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The Baroness' Reposte


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Fyodor eyed the flaming crater in Dobrov, scratching his head with a grimace. "She really did it..."

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An ancient fiend cackles from the gloomy woods of Dobrov, clapping, amused at the sight of ruin.

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The leader of the Miners' Plot cheers. The Dobrov Motherlode is blasted wide open.

 

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George Galbraith would likely roll in his grave, his back severly injured in his youth after aiding the creation of Woldzmir, brick by brick.

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Ysidora would be seen conversing with her dear friend Marion. A look of shock lingered upon her visage after hearing such news. The Vasoyevi and her dramatic self, threw her hands upward as she spoke.”This is why I scolded you at that duma, stuff like this will HAPPEN!” She shook her hands.”but noooo, no one ever listens to sweet Ysidora, because I am too much of a pacifist!” she huffed in frustration. 

 

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An Illatian stamps his boot to the dirt in wrath, staring bewildered at the crater left behind- and nods slowly thereafter, muttering a scant comfort to himself.

“We’ll have to adapt.”

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She lazily pans aside to her fallen compatriot and barely stifles the snort that escapes her. "The reason this happened, my sweet- my Ysidora," she began to chide, piercing eyes returning to her own reflection which shone in the aforementioned dame's mirror, "...is because of pacifists like you. Mrm. A lovely characteristic- but it's one that shall get you nowhere, in this world." With a clatter, Marion rummaged about for her cigar box- and hissed through grit teeth, 

".. something- something must be done."

 

Spoiler

 

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Within the plains of that forest, glittering clouds circled around one's boots, clearing away once they had helped him settle onto the ground. His figure grew, plate of a prismarine hue clambering over his body - his verdant gaze hidden behind that dark visor. As he settled onto one of the nearby roofs, he'd watch the fresh flames light a beacon up into the sky, embers rushing past his crimson shawl. 
Three more figures were visible behind him, but.. only to him. 

 



"Did it! Did it, she did!"
The second figure stood silent, his expression unseen behind his mask.
"By the Gods.." They'd mutter under their breath, almost to themselves. "What has she done? This be.."
The figure ignored the words of his counterparts, his mirages, or perhaps himself. "Why do you all look in shock?" He'd express his words to them, turning upon a metal heel with his arms gestured towards that deep crater. "The Moth did the right thing! Did she not?!" 
"Thy know this not be the way." That cross-legged figure affirmed his statement with a slam of his staff. "Doth this not borderline that of heresy? What if some poor soul was inside?"
"Then the decision was hers, and hers to make. Just like him, all that time ago. That is it."
".. Yes, it was."

However, amidst the pair's argument, another pair of eyes watched from the distance. A light smile grew upon their tanned features.
"It's about that time. I think I'll try to find you now."

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Through the muddy marches of Northern Haense trudged the young Joseph Alexander, his face ever grim and bleak.

 

”There’s happiness Joey, no matter how cruel this world is.” The words of his mentor rang in his head as the march grew harder for the nimble teen, the words of Moliana grew louder as the pain in his feet dissipated.

 

”I saw myself in you, Joseph. That is why.” A small tear fell from his eye as he continued onwards, the sharp weather of the North wheezing through the woods.

 

”It’ll be alright, I promise.” He stopped, the young teen sat onto a rock as those words came back again and again. It wasn’t alright, his family estranged, his friends alienated and most importantly, the mentor whom had always looked after him was gone. Within moments of realization the boy began to break down and wail. There he sat for hours, waiting for Moliana to offer him a hand in this cruel life once again.

 

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