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To Renilde I


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Sir Lucien Ashford de Rouen reads the missive within Barrows Crossing. He emits a sigh through his lips before speaking. "I should've beat these damn kids more often so they could actually fight." 

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The young lord Albert Salvian stood alongside his younger sister, helping her write as any supportive sibling should.
"St-Stay strong, Elowyn."

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Constanz looks over the ashen bodies, the socket of his eye dripping blood onto the Petran ground. They had called upon the Archduchess, and the Ferrymen had come in her place. The cries of the Petrans over the fallen rang in his ears. A dismal affair.

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Sir Gwendel Vilac was currently hitting a tree as he listened to the missive being read outloud by one of his comrads... After all he had just lost so many who stood him close.. Either by the hand of ferrymen, azdrazi and even foregin powers...

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Constantine Malenos would move to aid those whom were harmed by Azdrazi, outside raiders, and the like. "T-They hold no honor nor consideration." 

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*The realization that kids write letters better than one speaks in tongue*

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A Keeper of Xan would bow her head in respect for the departed - those unjustly taken by draconic flames over a war which never should have come to pass.

 

"Non draco sit mihi dux. Ave Janus; Ordo Vult." 

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*Mayrin Evergreen got wind od the missive whilst being in glebite captivity and shook her head* those poor folks.. how cowardly to ask other people to fight for you! The Archduke better win this SO HELP ME GOTT

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"I do not understand. They raised an army in declaration of war for the aim of deposing the Archduchess, yet, complain when those who raise blade for him are killed, and his army are outmaneuvered, outwitted, and are out armed in battle?" Adelric questioned.

 

"Pray tell, is the Cuck of Vafleur uneducated about the folly of war? It is not some abysmal construct: war inevitably leads to death. Does he think his of war has no consequence, no strife? He could have ended the war last night if he simply signed the peace treaty offered to him."

 

"How will you declare war, yet complain when your army cannot handle it? The deaths he complains of, are his burden only!"

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The mother of de Lyons stared at the river Petra, the cloak wrapped around her weak figure. Blue eyes that had once been so full of life had iced over. In front of her stood her son, the blond who looked so much like her late husband, the man killed at the hands those not even of Petran blood or spirit. Her grip upon the nine-year-old's shoulder tightens as she drew a sharp breath through her nostrils. They watched the sunrise, the golden hues of morning light shining upon Petra.  

 

Juliana looked to her son, lifting her hand as she signs to the hopeful luminescence. 

 

For as long as the sun shines upon the Commonwealth, we shall not be oppressed. 

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Reading the public missive Flotsam frowned. At least she had parents that lived her. “How hard it must be to be a princess?” He scoffed aloud. Though inwardly he felt sadness for the girl and shame for his words. 

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Robyn de Lyons would read over the missive with a nod, once happy and curious expression still marred with a deep, troubled frown, one which had not oft left it since the death of his father. He'd look to his mother as she'd sign to him and nod, saying softly and reassuringly "We can't let them win, mamej, we can't...not after what they've done to papa...to everyone...." He'd say, expression mostly resolved, already cried as much as he could have, they boy's expression and tone bearing a sort of grim resolve, perhaps a slight tinge of hope upon it, though his frown would deepen slightly as he'd turn away, as time has begun to stress to him his mother's constant silence and cold, and that perhaps his father was not the only thing lost that day, at least in terms of their presence and demeanor.

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