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 PostPosted: Thu Oct 16, 2003 3:42 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

A ranger ran through the woods searching for this rumored army of dragons.
"It can't be a fact. I've been travelling for three days. I'm going back."
As he turned around, he fell through a hole in the ground. Looking around he sees a gigantic horde of dragons coming torward him. Looking up he discovers that he fell over 20 feet and that the walls are to steep to climb. Deciding he was doomed he lit a fire arrow and shot it into the air as a signal to the Sovereign.
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 PostPosted: Thu Oct 16, 2003 10:28 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

Andaevyr-Solnydien stirred in his cavernous hall beneath the Isle of the Dragon Kings, awakened a grinding crash. Three pairs of red eyes opened in the gloom. Rearing up 'til they were near the ceiling, they stabbed malevolently down at the coiling creature below him.
"Who are you?" came a great voice, resounding low through the cavern, echoing from three throats. The figure cringed.
"I am Lithsara," hissed the creature. "An emissary from the Ser-"
"I have no interest in your name," the voice said, interrupting her. "Nor do I treat with lesser beings. The only emissary I am in interested is one who brings an offer of surrender. But you, you are not a human, you stink of Medusa."
"Ssstink?" hissed the figure, anger making her bold. "How can you tell what I am, over your own stench? And the Serpent Kingdom - "
"Shall burn, even as their pathetic messenger!" Three cones of fire blazed down. The Medusa screamed, flinging up an arm in a useless reflex. The flames consumed her.
Solnydien snorted. Contemptuously he tramped over the ashes of the presumptious Medusa. He entered a long, low corridor - low, that is, for him, whose height at his wing-joints was sixty feet, crouched down. He came to the end of the corridor, uttered a single word, and a great slab of rock ground upward. Light poured through the gap, falling through the ceiling far above. Made of rock, it had been scraped so thin that it was translucent.
The light illuminated Solnybien as he pulled himself completely into the chamber. He was truly a great Dragon. His three heads were each topped by golden horns as if by a crown. The horns diminished into a golden ridge that fell down his necks and merged on his back, running nearly a thousand feet along his back to the barbed end of his tail. The upper part of his body with armoured with scales that shone green like polished enamel but with the strength and durability of forged mithril. Underneath, broader bands of pale, opalescent horn-like material shielded his vitals. His wings, as he fanned them, filtered the sunlight, turning it gold as it fell through his great yellow membranes.
Around the pillar of his central neck glittered a heavy mesh which was caught and held by the spines on the back of his neck. Made of nevryl, set with with black diamonds, this was the And-Slaor Darduthiir, the Necklace of the Dragon Kings: the symbol of his power.
The chamber had several lesser Dragons in it. One, a green creature whose scales shaded to black, dipped his head in acknowledgement of his lord's entrance.
"Andaevyr," he said. "The forward army has reached its destination. It is reported that the human king of the region has been alerted to their presence."
"Then this shall play out like many other a battle between Dragons and Men," returned Solnydien, his three heads speaking as one. "Good. It will make them think that it is nothing more. I had hoped to take the vermin - and their gods - by complete surprise, but maybe this will turn out even better."
"Yes, my lord." The dark Dragon cocked his head. "Have you any further orders?"
"Let them attack. We will watch, and wait. And . . . find out what you can about a Serpent Kingdom. The name is arrogant, and therefore disturbing. There can only be one King of Dragons."
"Yes, sire." The Dragon dipped his head again and withdrew.
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 PostPosted: Fri Oct 17, 2003 12:42 am    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

The old man tottered along the road. dressed in a brown robe, with nothing on his feet, he might have been taken for a beggar. He might have, save for the ornate sword-bearing scabberd hanging at his sword, and the small but brihgtly polished iron shield on his back. In the centre of this shield was a raised, golden figure of a fiery bird. It was an ancient shield, and an ancient symbol, and it was an ancient man - though none of this was known, for little was the lore that spoke of any of them.
As day drew on, the old man lifted his eyes, and he saw a city far away. He quickened his pace a little, but then suddenly halted. He unlimbered his shield and drew his sword. He pointed at a clump of bushes to the right of the road.
"C'mon outta there, sonny," he called a high, quavering voice. "I'm not deaf yet."
A large Goblin crawled out of the bushes. He stood up, looming over the man by at least a foot. He was covered in scars, some very fresh, and a blood-soaked cloth was wrapped about one eye.
"Humin scum," it sneered. "After the Ratmin patrol I chased off, one of you pathetac wretches should be an eas' thing to deal with." It unslung a massive two-handed axe and swung it about.
"Aw, shuddup, ya little brat," snapped the old man in reply. "Didn't nobody ever teach ya to 'spect yer elders?"
"You tell me to shut up!" The goblin swung his axe up and down. The old man skittered aside, and the blow glanced from his shield. He then thrust nimbly with his blade, and the Goblin howled in pain, staggering backward while clutching his left side. The old man jumped after him. the Goblin raised his axe, but the sword flashed by it, and pierced the Goblin's heart. The Goblin gurgled and fell.
the old man sheahted his sword and reslung is buckler. He pushed the goblin over onto his back. "Now," he muttered, "let's see what junk ya have for me." Deftly he extracted a pouch, half-full of jangling coins, and searching around a bit he find a clear bottle, the liquid which was contained inside glowing like fire. "Dragonfire cordial, is it?" he said, peering at the bottle. "Well, whoop-dee-doo! I always wanted to burn a hole in me gizzard. He secreted the bottle and the pouch in his robe, and continued towards the village.
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 PostPosted: Fri Oct 17, 2003 3:09 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

The town of Dyrwood was situated within the ancient trees of Dyrwood Forest; which had been named first, city or forest, was unknown, for both had been there since time immemmorial. In the olden time, it had been little more than a collection of tents, but when Fervus came into his own a Temple was built there to honour the Lord of Chaos.
Dwelling in the forest round the town, was a legend which to the inhabitants of dyrwood seemed almost as old as the forest itself. This legend was called Luzon Glaan, and whether it was man or monster, demi-god or demon, none of the townsfolk knew for sure. Except perhaps the Cultists at the Temple, for he visited them occasionally; but who could entangle fact from fancy in their mad ravings?

In a peaceful glade, where shafts of sunlight glanced off a waterfall and its foamy pool, Luzon had paused in his rovings. He was given to wandering aout the forest, exploring its nooks and crannies, naming unknown trees and beasts. He might have been a Ranger, had it not been for his secret addiction.
He began to glance around, then angrily shook his head. There is no here, he chided himself. And, even if there were any from the town, they would simply add it to the store of legends already told about me. Swiftly he drew a bottle from his tunic. Holding it up, he studied the amber liquid within. Then he put it to his lips, and eagerly drank it all.
Then, as the magic began to tingle through hi, he shed his clothes. He cried aloud in ecstasy and pain as the transformation took hold, and his body shifted. Then it was over, and he shook himself, his body that of a great cat. This was his addiction, to assume the forms of different beasts of prey. for this, he had committed many a crime, and had at last been caught and exiled from his own home.
But, even as he prepared to hunt - for such was his custom, to eat while in a morphed shape - his ears, now keener, caught unfamiliar sounds. Female voices, like those of humans but far sweeter, were speaking together. He recognized their tongue; it was the language of the Dryads, some of the words of which he knew.
"Well, sister, what news? Who is this new lord who claims dominion over the woodlands?"
"He named himself Nannuidhrsat,
(that is, "Ancient and Eternal Master) but I think we know him better as Crmaurth."
The Witch King! thought Luzon. Then he is not dead? Woe has come to the Dyrwood, if that is true! His ears laid back, he padded silently towards the Dryads, and listened.
Their conversation was deeply disturbing. It seemed that the Witch King had returned, and set up a secret fortress somewhere in the Dyrwood. From there he was sending out spies, and scouts, feeling out the darker inhabitants of the wood. Already a force of Daemonwood had assembled about him, and it seemed these Dryads' Queen had also pledged her loyalty to him.
Dark times, indeed, he thought. I must hurry to the town, and warn the Cultists. Hopefully the people will listen to them, and the Cultists will deliver the message! Curse my affliction! If I were not so weak of will, I might have warned them myself! But a hunting cat cannot bear tidings.
He hurried off, leaving the Dryads to discuss their conquest of the human kingdoms.
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Joined: 23 Feb 2002
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Location: The Dragon's Castle of Rivendell

 PostPosted: Sun Oct 19, 2003 9:52 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

As a man stepped through a the door of an inn he was immediatly greeted with cheers and welcomes.
"Ah! Sir Reron Sharpsword," said the bar tender. "It's been awhile since we've seen you in The Broken Axe."
"It has," replied Reron, taking a seat. "King Trelsan has had a lot of bounties on thieves. I caught most of them but the only one I can't find is the shapeshifter."
"Welcome back, Reron."
Reron nearly jumped out of his seat. As he turned around he saw Selona's familiar travel cloak.
"Selona! It has been awhile!"
"It has," replied the half-elf. "So any news of the cultists?"
Remembering Selona's love for the chaos Reron sighed.
"They can't find any animals in the forest. Some times the scout hasen't returned."
At that word a door flew open revealing a out-of-breath cultist.
"Is Reron here," panted the cultist.
"I am. What is needed of me?"
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 PostPosted: Sun Oct 19, 2003 11:54 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

"Sir Reron! Your services are needed!" The Warrior stood.
"Well, everywhere, don't you know." The Cultist waved an arm about. "The Witch King has returned, to our forest!"
"Ridiculous," snapped Reron. The Witch King was destroyed - what, eighty, ninety years ago?"
"Ridiculous or not, it's true, by Fervus' mask I swear!"
Reron rolled his eyes, but Selona put a hand on his shoulder. "He speaks the truth. I know these Cultists, and I can tell when they're lying or not."
"Maybe he thinks it's the truth." Reron eyed the Cultist. "Where did you get your news?"
"Oh," said the Cultist, glancing around furtively from behind his mask. "A friend brought it in."
"Friend?" repeated Reron.
"Luzon Glaan, a local legend," Selona whispered in his ear. "I'm not sure if he's a feral Ranger, or a nature spirit, but he visits the Cultists occasionally."
"Luzon Glaan," said Reron thoughtfully. "I've heard about him. Could he be the shapeshifter the king wants? In any case, I'll seek him out." To the Cultist he said: "Where is Luzon now?"
"Who can say?" asked the Cultist. "He is here, he is there, he is anywhere. But, I did see him at the Temple."
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 PostPosted: Wed Oct 22, 2003 5:30 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

As Reron walked through the town he wondered how it was possible that the Witch King is alive, if it is indeed true. It may just be cultist lies and Selona is losing her touch but then again Selona knows cultists better than anyone. Aproaching the Temple of Fervus, Reron quickened his pace.
"I can not waste time," thought Reron. "If he is back then we have to strike while he is still weak."
As Reron entered the temple he saw a cat-human sitting impatiently on a rock.
"Luzon Glaan," said Reron. Luzon stood up, his impatience finally lifting.
"Yes, I am Luzon. And you are Sir Reron?" Reron nods. "You have been trying to collect the bounty on my head for some time now haven't you?"
"I have. But this is not why we are here. Is it true that the Witch King has returned?"
"Yes, it is true. We must fight back quickly befo-"
"I'm not agreeing to gathering an army until i have seen an army approach."
"Have you not seen the recently increasing number of Daemen Woods, Dryads, and Giant Spiders?"
"Yes, I have, but there sti-"
"Not to mention, our lack of ability to charm them," interuppted a cultist.
"There you see," said Luzon. "He has returned. If you accept it or not makes no difference."
"I shall help you gather an army," replied Reron. "But it will cost you if you are incorrect."
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 PostPosted: Wed Oct 22, 2003 5:49 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

In Saventay, The City of Order, Sir Trelas walked into the Coal BlackSmith.
"Ah Sir Trelas," said the dwarven blacksmith. "Are ya here ta pick up ya Sword of Speed?"
"I am. What news of the scout?"
"Ay, the Scout." The dwarf sighed. "'e never returned. 'e did send the red flame signal though."
An army! So the Solarus was correct.
"Has the king sent a messenger to Drywood," asked Trelas.
"Yes, just yesterday. Infact 'e sent three solarii ta guard 'im. He doesn't seem like 'e wants ta take any chances. Ya can't blame him can ya for wantin keep 'is messenger safe."
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 PostPosted: Thu Oct 23, 2003 1:27 am    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

Luzon stretched, feeling his muscles snap. The potion was quickly wearing off; before long he would be completely human.
"My information is never wrong," he said. "I either know something or I don't. I have sensed the Witch King for some time now without realizing it was him. Only when I heard some of his minions speaking, did I know the source of the shadow darkening Dyrwood Forest."

Dyrwood Forest was bounded on the north by the Morruin Hills, a spur marching down southwest from the Hellfire Mountains and the Mountains of Doom. It was a wild country, as was the northern forest. Many places here were dark and drear, where the memory of evil creatures lingered on in the hollows of the Hills and the glens of the Forest.
Still, Men lived there; Barbarians of the ancient order of Krolm who wandered the land, under the rule of their chieftain who maintained a permanent settlement at Carbree, consisting mainly of a Temple to Krolm, the chieftain's lodge, and a collection of shanties where lived the small, smelly workhounds called Gnomes. It was built on a hilltop, and was further protected by a ditch and rampart that encircled the hill, peirced by only one gate which was guard by two towers and a bridge over the ditch which could be thrown down in case of need.
Many other camps were scattered about the hill country, hilltops similarly fortified with tents and supplies within against the need of nomads who must fall back on a secure place in the face of danger from weather or monsters.
Such was the camp of Beechenten. The fortified camp there had been occupied for some three days. Barbarians huddled around fires within the compound, for it was unusually cold for that time of year. A strange lethargy gripped most of the warriors, and the sentries leaned on their long-hafted axes on the gateposts, nodding on the edge of sleep. Outside the camp there were dark groves of trees which had not been there a week before; no ordinary trees were they, but Daemonwood, malevolent spirits inhabiting a body of wood. Green shapes and grey flitted hither and thither; the wise men in the camp said the former were Dryads, but they could put no name to the latter. When the Barbarians first encoutered them, they had proved to be ferocious, quick beasts who gored the humans on bitterly keen horns. It was these creatures, more than the stinging arrows of the Dryads, that had driven the Barbarians into this refuge; it was only after they had closed the gate that the Daemonwood had appeared and planted themselves in seige against the Barbarians.
Outside the camp, screened from the Barbarians' view by a particularly dense grove of Daemonwood a tent had been erected. Its colours were grey, black and red. A flag flew from its peak; it bore an evil symbol in red on a black field. Pale light emanated from the partially closed flaps of the tent. Here were the commanders of the undead force.
"So," hissed a deadly female voice, cold as the winds on Krolm's anvil, "they are growing desperate. The fools must be starving, locked away behind their precious wooden wall."
said another, deeper voice, "we caught them in the middle of a hunting expedition. They had, I think, very little food to begin with, and, as fortune would have it, we came upon in time to prevent them getting more. But we should storm their camp, before their shamans discern the nature of the spell and break it. If the crippling effect is broken, the Barbarians will have a fierce resistance; they may even try a sortie. We should act now!"
"Soon, my general. Soon, between starvation and the Master's spell, they will not even be able to lift their weapons. Then let us strike. Even if their pathetic shamans discovered the nature of the spell, do you think they could break the Witch King's will?"
"The fire of Krolm is hot,"
replied the other voice.
"And our hatred is cold. Fear not! We shall have our revenge on these mortal, human dogs before long. Curb your impatience 'til then."

[ 24. October 2003, 01:18 AM: Message edited by: Falotar ]
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 PostPosted: Sat Oct 25, 2003 1:55 am    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

"Cheer up, Milord!" Yor Niqual, Captain of the Palace Guard, was one of the few people in Saventay not to be affected by the air of gloom which hung about the Palace. He was eating his noon meal with his lord and life-long friend, Calorus Ainel, King of Saventay. The two ate alone, seated at a small table in the King's private quarters. A servant stood at the doorway, waiting in case something was caled for.
The King sat with his head in his hands. His plate was empty, not because he had finished his meal, but because he had never taken anything from the trays in the middle of the table. Yor looked at him over a greasy pheasant thigh which he held on the end of a long dagger (Yor was oblivious to tableware, or manners), and snorted.
"Look at you," he said, setting his dagger down. The meat slipped from it and fell to the floor, where Yor's dragonhound quickly snapped it up. "A few undead aren't the end of the world! Why, they're hardly enough to work up a sweat!"
"'A few undead'?" repeated Calorus, speaking through his hands. "There are hundreds of them wandering the countryside. No-one dares leave the city without at least one Hero with them. Several of the outlying villages have been attacked, and Nenthiay lies in ruins. My people are being hunted, and I do not not know why!"
"Then find out!" Yor picked up his dagger, shrugged at the lack of meat on it, and skewered another part of the mutilated bird on the platter before him. "Send an expedition out to discover the source of this scourge." He popped a wing into his mouth, and chewed noisily.
"If only I could! All the Heroes are needed here, to defend the city. Not only are the dead walking, but apparently the rumours of Dragons are true as well. The Ranger who went out to verify them has never returned, but his fellows reported seeing the Red Flame, which means he discovered the Dragons."
"Bah!" Yor swallowed and grabbed up a tankard of ale. He drank it down, wiped his mouth on his bare arm, and stood. "Who ever heard of a Dragon army? Those critturs hate each other more than they do us!"
"They were united once," said Calorus, looking up at last.
"If you believe in old legends." Yor snapped his fingers. "That for your Dragon army! If it ever does materialize, I'll deal with it! But in the meantime, you'd best eat. Nobody ever solved problems on an empty stomach. C'mon, boy," he said to his dog. The great dragonhound yawned, and got up from under the table, following its master out of the dining chamber.
Calorus smiled a little. He reached out and take up a roll of white bread. Diping it in the sauce beside his plate, he slowly began to eat.
But he knew his worries would not vanish with the food. Would his message reach Dyrwood? If it did, would their king respond? There had been long enmity between the two realms, but surely, in these troublous times, they could lay aside their differences. For the good of the land, Calorus hoped so.
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 PostPosted: Sat Oct 25, 2003 7:09 pm    Post subject: The Great War Reply with quote Back to top

The Sun set. The Barbarians had not even the strength to sound the Challenge to Lunord as the silver disk rose over the Hills. Red eyes gleamed all around the camp as the grey beasts ceased their prowling, and drew closer. The evil trees rustled their branches, green bowstrings tautened. There was a whisper of Dryadic chant. Then all around the camp and within it fell silence.
The Daemonwood parted as two tall figures in spiked armour strode forward to view the Barbarian camp. In front was a shorter figures with long thin swords sheathed at its sides. Behind was a taller figure who held a long hammer loosely in its right hand.
"They are completely exhausted," said the figure in the front. Her voice was as cold as the light of her swords as she drew them.
"Yes," agreed the other, the word grating from his unseen throat.
"Now!" cried the first one, "Slay them all in the name of the Witch King! Shadowbeasts, attack!" She thrust her right sword into the air. It burned pale blue, casting a wan light over the horned helm and the skeletal face of the Barrow Wight.
The a snarl, the Shadowbeasts leaped to the attack. The Dryads and Daemonwood, not understanding the tongue but catching the meaning, moved forth as well. Within the camp, the Barbarians groaned and tried to draw weapons with lifeless hands.
The ditch and rampart could not stop the Shadowbeasts. With a single jump they cleared both. Overhead, the Moon glinted on the green-stained heads of arrows as they fell among the Barbarians. The humans screamed as they were pierced by arrows and ripped by the horns and claws of the Shadowbeasts. Few could even wield their weapons; the Barbarians could not hope to defend themselves.
The gate of the camp collapsed under the assault of the inexorable Daemonwood. Barbarians were torn apart as the fell tree-spirits advanced. Then the Dryads appeared on the rampart, raining down arrows and magic upon the camp. Still, the Barbarians fought - without hope, without spirit, but only with a sullen refusal to retreat.
Olnstadt was the name of their chieftain, Olnstadt Trollhide. He wielded his two-handed axe with nearly his usual vigour, for his fierce spirit had staunchly resisted the debilitating spell. Still, he could not hope to hold off the Shadowbeasts forever, as his followers fell about him and the grey monsters pressed closer. And, when the Daemonwood finally reached him, he knew he would die. He lifted his axe, and prepared one final shout before he charged forth from the ruins of his tent in a final bid to break free of the ring of undead.
The roar came, but with far more force then his weary voice could give it. wondering, he lowered his axe and looked about. The shadowbeasts had drawn away, and several lay dead beside him, cleft not by his axe but by a sword. He turned, and there stood a tall Warrior, holding long sword and shield. His eyes burned in the moonlight. Beside his sword, an axe and mace were strapped to his belt, a long-hafted weapon resembling a pike was strapped to his back, and the Barbarian even fancied he saw a bow and quiver slung over the stranger's shoulder.
"You looked to be in need of assistance," said the stranger in a rough tone. "And I am in need of practice. Allow me to fight these beasts."
Olnstadt grunted, and nodded his head. Saying no more, the strange Warrior ran past him.
The Shadowbeasts snarled and leapt at him. The Warrior swung his swung. A dozen of the undead creatures were flung back, nearly slashed in two. Of those that he remained he deflected their blows with his shield, then bashed one's skull in and decapitated two more. Another wave rushed him. He kicked one Shadowbeast into the others, then charged, stabbing with precise motions in the mass of grey bodies.
The remained Shadowbeasts fell back, snarling in their unnatural tongue. From the rest of the camp, the other Shadowbeast left off tearing at the defenseless Barbarians and circled around the Warrior.
He laughed. Sheathing his sword and slinging his shield onto his back, he unslung his polearm. He twirled the strange pike before him, and spun so that his brown eyes encompassed all the red flame of the Shadowbeasts' deadly gaze. "Come!" he cried. "The blade of Valyrex shall release you from your torment! Or do you fear death so much?"
The Shadowbeasts behind him growled and threw themselves at him. He ducked and swung upwards, sending the grey forms hurtling into the air above him. Before any landed, he turned to the Shadowbeasts on his other side, swinging his weapon and cutting swathes through the press of grey undead. The remainder he charged; he spun again and sent them flying. Then, those still left able to move fled, grolwing and snarling in defeat. He laughed again, and quickly put away his glaive.
He drew his mace and raised his shield, for now the Daemonwood appraoched. Not waiting for them, he charged. His mace crashed into the bole of one. There was a splintering of wood, and the tree fell. Another swept its cruel branching arm at him, kncoking the shield from his hand, but he jumped forward and crushed his mace into its gnarled face. Using this momentum, he flipped backward, away from the reach of the other Daemonwood. He pulled out his axe. Lifting his weapons to the skies, he let out a great shout.
the daemonwood paused. as the echoes of the wordless cry passed over and back through them. Olnstadt lifted up his head. Grasping his own axe, he lifted it aloft.
"For Krolm, my brothers!" cried the Barbarian. "He has sent us a deliverer, but will we let him fight for us alone? Rouse yourselves! Krolm!"
The still-living Barbarians pushed themselves up from where they had fallen. New fire was in their eyes as they grasped their weapons. Ignoring wounds and weariness, they gathered around their chieftain. then, with one last roar, they charged the hesitating Daemonwood.
"Impossible!" hissed the sword-wielding undead. "Where did this man come from?"
"Shall we join the battle ourselves?"
asked the other, hefting his hammer.
"No. This battle is lost. Even we might be overcome by those Barbarians when they are in this state. Let us pull back!"
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