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Found 4 results

  1. Year 117 of the Second Age, ᛋᛁᚷᚱᚢᚾ ᚱᛁᛉᛉ ᛗᚨᚾ TAKING OFF THE BELT. ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚢᚱ ᛞᛖᛈᚨᚱᛏᛋ It has come to my attention that my time as Clan Father should come to an end. Whilst I like to believe I have led our clan according to our core values and clan tenets, my reign as Clan Father of the Sons of Yavok was not as successful as I, Sigrun Ireheart would have liked it to be. I am announcing that I am officially stepping down as Clan Father. May one of the previous Clan Fathers, Bakir ‘Orcs Blood’ Ireheart rise up once more to lead our clan into glory, and keep to the clan values and tenets as I have. Now it is time for the Sons of Yavok to put their loyalty and trust towards our previous Grand King, Bakir. It has been twenty-five years of leading our clan, and I thank all my brothers and sisters of the Irehearts for the unconditional loyalty and trust they put into Sigrun Ireheart as Clan Father. Elder of the Irehearts, Grand Master of War, Grand Champion of Urguan, Dragonslayer, Champion of the Wilds, Captain of The Obsidian Guard. Master of Dungrimm’s gym, Urguan’s international chess Grandmaster. Clan Father of The Irehearts, Bane of the Orcs, Bane of Philip III
  2. Year 112 of the Second Age ᚷᚤᛗ ᛒᚱᛟ'ᛋ ᛞᛟᚾᛏ ᛚᛟᛋᛖ THE DAWN OF DUNGRIMM’S GYM. ᚷᛖᛏ ᛋᚹᛟᛚᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛒᚢᚠᚠ In the past decades I, Sigrun Ireheart have witnessed a drastic change in Urguan, the muscled men of the past have dwindled in number in favour of Voidal Mages and politicians who care not for their body. These people are all extremely competent in their respective fields and this is not a missive of disrespect, yet it is a missive that I have the solution for these people to improve themselves. I, Sigrun Ireheart announce the Dawn of Dungrimm’s Gym. [!] An artistic depiction of the inside of Dungrimm’s gym. Inside the gym rests alot of equipment to help better one’s body, from strength training with the benchpress, barbells and deadlift to strengthening your core with the pull-up bar. Dungrimm’s gym truly offers everything needed to better yourself physically and mentally. I have even installed a water cooler for the weak, and an ale dispenser for the dwarves. The best part of Dungrimm’s gym is that it is entirely free for everyone visiting Urguan to use. LIFT ON! Signed, Grand Master of War, Clan Father of the Irehearts, Champion of the Wilds, Grand Champion of Urguan, Master of Dungrimm’s Gym, Urguan’s chess Grand Master.
  3. A Tombkeeper's Diary "Steel Rings No More" [Music] ~o.O.o~ Across the lush and lonely mountains hiked a small gathering of dwarves, tightly confined to the trail ahead of them by morning mists. Their silent travels left Angr plenty of time to freely roam his mind, though the occasional lick of tall grass wet with dew rouses him from his musings. Glorious golden beams of sunlight glimmered through lazy clouds, refracting in the haze below. The warmth of the light would kiss the skin of their travel party, doing little to uplift the Irehearts' groggy mood. Mosquitos and dragonflies constantly harassed them, rising curiously from nearby ponds and puddles to greet their stout visitors. Alongside them, two dire wolves accompanied, one gray and one white. Local fauna steered clear as to not be mauled by ravenous bite or cut down by their masters, knowing all too well the appearance of a pack of predators. "'Ow long tel' weh arrive aht tae village, ye fink?" Angr inquired, his mind no longer being a sufficient enough distraction for aching muscles. Aghuid, the next Ireheart ahead of him, coughed and hacked before he spat into the bushes to his left. "Shut uhp, Angr." He grumbled, the onset of fatigue crawling over his shoulders as he grumbled about getting **** sleep. "Wel fock yu too d'en." Angr comments, sighing as he continues to lug his pack of supplies along. Up ahead approached a shaggy brown bear and its cub, their eyes fixed on the carcass of a deer decaying beside the trail. "Yu see t'aht hungreh fock'r?" Aghuid replied, picking up pace. "Aye?" Angr answered. Without warning, Aghuid hurled a fist at the beast's throat, his burly arm forcing forward as he sends the bear tumbling down a hill. "Tha's..." He huffed, "Tha's gonnah beh yu 'ef ye keep pushen' yur luck..." He piped up. "Ah trekked all tae wey ou' 'ere tae sleep on ah focken rock!" Aghuid roars, birds fleeing from the nearby trees as a result. Angr nodded, on any other occasion those would be fighting words, but Angr was nowhere near the caliber of his brother. While Angr had been working hard in recent years, his stout and musculare frame would easily be overpowered by the well toned and sculpted body of a blooded Ireheart, much less against a seasoned smith and warrior. Though his reluctance to act was not cowardice, it was respect for his own limits; Angr was not so naïve to think he could win that battle. Many hours would pass, the group sharing the mundane meals of a cookpot over the campfire. Exhaustion ate away at the speed of their journey until they eventually holed up inside a crevasse near the valley, hundreds of stars peering down on them from beyond the blackened veil. The charcoal now flickered with a faint red glow, ash of the once abundant firewood settled in a mound within the bindings of its rock ring. Strewn about were several restless dwarves, tossing and turning on the bare stone as they slept. Angr was up late as usual, a metal cup of moonshine by his side as he watched the sky churn with thousands of dizzying dots from the mouth of their cave. Again he frolicked through his thoughts as an incessant snoring howled behind him, yet surprisingly he was shook back to reality by the approach of Aghuid, his fingertips scraping against the rugged texture of stone. "Wut's got ye up?" He grunts, taking a seat next to Angr. He waited for a moment, the sky's glaze twinkling in his eyes. "Home." He answered. "Home? Ah kno, t'es trip es taken way tu long..." Aghuid scoffed. "Nae, ah mean Home." He says once more, "Tae citeh, ah don' get et..." Angr mutters. Aghuid would groan out a sigh as he leaned forward go pick up a stone, his golem legs crackling against the rock he sat on. "Tae steel ov Urguan rings no longah," he continues, not turning away from the skies above. "Weh cannae 'ven stey unitehd ovah semple quarrels such es ah keng." Angr finishes, sipping from his cup and shuddering from the kick of his drink. "Angr, ye got tae undahstan', tae strengf ov tae dwed doesnae com' from agreeance." Aghuid says, hucking the stone into the valley. "Et comes frem our bond." He chuckles, "Et soun's cheezzy, ah kno', bu' evereh toime weh need tae wurk togethah tae dwed always wurk t'eir shoite out." Angr waited, sharing his silence. "Bu' et es sahd, tae see our halls soh empteh once 'gain. Yer righ when ye sey t'at tae steel rings nae more." Aghuid added. "Aye, et's hard tae find som'un taht wan's teh keep fings goin en t'ere." Angr says. "Focken Grandaxes..." Aghuid mumbles, lighting a cigar. "Eh?" Came Angr. "Nufen', ah was talken tu mehself." He replies, placing the stogy between his lips. "Yur jus' ah beardling, don' get tu worked up abou' et..." He adds, puffing out smoke from his slightly yellowed teeth. Though Angr did not know it, that last comment stung Aghuid slightly, the rash actions of Durgar Ireheart still lingering in many forms, even staring at him from his axe. Without another word, Aghuid crawled back into the cave and went back to sleep, leaving Angr to his own devices. He wondered, was there any hope left for a family torn asunder? Each and every dwarf in his race was a brother or sister of some kind, so what hope could the future possibly hold? Angr rested his hand on the iron mask tied to his belt, he felt for this bond his brother spoke of, but could not find it. Maybe this iron would not yet give way to the ringing of steel.
  4. A Tombkeeper's Diary ~ o . O . o ~ "Our Source Of Ire" [Music] Beneath Urguan lies a massive cavern, an expanse of winding abyss that forms the underbelly of the mountain home of the dwarves. It is down here that a plethora of predators and hostile creatures dominate the local ecosystem, monsters that would give voidal horrors a run for their money. In the inky shadows of the underground sat a lone Ireheart, scribbling away at his journal as he is illuminated only by a nearby campfire, and the crumbling gate of the Doomforged hall in the distance. Beside him, a hot bowl of stew with lumps of cooked purple colored meat and beets swimming in beef broth, served freshly from a boiling pot sat over the fire. "Since my residency in the chasm, I have had plenty of time to wonder to myself, or at least among my various. My days run into the next, my weeks are starting to feel like days. I continue to persevere towards the end goal, bringing peace to the souls trapped behind these collapsed walls. I can only hope that they understand the slow pace given the amount of work ahead of me, it's exhausting digging around the clock." Angr put down his quil for a moment, spooning a mouthful of stew from the bowl. Sighing, the Ireheart would look around himself and gaze into the darkness as he chews the tough and gamey meat for a while. In the void before him, Angr noticed a figure of short stature shuffling towards him which stopped when it was only just barely visible. The dwed took a seat on a rock at the edge of the light's reach and remained silent. "Can ah 'elp yeh?" Angr asked, unsure as to what they wanted. "Nei, jus com'en tae check on me famileh." The figure grumbled, his voice almost mournful. "Yer an Ire'eart?" Angr probed, intrigued by the sudden arrival of a relative, and in here of all places too. "Aye." He commented, not sharing another word. "Ahm gonnae contenue meh journal fer ah momen', ef ye don' mind." Angr commented, picking up his quil once more. "Though my body tires and my bones ache, I can feel an anger inside me that propels me onwards. It isn't a hatred towards any one individual or thing, it's a general sense of displeasure or dissatisfaction with something currently lurking in my mind. I've heard countless tales and remarks from the dwed telling of an unbridled rage that defines the Irehearts, but what if they're wrong? What if what sets us apart isn't an uncontained fury, but rather an unending determination to see things through?" Angr paused at the sound of shuffling, as his mysterious relative was getting ready to leave. "Oi, wut's yer name brothehr, maybeh weh can grab ah pint later?" He chuckles. "Tha's alrigh, ah've spent enouf toime aht tae tavehrn alreadeh..." His brother comments as a stone hand reaches down to grab a mangled hunk of metal with the stamp of a Starbreaker smith from next to where he had sat. As the figure began to leave, Angr squinted his eyes as he tried to narrow his focus on this unknown dwed, deadset on seeing any discerning features. He could make out what looked to be a white pelt singed at the edges, clinging on to charred skin as the rest of the dwed disappeared into the darkness. "Hmph." He muttered, taking up his quil again. "Perhaps this is what guided us sons of Yavok to mercilessly fight in any battle, not out of rage but out of a sheer desire to see the conflict through to its end. This very well may be the same force that beckons me to heft my spade and free these forgotten tombs, though my body is weak my spirit remains strong. Though the thought might be heresy, if we are truly to be driven by the same blood as our paragons, then even the grip of Dungrimm may not be enough to keep fallen Irehearts from returning to our mortal coil for their own purposes. To this end one could argue our tenacity, our ferocity, our Ire..." Angr was again interrupted by distant sounds, this time the sound of metal and boots against stone coming from the abyssal plains ahead of him. It was at that moment that Angr believed he had found the conclusion to his entry, as he could see the quickly fading image of several unfamiliar Irehearts sat around an illusory fire with smiles on their faces, the darkness quickly spilling in to replace where they once were. He nodded after a moment of deliberate silence, walking over to the large purple cave monster he had slain earlier and retrieving his war axe from its flesh. As Angr tidied up his belongings, he wrote one last line in his journal entry. "Our Ire, is proof of our worth to the gods. Our Ire is us."
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