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There Is But One Archduchess


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A golden eyed 'aheral would be lying on a bed within his keep, he had been part of the fighting to take the castle and heard the tales from his allies who stayed of what occured within the city. A small grin came to his face as he closed his eyes going back into his sleep.



Miguel had been enjoying a life off on his own after leaving the city. Until he was brought back by an old friend to help defend his Archduchess. He spent hours guarding the doors to the meeting, unaware of what was going on behind the walls. Only confident that he would live to see a united Petra, or die trying.

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“Blessed be!” Victoriano of Petra laughs!

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Valentin eyes the paper with a deep interest, happy with it's contents.

"The Consort sat there the entire meeting and provided nothing but crude comments and belligerent childishness. Hopefully the man is less wrathful after sleeping on it."

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Albert Salvian prayed before the alter of St. Emma of Woldzimir, the conflict having taken its toll on the young lord's innocence.
"May GOD have mercy upon all who take up arms. My duty is to my people, and I shan't rejoice in the loss of anyone, be they sworn to my Mother or my Father."

 

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"Hasn' she tried bedding a dwarf before, vhile married to the Archduke ...? And the Prince, n' surely other men?" some Knight snickered, scowling at the paper. "She ist only Archduchess of the Streets."

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6 hours ago, Andustar said:

Albert Salvian prayed before the alter of St. Emma of Woldzimir, the conflict having taken its toll on the young lord's innocence.
"May GOD have mercy upon all who take up arms. My duty is to my people, and I shan't rejoice in the loss of anyone, be they sworn to my Mother or my Father."

 

 

On the opposite side of the field, at the Castle of Temesch et Moere, Sir Paul Montalt "The Unspoken" stared through his visor across at the other half of the city of Valfleur. His gauntlet uplifted before his face, and he stared at his worn leather palm. He had killed Dame Livia with his own hands. The price of his oaths was beginning to catch up to him, Sir Paul Montalt, once Squire Pavel Barrow, lamented. And no matter what he could not stop seeing the blood as it dribbled from his fingers. It was stuck to him forever now, just as once he had slain the Lord Carrion's son when he was himself but a squire of twelve-years-old. Was it fated? He thought to himself. For me to be this way? 

"There is but one Archduchess," he said wistfully, now fifty-five years of age. He had killed now hundreds of men, with his own hands or by way of his designs. The Commander of the PRF readied himself for his next fight. 

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Masuo of Yamatai breathes a hefty sigh of relief for his friend, the Archduchess. He'd smile upon this news, having heard of the capture prior, but not of the outcome. He would make a pilgrimage to Petra soon enough, to celebrate.

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