Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Mar 3, 2014 2:38:23 GMT
After a day of raiding the borderlands to the southeast, Ainvar sat at his desk, his maille armor lay spread out in front of him while he gripped a pair of armor pliers, repairing a fresh hole in the chain. 'Damned fools, when will they learn to disperse from these lands? Tis bad enough I must contend with these foul Gor, yet I find myself still running off these pitchfork bearing peasants', he muttered to himslf as he inserted a link, pinched it together, and repeated. Since the Beastman attacks, the usual warbands of displaced men seemed to grow more often. Perhaps they thought the mighty White Keep was left weak? Only a madman would think such fables, or better yet, dead men.