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Llyria’s Pest Control


Ioannis
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Silir Uradir nods with a sudden gratification, a joyous form of anger piercing his cerulean gaze.

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“My plan is still the best,” insists Prince Aldred, playing with his toy soldiers

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The innocent Goan Aldin reads from the comfort of his bar. “I just want to make drinks.”

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*Huntek starts clapping his hands together in a rythym humming some tribal songs dancing on the snow*  Mi brothas wah a time fi be alive”

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Sounds loike an epic win

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6 minutes ago, Ioannis said:

“However, there is another matter. I revel at the opportunity to strike down the Llyrian corruptions, but what of the normal citizens there? Plenty of innocents reside in that wretched city. Would we be just to treat them the same?”


“I say we allow those who wish to leave the city pass through our siege lines.

 

Datura nods approvingly at this sentiment; hoping others will also read this.

 

7 minutes ago, Ioannis said:

“I don’t know. Maybe ten?”

 

Datura’s skygod can not help but snicker. 

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The elf held his palm over the long suffered mark of Agony's doing, which marred his left bicep.

 

Legions of demons, undead at beck and call... seen with his own eyes years ago, and it their numbers had only increased.

 

He hoped the information provided would be enough to begin to root out the Dark: that none may suffer the wicked malflame again. In lacking of such, his mind was filled with the plans of a holy armoury. Such was his Oath, his heritage, his purpose.

 

The call would be put forth after his signature.

 

"I shall make the rounds, and be certain we are prepared for the fight ahead. To combat the truly wicked and the dark - and speak of the Darkness which still lies before us."

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Shakul’Gorkil grumbles as he contemplates rallying for the war on the Dwarves’ side anyway before realizing that’d mean fighting along elves, grumbling as he shook his head and grumbled, now contemplating rallying for war on the Llyrian’s side before then re-contemplating that position and instead choosing to contemplate rallying as a 3rd party altogether.

 

Melbil Frostbeard looks foward to the fight, his injured status not letting him be put down as he rested in the barracks of the Frostbeard clan, his injuries sustained at the hands of Llyrian dark magic.

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Dirty Goon clears his throat from behind the EVIL and UNJUST red-tag prison he finds himself in. “Ez.” He offers sagely.

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Somewhere, someone ponders the news of an official plan of attack regarding Llyria. "No better time to start smuggling."

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