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Grainger

A small note pinned on the walls of the Gallows End Tavern

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"It is with great sadness that The Grim announce the passing of the Necromancer Maledictus from this world. Per his wishes, his remains now lie in an unmarked grave in the Brill graveyard.

As a mark of respect, the rank of Necromancer has been retired from the guild rolls.

It is with much honor and humility that I now take up the mantle of leadership of The Grim.

Peace through Annihilation

Grainger

Steward of The Grim"

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"Fifteen...sixteen...seventeen...eight.." His count ended abruptly. The string to his paddleball had snapped sending the ball careening into a silverleaf bush. Taking a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed, he saw the proclamation on the wall.

Malebrignon stared at the sign, mouth agape in disbelief.

"I'd hoped to learn so much from that one..." he mutters absently. "This requires...well, I'm not sure what, but something. Yes, something..."

The old lich shuffled off into the morning mist, his eyes gleaming a peculiar shade of purple.

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Lupa had just meant to stop to quicly purchase some roasted quail to satisfy the bottemless hunger of Tempest when her eye caught the notice.

Her initial reaction of shock slowly changed to one of melancholy. Maledictus, Showfeather, she remembered them well in dealings past between their great clans. Of Grainger she knew little.

"Hmm, best be aqauntin ourselves wit dis new 'Steward', she thought. "Da world changes and folk come and go as da Gods allow;" her ma was wont to say. She made a promise to introduce herself to this new Steward of the Grim as soon as her duties would allow, and report her impressions to Torg.

As she left the inn and entered the dense bushes nearby, she stepped on a object that nearly tripped her up. Reaching down Lupa picked up what appeared to be a small, hard rubber ball. Shrugging, she popped it into her pack...

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*Notices the note while stopping in for supplies*

So it's true then.....a shame. I wonder how The Grim will be from now on, or if we can still be allies. I must talk with this new leader soon, either way....

*A look of sorrow briefly crosses his face, before he realizes it and shakes it off*

A shame indeed....

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The doorway was filled by a large stinking form. The pungent kiss of sweat and blood wafted in, filling your nostrils. Beneath a battered helm, bloodshot eyes darted about resting a moment on Zusteakai, visibly narrowing.

"Why don't you hold yer breath while ya wait fer Da Grim to fall little troll?"

The large orc walked up to the bar, dropping a bloody sack onto it's surface with a wet thud. He wore heavy plate armor and the blood soaked tabbard of The Grim. On his back a monstrous shield, on his belt, a vicious looking axe, all of it splattered and caked with blood. He grunted for a drink. The barkeep slid one over and reached tentatively towards the sack, stopping suddenly upon meeting the orcs gaze.

"Touch me elf ears an I startinum sack fer stupid peoples hands."

The barkeep suddenly found there were things to be done, elsewhere, and quietly slipped into the back.

The orc's cloak moved about on his shoulders and a shining black reptilian head slid from beneath it and studied the room. The orc reached into the sack and produced a slender red soaked bluish ear. He held it over his shoulder without looking. The dragon whelp snatched it up and with a quick snap back of it's sinuey neck; swallowed it whole and continued to survey the room, resting a moment on a certain troll.

The whelp opened wide its small jaws, exposing rows of tiny teeth as it hissed at the troll.

"I could nub agree more Mista Undafoot..." the orc said softly downing the rest of his beer.

"I could nub agree more..."

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