Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24274010-20140102175228/@comment-1665852-20140215205723

The old Argonian lifted his hood, and revealed a man of middle age, mid 40's, early 50's. The plume of feathers on his head, while not as vibrant as before, still had a bright redish tint. His green scales decorated his body, while his hands were grey, like iron. Reaching for the mace by his side, the newcomer began to speak, very very angrily.

"Thisssss is unbelievable. I leave for little lessssss than a month, and I come back to find Castle Volkihar out of our handsssss, and the sssssite of a massssssive battle. Even more, I find that our intrepid new leader hassssss our bright clan living in run down forts caves. Cavesssss! I underssssstand the need for new recruitsssss, but now we can sssstrike once more."

The rusty mace immediately transformed from the rust into a mighty artifact. "I am Hands-Like-Iron, armed with the Mace of Molag Bal, and I am ready to lead our army to ssssseize our home."