to not burden the Legion with inactivity. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and i believe this is truly for the best. Narvak oz Urguan, Narvak oz Legion. =================== Signed, Champion of The Wilds, Elder of Clan Ireheart. Defender of Dungrimm.
  3. 10th of the Grand Harvest RETURN OF THE KING Vienne was quiet and desolate, all the servants of Frederick I β€˜The Craven’ were asleep and in their beds, oblivious of what was about to occur. Soon the dungeon door to Bakirs cell burst open and was greeted by a mysterious figure in armor. They broke the bonds of the Grand King and motioned for the imprisoned King to follow. The Grand King quickly was led outside the city without anyone knowing, they were quickly met at the gate of Oren by a combination of House Romstun and Urguani soldiers on horseback, smiles on their faces as the Grand King walked freely from the captivity of Oren. They cheered and bashed their blades against their shields in celebration before lending the Grand King a horse to bring him home. Grand King, Bakir Ireheart was back on the Obsidian Throne, his lust for vengeance was never stronger and the Kingdoms lust for justice against the dishonored sons of Horen was strengthened. The many transgressions of Orens people tainted the legacy of Horen, defending and helping subjects of the Azdrazi, the kinslaying of their own kin to secure the throne, the repeated dishonoring of your own people by War-mongering to defend an illegitimate elven state and not caring for your own child, a Prince of Oren. My message to you Frederick β€˜The Craven’ is this. This changes nothing. Your fumbling of my capture and the great lack of victories in battle has emboldened us and only strengthened us. We will not stop the annihilation of your people until you pull back your forces and admit you were wrong to defend honorless people and slaves to Iblees. Save your people, pursue the retreat of your men from our lands.
  4. Year 82 of the Second Age, 5th of Amber Cold. (IRL Date) ᚨ α›žαšΉαš¨αš±αš  αš±α›–α›αš’αš±αšΎα›‹ α›α›Ÿ ᚹᚨᚱ A RETURN TO THE CALL OF DUTY ᚨ α›žαšΉαš¨αš±αš  α›‹αšΊαš¨α›šα›š α›‹α›šαš¨αš€ α›αšΊα›– αš·αš±α›–α›–αšΎα›‹αš΄α›αšΎαšΎα›–α›ž An Ireheart returns to the duty of leading the Legion. On Year 82 of the Second Age on the 5th of Amber cold a war was ignited. With the fury of the dwedmar and the foolishness of the orcs of The Iron’uzg. One dwed was killed, and for their sins one orc was killed, with two more captured. I, Sigrun Ireheart cannot simply standby as a soldier whilst this war goes on without my nation, my old soldiers going unled without a Marshal. For the reasons I had previously resigned have been rendered void by the ignition of this new war. I vow to return to the duty of being Marshal with vigour, should Grand King Bakir Ireheart accept me as his Grand Marshal once more i shall return to duty next stone year. Should any of my old commanders disagree and see themselves fit for the Grand Marshal role, i will accept the adversity and pray to Dungrimm they shall lead us with vigour and glory during this conflict. I shall leave the role for someone else after the war has ended, for someone else to lead the legion to glory. I ask you, brave dwed to let me lead us into victory this war, and trust me with the duty i had previously lost the appetite for. For the ancient saying goes, there's no better feeling then killing an orc. Signed, Clan Father of the Irehearts, Champion of the Wilds.
  5. α›žα›–αš¨α›αšΊ α›α›Ÿ α›αšΊα›– α›žαš±αš¨αš·α›ŸαšΎαš΄α›αšΎ β€œA dwarf never forgets.” CLEANSING OF THE DRAGONKIN No descendant has come close to the combined feats of Yavoks kin. Yavok Ireheart, the founder of the clan, purged dark beings haunting the caves of his home. Kjell the Dragonslayer, slaying multiple dragons himself, set the precedent for the later generations of khronammoruk. With a Dragon attack on the capital of the dwarves, and the attack on the King of the Dwarves in the Haense tavern, the threat of the Dragonkin and Azdromoth grows greater. The Dragon-worshippers taint the land they touch and associates of Khorvad and Iblees cannot be ignored as they move to undermine the ideals and places we’ve all fought for. The Irehearts grow tired of the repeated slights by the sons of Azdromoth by tainting dwarven lands and the repeated attacks on Urguans kin, the repeated seizing of Urguani land from the Paladins and the deals with Iblees. For this, the combined Elders of Clan Ireheart and the Clan Father of the Irehearts make a bloodpact to fully cleanse this land from the spawn of Iblees. To those who live in the old ruins of Dol’Gorix at the foot of the volcanic mountains. You will have two stone days to remove your belongings off our sacred land or blood will once more be split in reclamation. Kav un anakrun yol zahere. Do not test our patience. Signed, Clan Father of the Irehearts, Champion of the Wilds. Elder of the Irehearts, Bane of the Orcs, Bane of Philip III Elder of the Irehearts, Commander of the Legion. Elder of the Ireheasrts, Certified Dragon Tracker
  6. THE MOUNTAIN ALLIANCE Since the founding of Kal’Urguan the mountain dwed have been the foundation of the dwarves, from their many feats to their esteemed Paragons, the sons of Urguan have relied on the skill and determination of the mountain dwed. Back in the days of old, in the city of Kal'Karaad, Bastion Ireheart, Fili Grandaxe and Verthaik Frostbeard signed a bloodpact, bringing the mountain clans into an alliance, forging an unbreakable bond between Urguans kin. Decades later, the pact was renewed between Kerwyr Frostbeard, Fimlin Grandaxe and Gror Ireheart, once again bringing the clans close, and in return, making the Grand Kingdom much stronger than it was before. So history shall repeat itself once again, the mountain clans of Ireheart, Grandaxe, Frostbeard and Stormheart shall sign a bloodpact in accordance with the following terms. 1. Signatories agree to support each other militarily if aggressed upon 2. Clans of the alliance formally agree to never employ hostility to each other, in the case of an act that cannot be ignored, the signatories shall meet to discuss a means of action. 3. Signatories shall not pledge allegiance to any sort of conflict without discussion. 4. Clans of the Mountain Alliance agree to support each other politically. 5. The Signatories of the alliance agree to meet every stone month. Signed, Lord of the Ireheart, Jarl of Dol’Gorix, and Bane of the Orcs Clan Father of the Stormhearts, Grand Marshal of Dungrimm's Legion, and Grand Champion of Urguan Clan Father of the Frostbeards, Son of Hamnil Frostbeard, and Lord of Tal’Rhewenholm Clan Father of Grandaxes, Brewmaster, and Lord of Kal’Bogrin
  7. Congratulations to Bakir Ireheart as he persevered and claimed all other participants belts along with the Champion Belt! He shall wear them proudly as practiced by the ancient traditions and the blessings of the paragon, Kjell. Let us take a moment to recall the memories of the competition: Thank you to everyone who were able to make time or attempted to participate.
  8. αš·α›α›—α›—α›– αš€α›–αš± α›’α›–α›šα› 2.4.2022 The horns begin sounding in the Halls of the Irehearts as the calling of an ancient tradition passed on by the Paragons begins. A registry has been placed upon the clan board to be filled by every participant for the weeks leading up to the event. It will take place in the Ireheart Clan Hall located inside the capitol of Urguan. (Click the scroll and Sign Up) [Sponsored by the (Dwed Wrestling Entertainment)]
  9. The line of Igor, a line of respectable and honorable Irehearts, a line of Kings and Paragons. Igor Ireheart, famed for winning battles in which he was outmatched and outnumbered, brought fame to his name and his kin. But soon after, sacrificed his life to defeat an Aengul in revenge of his brother, Dreek Ireheart. And then onto Vorstag Ireheart, his name spoken throughout the ages for leading his warriors time and time again into battle, sharing every risk and discomfort his lessers took. Twice he was crowned Grand King, eventually following the same fate as Igor, sacrificing himself to defeat a corrupted Urir Ireheart and save the most important dwarven relics in history, the Armour of Urguan. Bastion Ireheart, direct son of Igor forged his own legacy as he fought and worked for his fame. He ascended to Grand King and followed the example of Vorstag, leading the legion into battle against the Orenian Empire, ultimately defeating them. The songs and stories of Bastion and his exploits are still talked about to this day. The Glory of not only the line of Igor, but Roggar, Olaf and Dreek could be sung for ages and never end. Agnar Ireheart, son of Igor and great-grandson of Kjellos is my father. Boasting about his service to Urguan and to the Irehearts, always loyal, always attentive to the tenets of the Clan and its values, Honor, Loyalty, Devotion, Bravery and Respect. These are the values our clan abides by, from Igor to Axel they have not only kept these tenets close. But have always shown they’re amplified loyalty to not only their bloodline, their nation, but also their kin. You would think that a son of Igor and descendent of Kjellos as well as relative to many great kings would be loyal to their own blood and to their Clan Father, especially his own son. But it is quite the opposite. Agnar Ireheart you have betrayed your kin and betrayed your own son for a position of power in the Kingdom of Urguan. Breaking the blood oath you forged with the clan upon the completion of your Ireheart Trials. Igor, Kjell, Roggar, Olaf and Dreek would be disappointed and ashamed to know you are related to them, knowing you still call yourself an Ireheart despite your breaking of our tenets, values and oath. Such a betrayal will not go unanswered by your son, nor by Clan Ireheart. Agnar Ireheart, You will be stripped of your status as Blooded from Clan Ireheart, stripped of your gryphon feather, and stripped of the name Ireheart. You are also stripped of any claim to the Ireheart throne and to the ancient name of Stormhammer, the sub clan to the Irehearts. Finally, for your betrayal of your own son, and betrayal of every dwed who has the name Ireheart, you are hereby banished from Clan Ireheart for eternity and will forever be shunned by your blood till the end of your days. Signed, Lord of the Irehearts, Jarl of Dol’Gorix and Bane of the Orcs Grand King Emeritus, Grandson of Roggar, Father of Utak, Elder of Clan Ireheart, Champion of Clan Ireheart and Defender of the Articles Son of Rorik Ireheart, Elder of Clan Ireheart Son of Dreek Ireheart, Peoples King, Grand Champion of Urguan Elder of Clan Ireheart, Line of Roggar
  10. 10th of the Grand Harvest THE FINAL STRIKE Three strikes and you’re in the grudgebook is what the greybeards of our clan taught us as beardlings. Urguan’s race is doomed to be stubborn and grudgeful, but yet because of our devotion to the Grand Kingdom of Urguan we have forgiven many wrongs against our kin. We have worked for the greatness of the Kingdom, fighting in wars and participating in government, even after we’ve been wronged without compensation. All we ask for in return for our labor is respect. The first against our kin was when the most kind Urist Ireheart was mutilated and debearded at the hands of the wood elves of Sirammenor. Our Grand King at the time, Jorvin Starbreaker, refused to uphold his honor by defending his kin who was violated in the worst way possible, debearding. Instead, when the Irehearts honorably defended their kin they were branded as traitors and asked to come before the high courts for their actions. In the end, the Kingdom failed it’s duties to protect the sons and daughters of Yavok as they fought a long grudge war against the elves alone. The second wronging of our kin was in the election of Durorn Ireheart. The votes were counted at first 71 in favor of Durorn Ireheart and 48 in favor of Norli Starbreaker. Though when the council met, dishonorable schemers slowly discounted votes until it ended in a tie. And when the council was asked, how should we resolve this tie? The schemers answered β€œlet the council decide” as they knew they held the council majority. A King was crowned by the council, but not the people of Urguan. The namesake of Urguan was wronged this day, but especially the descendents of Yavok. The third and final strike against our kin was in the meeting and consequential events after the meeting. As Ulfric went behind the backs of the Irehearts, making deals with Du Loc that directly affected our clan. Ulfric bent over to cannonism as he told Du Loc that he would sit idle as Du Loc had their way with the Irehearts. Once again the Irehearts would be doomed to fight without protection from their King, but now their King actively sided against them. What did we do to deserve this kind of dishonor? In defense of his β€œhonor”, the Grand King called us traitors, even going so far as to threaten a former Grand King, Gror Ireheart, with treason. The King with all his β€œhonor” denied an honor duel and fled the city of Urguan in shame. Let it be known that the descendents of Yavok are tired of being wronged. Even Urguan rolls in his grave as he hears those who represent him slander his name by turning their back on their kin. Three strikes and you’re in the grudgebook. But once again the Irehearts show their mercy by presenting these overdue demands as compensation of their multiple wrongdoings. For the idleness in the case of the debearding of Urist Ireheart: 1. The formal apology from the Grand King to Clan Ireheart. For dishonorably scheming to rig the election: 2. The immediate promotion of Gorlim Ireheart as Grand Marshal of the Legion. 3. The reformation of the council system, allowing votes to clans with higher populaces. For branding us β€˜traitors’ and letting Du Loc have their way with us: 4. The granting of a plot of land in the lands of southbridge. 5. A grant of funding in the form of 3,000 minas to repay us for centuries of unwarranted mistreatment. We present these demands to the Grand King of Urguan. Signed,
  11. The Enemy of My Enemy Part 2/3 [!] A party of Rustlers, Ferrymen and Irehearts do good work on the roads of Oren. The sun, though beating down heat onto the land of men below, was met with a cool breeze that made for a comfortable atmosphere. The Rustlers, intending only to cripple Orenian supplies, could be found ambushing caravans and trade wagons alike as they sought refuge in the City of Burning Clocks. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The hooves of a horse echoed throughout the field only to be silenced by the driver wishing to stop and rest at a nearby tavern. A gust of wind caught hold of some brush near the side of the road, parting a few leaves and opening a line of sight. Piercing blue eyes stared through the brush, the gaze serious yet clouded with eagerness. With quick and intent movements, Elsil’Ceru sprung into action. The young elf let out a whistle, akin to that of a bird that was local to the region. The caravan looked around in a state of confusion, then interrupted as Iscesi β€˜the Doorman’ leaped into action, firing an arrow into the chest of the caravan driver. With the same speed with which the Rustlers appeared, the lives of the caravan guards ended. As the Rustler band cleaned their weapons, they were set upon by a messenger loyal to their cause. The Orenians began their march. With haste, Elsil’Ceru ordered that birds be dispatched to some allies of the Urguan war effort. They set their quills to parchment and sent the messages off with haste. In a nearby forest, the elfish Ferrymen, Vydrek and Diome, walked idly by with their long time friend, Yonash. The trio strolled calmly, taking in the scenery of Orenian lands one last time before they were set to the flame, when a bird flew down and landed atop the shoulder of Vydrek. Yonash stepped forward, grasping at the bird and holding it tight as he removed the attached message. While the man silently read, the two elves readied their weapons. Between the two, they shared centuries of experience in war and knew what a bird sent from the direction of an enemy must mean. The three Ferrymen returned to their horses and made for the nearby Ferrymen camp. As the reinforcements made their way to the roads of Oren, the ISA readied themselves as well. They had received reports that their caravans were being attacked and their supply chain cut off. With their usual haste, the ISA made for the roadside tavern, mounted on the finest steeds the Empire could muster and armed to the teeth. As they arrived, they were met with the host that they sought out. A coalition of Ferryman and Rustler stood at the ready, their numbers lined across the road, ready to meet the ISA’s finest. The two sides stood at a standstill, neither making the first move, but both ready to draw first blood. Silence befell the terrain as the two small armies stood there, offering nothing in the way of words to each other. Diome eyed the mounted men of Oren, his eyes flickering between the groups as they usually did when he was formulating a strategy, when his focus was broken by a sudden shout. β€œNarvak oz Kjellos!” a voice shouted, booming through the fields as Bakir Ireheart charged in, mounted atop a mighty ram. Bakir swept between the two groups, his warhammer spinning wildly before he swung it at the head of an ISA recruit, his head coming clean off. With the valiant acts of Bakir, the silence was finally broken, replaced by the clashing of steel and flesh. The Ferrymen and Rustler coalition strode forth, their shields tight together as they forced the ISA back toward their hamlet. Yonash stopped as he looked about the battle field. The man watched as the Orenian troops fell to the blades of the allied forces one by one, β€œDiome!” he shouted toward his comrade β€œPress the attack! They fall to our blades!” With the rallying words of Yonash, coupled with the charge led by himself and Vydrek, the combined army of Ferryman, Rustler and Ireheart cut down the last of the sixteen ISA soldiers. Bakir turned to Elsil, offering a nod to the Rustler as he blew into his warhorn, signaling for the band to regroup on the roads. Iscesi limped from behind the treeline, wounded but not yet beaten as he returned from slaying several of the Orenian party. Diome and Vydrek returned together, supporting their comrade Yonash as he triumphantly returned to the group alive. The men, elf and dwed all looked around. Led by Bakir, they all began to chuckle lightly with relief. It was comforting to see that all twelve of their group had returned to the place that the battle began, alive and well. Diome made his way up the road, the coalition of forces bonding from the tales they had made during the battle. He found himself beside Elsil as the duo walked. β€œA fine show we put on didn’t we Ferryman.” said the Rustler. Diome groaned, in annoyance or pain, none could say for certain. β€œThe enemy of my enemy, Rustler.” uttered the veteran Ferryman. [OOC] The information/names used in this post is not public information. This post is a recount of events that occurred in-game and is not to be used to influence RP. The purpose of this post is to share the events of the road skirmish in an RP friendly manner. Thank you.
  12. A Tombkeeper's Diary "Return" ~o.O.o~ [Music] A bright, sunny day washed the dwarven mountains with gentle warmth in contrast to the cold and crisp air morning air, birds sang their songs and boars drank from the many fresh water lakes Urguan's valleys held. Any remaining early dew clung to the tall grass as afternoon was fast approaching, though the time of day was not the only thing making a return. Far below the cloudless, sun scorched sky trudged a lone dwarf hauling a cart of hewn stone blocks. His green war paint glistened as beads of sweat streamed down his mighty forehead and onto his thick black eyebrows. Angr Ireheart, a dwed of Dreek's bloodline, marched up the winding Urguani roads with an orange and gray banner mounted to his cart flapping in the breeze, his eyes spoke of growth and grief as his few year departure into the expanse of untouched wilds had surely moved him. His beard was longer, his body had been refined and his wrists though bruised, were bandage free once more. His gaze flicked up at the sound of a distant scuffle further along the road, and Angr could see it. A bandit, while he wasn't a Ferryman he was human, and in typical human fashion was preying on anything lesser than them. As he approached, the injured elf cried out for help and was promptly bashed in the head with the hilt of the bandit's shortsword, though Angr would pay no heed to the situation as it was not of his concern. Once he had passed, the human had called out to him. "Hold it, just where do you think you're going, short ****?!" Angr again chose to ignore the petty thief and continued to lug his cart towards a crossroads further down the road. "Don't tell me you're as dumb as this knife-eared scum! I'm talking to you!" He persisted, walking after Angr with his sword still drawn. "Shut et, boy. Ahm buseh." The Ireheart growled as the crunching of gravel under their feet continued to fill nature's otherwise blissful silence. The bandit immediately charged him with a scream and swung just short of Angr's cloak, though he would not be given another chance to slay his opponent. In a swift motion, Angr's rugged hand reached up and grabbed the man by his family jewels at which point he yanked the bandit down by his balls and onto his knees. The dwarf uttered no words and offered no remorse as he wrenched the shortsword free and drove it through his forearm. "No! No please I-" He begged as he was cut off by a solid crack to the temple. Angr silently got up and approached his cart, briefly browzing the selection of giant stones before settling on a fairly heavy piece. He hefted the torso sized brick to the dazed man and took in his features, noting that he was easily no older than twenty as he raised the stone over his head. "Please! N-" And that was that. A sickening squelch echoed into the surroundings as part of the bandit's brain was ejected from his now crushed skull. He looked up to the cowering elven woman and gave her a slow nod, this was not to say she was safe, but rather, to run. She needed no explanation as she immediately scrambled to her feet and took off in the other direction. With solitude restored at last, Angr's single eye settled on the young thief as he sighed, undoing the ties to an iron mask on his work belt. Angr shoved aside the large stone and began carefully tieing. The mask to what was left of the man's face and once he was done, hefted the body to his cart. "Yu were sadleh mesguided, may Dungrimm see t'es beacon and gentleh bring yu tu yur rest, young'in." He muttered. Many hours later, Angr would arrive at the capitol of the Grand Kingdom, his absence seemingly unnoticed. He would pass by many dear and familiar faces as he loaded his stone cart onto a rickety lift and sent it below towards the Worker's Guild. While descending the stairs, something caught his eye that was nailed to the bulletin board, a paper recently published regarding a competition for Grand Architect. "Tae fock es t'es shoite?" He grumbled, tempted to remark on how the only other able builders he knew were Grudgebeared and Magni. "T'es ain' ah competition, ye daft focken Frostbeard, ye need tae foind tae best, nae tah most ambitious!" He shouted, tearing up the announcement written by Azkel. "Ye wannu kill 'alf ov Urguan by 'avin teir focken new triangle 'ouses fall ontu t'em, ahm not gonna let t'at 'appen..." He grumbles, continuing to complain as he retrieves his cart at the lower section of the city and tugs it towards the processing area. "Ah keep tellen t'em Frostbeards ain't good fer anehfing otha t'an treason..." Angr lets another huge and stressful sigh escape him as he slumps into a seat within the Worker's Guild headquarters, unfurling blank parchment out in front of him as he begins to draft new designs he may be able to use for the competition. After a while though, an idea would stick with him, one that was sure to prove just how qualified he was for the job.
  13. A Tombkeeper's Diary "The Time I Drowned" [Music] Beneath a trickling underground stream, cold mineral rich water pours entropy over top Angr's head. The chaotic pitter patter screaming out into the cavern's silent expanse as the dwarf's naked body is soaked in liquid solitude. Though strange, Angr had routinely done this, seeking to quell his indomitable spirit which often thrashed with a primal rage. He hoped this time would be different, as his body was struggling to keep up with the demand of an Ireheart's bloodlust, as evident by his stitched breast. Most of his brethren already knew how to utilize their Ire like second nature, but Angr's reservations allowed this quality to run rampant. Around him, many hundred spiders of varying sizes watched from their burrows, some even daring to reveal themselves a few meters away. They would go no closer, staring at the apex predator of their ecosystem with a paralyzing hesitation. It was no secret that these arachnoids were timid due to the land's history, but Angr lived down here. He had slaughtered countless amounts of their kin prior simply because he could, he hunted them. Angr had planned on their visit, using their presence as temptation for his hunger to kill as he quietly waited to ****** it and pull himself back in. The Ireheart's skin was washed in stony grays and faded greens as he patiently sat for hours, internal turmoil simmering just beneath. He knew he couldn't rush his restraint, he needed to make sure that he could differentiate between himself and his bloodline in the heat of battle. The stirring darkness ahead gave way to lapping waves, thoughts crashing into his mind's cliff. He dwelled on how badly he wanted glory, the triumph of victory. Daily work dulled his direction, he grew more and more lost the longer he went without scratching the itch. He had dedicated himself to the tasks nobody else would do, but he didn't want to be left out because of it. This made him angry, no, this made him furious. He had put in the work, he had offered himself to preform the services of Dungrimm, why should he have to suffer the curse of incompetency? In a blinding movement, Angr bolted up and roared as he hurled his fist to the spider in front of him. And yet he stopped. He had stopped himself mere centimeteres away from the fuzzy head of a mid sized spider, allowing it the chance to scurry away with its life. He panted as his blood seethed in his veins, and he understood what he was missing. Nothing was owed to him, his performance, his results were his own. He had a long way to go before he could swim in his ancestry instead of drown. He scoffed as he plopped back down into his puddle. "Yavok yu bahstahd..." Angr grumbled. If he ever wanted to do his clan proud, he would need to continue to practice under various methods. He wondered, how could anyone ever hope to be on the level of Yavok, a legend who learned to master his fire. Perhaps that is why he was declared Irehearted, because he had found a way to channel his anger physically into his pumping arteries, rather than the annexes of his brain. Once more, he fell back into his trance. His psyche lulled ever deeper underwater where he could again try to swim, rather than drown.
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