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A SON AVENGED - VICTORY


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Ban Estrosa would laugh, as he set down a sack filled with wood elven ears"Things were just getting fun"

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Lylianth Ithelanen situated her plated armor upon its stand, sighing lightly in her painfully quiet chambers. Her days of anger-fueled bloodshed were over, it seemed - at least for now. Her Other had been avenged, after all, and his murderer had suffered at her hands.

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Within the frozen north, then, would an 'Ame glance upon such missive; for as one death was avenged, another was committed. Though set upon by the ravages of sorrow and rage, she would remember of a dearest friend, widowed and given her peace at long last. That night, an azure candle would be extinguished, a pale white candle instead replacing it upon her nightstand. 

 

It was in the nature of Mali to remember; even more, it was in their nature to grieve those they had loved, and those who were claimed far earlier than they should have been. 

 

Perhaps she would send her friend a letter, in due time. 

 

But for now, she grieved. 

 

Spoiler

 

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Sodden scripts are sent at once to the throne of Kairn, pleading a certain request.

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"He will never be avenged," mused Andria to herself as she held a crumpled up copy of Vulen's Accord in her palm. "Not until the Red Coyote is dead."

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"What a shame." The snow elf shrugged. "Haelun'or, a band of degenerates hiding be hiding in their silver walls. No honor in their people or glory in their nation, just a nation of believers in a faulty system."

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(That pic's a meme photo don't worry he's not really on fire.) 
 

Kairn returned to the native rolling hills of Keep Camlannen, his lips moving into a grim grin. Behind him his horsemen took their steeds back to the fenced off enclosed shelter of the stables. He inhaled the crisp air, before he steadied the reins and relaxed once again. If such misdeeds were to happen again, he was certain no amount of diplomacy would mitigate his wrath. He bit from an apple from his orchard, his lands bountiful and true. The horse galloped along now slowly as he gripped the reins with one hand, a small petite womanly figure sitting on the steed behind him gripping his waist.

 

"Home at last." 

 

 

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Aerendyl shakes his head as he reads the missive, remembering clearly the day that Vulen resisted a simple arrest and doomed his own fate.

 

"The council almost deserves this shameful defeat, for lacking a spine. The Sea Turtle will swallow the Crown."

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The Dark Lord was kneeling. A rare sight.

Before him stood a pile of ash, perhaps the remnants of some bonfire. That man remembered the rhythm of his flickering
 pyre, the soft trails of the wisps of smoke, and the smell of a burning corpse. It was anger that blinded him to commit the act of violence, a broken creed upon his clan. To not directly involve himself with such a matter, he went straight to the source to beg for forgiveness - and to grieve. 
His hands remained clasped together in a sort of prayer, any prayer, for him. Soon, his hands trailed down to rest upon his sides, those verdant eyes covered with a thin layer of mist. Pursing his lips, he glanced up at the sky, wondering if that man was there to hear him. And so, with no one there to listen, he began to speak; 
"When the two of us had met you, I'm sure that neither of us knew that he would become your patron. He talked to you with a gleam in his eye, and you helped revitalize his birthright- so, I'm certain he was forever grateful to you after that point. I've offered all that I can to you, so take care of him, Malchadiael. Allow him to find glory in his next life until he's finally reunited with his beloved."
Dark Dael then inhaled through his nostrils, finding his one and only prayer now concluded as he rose to a stand. His hands loosely fell limp at his sides, taking a moment before finally releasing his gaze from the horizon - and he walked, back to the darkness.

There was still much more work to do. 

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