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The Fate of the Second Sons


Eddywilson2
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Casimir Marius Vilac read the missive, tears fell off of his cheeks, landing onto the parchment. "I will be by your side Uncle. To the very end. Haense has taken too much from us. Renilde has taken too much from us. It is only right we take something from her." He folded the missive, placing it carefully into his pocket as he walked out of his new home in Balian.

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"How far death spreads and how quickly chaos descends when the heart overrules the mind- when lust ignores reason." Muses a particular 'Thill of blue eyes and white hair upon reading the missive. "If only one bed had been kept to...how many more will die?"

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August Vilac sat on the edge of his bed, arms resting on his knees as he contemplated his new life in Balian. "No matter what, I am still of Petra. Where ever my uncle is I will stand by him."  He'd shake his head as he rose. "Ave Petra."  He'd whisper to himself as he left his room.

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Spoiler

Offering my services as champion and representative for each party willing and wishing to take that route. Contact me if you have interest in guaranteed victory and triumph from one with much merit in martial artistry!

 

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The Mareno's eyes scanned the declaration, Valentin feeling a sense of burning hatred fire up in his chest.

"No right." He muttered, swearing silently to himself.

"The Penny Duke has no right to be making demands, let alone demands for honor."

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As Manon Yvaine heard news of the duel, a weak sigh crept from her chest. She murmured an oft-spoken phrase, with as much care and worry as every time before. "You'd better not die, Marius Audemar." It echoed off the cold stone walls of her lab, empty save for herself. "One man can only escape death so many times, but... let this not be the day your luck changes." Manon set aside her brewing and pulled out a piece of paper, settling in to write a letter to that disgraced Prince. 

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The youngest of the exiled Archduke's nieces, Lydia of Balian, would catch wind of the duel as word reached the Palatio Monterosa. The girl drew in a deep breath, imagining the worst outcome. Of course, he was her uncle, so she had to believe he might prevail and live his days in exile contented. But after Cloudbreaker's vicious siege, the princess knew that life was not as fanciful as she had previously believed.

 

"Sir Vassilios...I wish to attend my uncle's duel."

 

Spoiler

 

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Sir Milonir of Whitehall, Hero of the Petra, prepared to watch his Prince slay this dejected shadow of an archduke. 

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"So much blood spilt. May this be the last." Livia remarked, watching from the Seven without another word.

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1 hour ago, koanda said:

"So much blood spilt. May this be the last." Livia remarked, watching from the Seven without another word.

 

The Unspoken shouldered a familiar Star Steel sword, a tear leaving his eye. Others celebrated; others triumphed. All that Paul Montalt could feel was the grief of murdering his best friend's younger sister. Nonetheless, the Grand Knight carried both swords now, one wrought of Thanhic steel and the other forged from the sterling-hued cometsteel. Livia would not soon be forgotten. 

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"A duel of chivalry and honour.." Yvian would loft his brows reading the missive "GOTT shall decide who is most righteous though this contest of arms!" he'd proclaim 

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An old man far away prayed for his son for it was all that he could do. His son would not join him so quickly, he hoped. He still had greater works to do.

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A Petraman claps. "WE COME FROM CROWS! KAWKAW!"

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“Civil war is never civil” A half-Elfess commented passing through the lands of Petra. Her steeds hoofs were moist in. Dirt and dry blood of fallen countrymen. The Paladin rode forth slowly as she looked around. 

 

“What does war solve, when it only creates more problems. Families torn in half, cities set ablaze, men with no honorable intentions killing many generations of their own country. Oren, Haelour’nor, now petra.” She said staring down at the body, her other vigils riding behind her attempting to hopefully find a survivor amongst the dead.

 

“There’s nothing civil about descendant wars, the only thing civil about war, is when the swords are put down, And the rain falls upon the still faces of who found peace in  their final breath  of agony and dishonor, war- war never changes.the vigil of light rode the path of the river and the land which the battle took place in, not a breath was heard

 

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