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20 days ago
Current Someone tried to rickroll me but I already have the URL of the most popular variants of the link memorize so I know what it is when I hover over a link
1 mo ago
you can delete statuses bruv
1 mo ago
Today I spent three hours calling out traps. You're welcome, internet.
1 like
2 mos ago
2 mos ago
Everyone be cryin about global warming going to make them burn or drown meanwhile me and the canadians dabbing on them cuz we'll be the new tropics


Look at me and marvel at... I'll think of it, give me a moment.

Anyway, adding shit

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Russian (native speaker)
Belarusian, English and French as others
doing my best to learn other interdasting ones

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watches with perv binoculars
@Jbcool present and accounted for, Sah!
Karlig listened to the words of Copperbeard with much interest. The mention of Belegar Ironhammer brought a curious raising of the Engineer's eyebrows. But it seemed the mighty Ironhammer was not the one they would be fighting for on this day, no it was the very High King himself! A Dwarf born in the lands of umgi having such an honour bestowed upon him, it was unprecedented to be sure. Still, he did not put forth his excitement. Dwarves were an emotional folk even if the emotion was typically hate; he could not look like an excited beardling and so simply put forth a solemn nod.

"I shall go to the ends of the earth by the will of the High King, elder. But, what exactly shall we do in Ekrund? I don't think less than a dozen Dawi even if all great daemon slayers could retake the hold, so our cause must be something else." Karlig rubbed his own beard thoughtfully. Was there perhaps the blueprints of an invention? Or some Tome of Runelore? Perhaps a jewel so grand it could buy a mercenary armada of the manlings to march forth in the name of the Karaz Ankor? These were not these thoughts to have, but he did have an interest in them simply because it would make the quest better thought out.

Despite his seeming doubts of Copperbeard in voice, the Engineer stepped forth with his steam axe drawn and upraised in salute, smoke lightly puffing out as the blade revved. "But, elder, for the Karaz Ankor I shall do anything if so called upon. You have my axe, my heart, my soul."
Karlig descended to Barak-Varr's hangars with Master Engineer Phorkinsson with much interest in his eyes. Of the Karaz Ankor he had only seen Karak Hirn in his life, and a new hold was as much a sight to behold as the first one. He was very much interested in the unique architecture, the chosen designs of arms and armour, and all sorts of mechanisms employed. He wondered if the culture of Barak-Varr would differ significantly from that of the hold he lived in before. He knew he still didn't even fit in completely down South, would he be simply seen as an outsider, or perhaps recognized as a Dwarf from the manling cities?

Only time would tell.

As Karlig wandered about, looking for the Engineers guild in some futility, he tapped a passerby on the shoulder. He asked the kinsman where he could find what he was looking for, but did not expect the response he got. His counterpart seemed like an ordinary miner, but he informed him that his skills could be used elsewhere. He gave Karlig directions to a place that certainly wasn't the Engineer's guild, before scurrying off on his own business. Bewildered, the Engineer still didn't know where the guild was and on the basis of 'why not?' decided to go see what this ordeal might be.

When he got to Copperbeard's headquarters and came to see this Copperbeard himself, it seemed that he wasn't alone, other Dwarfs also present. Most of them had some sort of martial bearing, and the small Dammaz Kron held by the fair haired Dwarf gave him a slight foreshadowing of what was to happen. He knew he wasn't a fighter, but when you've got gunpowder and brains on your side, he didn't really have to be.

Seeing nobody else was, Karlig opted to step forth. "It's an honour to see you, Lord. Me name's Karlig: Karlig Azmarand, Engineer."
Shorty but goldy?
Rundel was marching along with the Slayers, singing songs of old and reclaiming hearth and home. He was a stranger to Karak Eight Peaks to be frank, and he believed there were holds more urgent in reclaiming. Karak Zorn for example, if it was found and retaken would truly make the Karaz Ankor an Empire again.

But, these were no longer his problems to think about. All he needed was a good death. He had gathered quite the posse, as only a few Slayers present had a more impressive kill-tally, but this did not interest him very much either. Bootlickers often only got in the way, and thus he did his best to 'politely' brush them off.

Still, morale had to be maintained. Thus he sang with his full lungs, and made a point of clanging his axes in time with the song.

When at last he arrived, he really didn't have much to do. He drank some of the more flavourful ales rather than the strong ones, for now preferring to stay sobered. Having an ambush annihilate the force before it even descended would be tragic to say the least. No, after a mere forty mugs he declared he'd had enough, and went for a wee nap until King Belegar began the incursion. Until then, he gathered his strength and dreamt of the great foes he'd kill.
Horacio no longer had the glazy eyes he had whilst in his meeting with Lisbeth, but he nevertheless looked gaunt and weary for the meeting with the ambassador. He didn't bother to speak much, but he did raise an eyebrow in question when the man stated they must come unarmed and unarmoured. It seemed in the interest of diplomacy Victorine conceded to the request, much to Horacio's surprise. If he were her, he'd tell the ambassador to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. His eyebrow rose even higher when the ambassador described in detail what attire he expected to be worn.

In acknowledgement of the formality of the occasion, Horacio trimmed an errant hair here or there, but ultimately the man was unchanged. After all, the he had more important concerns. He made sure that he brought his Rosarius and power-maul ensemble, those two always went together and he could always make an analogy to a Royal Scepter if it was questioned... an extraordinarily large one of course, to assert dominance of the Priest. But there was more to consider. The Sisters seemed to accept relinquishing their firearms, but he damn well wasn't going to do so. He put on a particularly thick, ceremonial set of robes with lots of frocking and the lot. He always forgot the right amount of starch-simulants to have used upon it, and thus it felt like he was wearing cardboard covered in sandpaper. Still, it was a necessary sacrifice. Off of his shotgun he used his power-maul to smash off most of the stock and barrel, before using a mono-knife in his grooming kit to carefully take off the rest so he wouldn't have sharp jagged metal prodding him for the time they spent on Cekrov. It was put on safety with a full load of shells, several more loads worth hid about his person. But that wasn't all he had to bring.

The Confessor looked to his bolt-pistol, and gave a weary sigh. He hid a few clips amongst various recesses amongst his robes, but he very much wanted to also keep one ready in it for the potential situation he had to quickly draw it. Considering where he was going to hide it, this would cause far more discomfort than his atrociously starched robes.

Finally donning his large hat that now housed several combat knives and units of ammunition, he was ready. Looking at his face in the mirror he still looked like shit, but having purpose took his mind off of the recent events rotting his mind.

He was the third to come - doing his best to seem like he was walking normally - waddling awkwardly due to all the things he had hidden about him. The Sisters might question his movements knowing his usual gait, but he hoped they wouldn't voice their thoughts lest the ambassador and others realize that something might be fishy - it would best be that he simply thought years ministering to spire nobility or praying down on his knees made him such.

As he neared the present duo he couldn't help but grin, giving a giggle-snort any wild hog would be proud of. Trying to choke down his chuckle but failing while he shook his head, he gave them a greeting. "Hullo Sisters, looking forward to the descent?"
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