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A Meetin' In The Pub

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Fumble gathers the residents of Ivybend in the Pub, all sitting around the fire with hot mugs of cider they discuss the threats from Free Men. Fumble begins,

"We mus'a pay the ransom i' Will i' to live!?"
He awaits everyone else's response. He scrolls down the long list again, reading off the demands.

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Thimble enters the room, his hair, clothes and hat all wet from the late day rains of spring. Not bothering to hang up his coat he speaks from the doorframe.

"We'll 'ave no need fer a ransom lad. It would seem Amelia is gone. Though the conversation will continue, as to what mus' be done from 'ere on out."

He tips his hat back down over his eyes as a crack of thunder shakes IvyBend. That or a tambourine, the reaction is the same.

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"Aye, Amelia be dead sadly. Loike I said, ignore 'em, Par'y Elf will 'andle it"

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"Bu' Will ain' dead!"

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"Bu' Will ain' dead!"

 

"Jus' forge' it, more Flay bigg'uns antagonizin' us, don' matteh"

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"B-b-but Will..."

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"Please tell!"

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Thimble looks up at the biggun, glaring at him.

"Ye 'rying te be clever biggun? We know tha' already ye twa'."

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