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Aeline grins somewhat wide and wickedly, "Oh ti...now this is fun" she said with a tinge of excitement in her voice

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And so, it would come to pass that a chill of foulest sort would wash over the port city of the Grotto, a gust more akin to northern frost than tropical warmth rolling through the city. From the shadows of the jungle, a garish mutt would pad forth, cloak of billowing darkness following in its wake. It would regard such missive with a lupine grin, cheshire in its make as an aura of malevolent intent hung about manged fur and Elysian smog. And thus, the dog, that garish, ghastly Hound, galvanized by mortal folly and beckoning forth from the veil of oblivion, would utter henceforth, in tone of horrific Raev persuasion; 

 

"'Lo, gaze upon the sinners, they who spurn the Divine and cling to falsified niceties, acting as the Betrayer had in ages yore. For it is these wretches, these foul blackguards of rodent-minded mannerisms, that seek to lay low the innocent for their own petty, material gains... Woe, I say, woe to them! For soon, they shall find that the wrath of GOD is swift and terrible, loosed from the heavens as a sword of Damocles, unrivaled in its splendor." 

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Parmer steeples her fingers over a nice mug of cocoa on the mantle in her new basement apartment. Cupboards creak as wood expands, Amber Cold driven out by an ashy flame of questionable documents. She grunts at these, as well as the contract on her lap; not her best works. She should practice her dwarven penmanship. Otherwise it is heavy and silent.

 

Soon, but not very soon, Parmer sips her cocoa, and splashes it across the floorboards, boiling the varnish and shattering the mug.

 

. . .

 

She crosses her legs and holds the contract up to the flickering light. Not her worst work. It has only managed to kill a few people so far, nowhere near the impact of some previous ventures, and certainly incomparable to the scheming of kings. The final few documents curl in the fireplace, dimming the mood. The cocoa settles. The cupboards creak.

 

Parmer rolls up the contract, saunters to the fireplace, and places it neatly on the mantle. She rummages through her storeroom and tosses out a few objects in a clinking clamor. She briefly visits the surface to send off a bird, then returns on the heavy, silent elevator, to the darkness of her new basement apartment, and yanks open a cupboard.

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While working in the forges of The Grand Kingdom of Urguan, Gu Tie simply reads over the missive - an eyebrow arched under his swine mask. He huffs lightly as he throws the missive into the roaring flames of the forge.

 

"If my intuition serves me well, the militia isn't going to abide by the terms," the armored Li-Ren states as he picks up his hammer and begins to beat the metal, the ringing of the material echoing through the workplace, "M-xi, they will not."

 

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"A militia of Talon's Port is far more appealing than a group of mercenaries who are only loyal to their next pay." Ruathar Indoren comments with a shake of his head, going back to tending to his rooftop garden.

Edited by Dulanic
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Silas Astasel reads over the letter with little more than a smirk. He tosses it aside. 

Big things are in motion.

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Sat within their halls, under the dancing and ever shifting shadows of torchlight Arvedth shakes his head at the document. Just as he'd done when it was proposed. He'd mutter to no one in particular, as if Renault was still stood before him, "There will be no discussion. No intent to adhere. Only feigned moral high ground and empty circular words, Just as the Galfreds spoke of in their letters. Even when the old Elven capital was burned, its people whole heartedly slaughtered and its city brought to ruin, their leaders seemed to forget the history that brought them to that point. As though their ever-preached fatigue had become absent and they remained defiant through out any attempts at diplomacy. For a people like this, you need only apply pressure over time. Something they will come to understand."

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Girgin Grandaxe finally reaches the Metinan Keep, after a long and exhausting ride from Urguan. He would sit by the gate for a while as he then dismounts and laughs.

 

"When we start the killing?" he would then laugh even more as he takes out the map he was carrying to study the roads to Talon's Port.

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Yuelena read over the missive quietly before looking off giggling some as she remembered the last encounter. "Watching those men flee the city with their tail between their legs was quite the sight" she crumples up the paper tossing it onto her fire using it as kindling to cook her meal.

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Tomas Bernt Fitzgerald, an attorney-at-law with a knack for camp-following mercenaries, recalls a bygone tale of the Purge of Halsworthy, and contemplates the parallels. 

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Marianne'a VIsconti, watches over Osanora from her Balcony, upon hearing the news via a letter from a close friend, she'd scoff at the now banished group with a hint of amusement at her thought "Idiots!, lower than the shark Feces scraped off a boats Hull" She'd let out a loud laugh scrapping the letter burning it over a little lamp near her writing desk.  

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