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ASCENSION | War


Mirvam
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A capitalist corpse crafter looks in both irritation, but appreciation in the use of the undead crows. "Curious indeed, I wonder if they shall send letter anytime soon- I do pray there is actual meaning in this endeavor"  He murmured, speaking to himself and the two hulking giants of twisted bone and flesh. The newly blessed temple, acting to give inspiration to the scheming elder. 

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Ser Audo Weiss sat back in his living room in the Weiss manor, not quite bothering to stoke the fire. His gaze peered into the empty pit of the fireplace as shadows drenched the living room - only the faint glow of his automata eye casting a subtle blue highlight to his face. After a day of meetings, of aiding hands outstretched, of condolences and meaningless nothings he finaly had the chance to take in everything that had happened. 

He moved himself to the kitchen, hobbling with his singular crutch. Cracked and dented, the cast on his right leg still held after his assault of it in the square. Methodically, he poured himself a glass of Carrion Black in the dark and, then, he poured a second. He slid the second glass across from himself, glaring at it with an intensity as he recalled receiving the letter.

And he recalled the unceremonious visage of Stanislaw's arm crumpled in a bag.


"Stay strong, padrevar. We're coming." He promised in a gruff grumble to himself before downing his Carrion in one singular swig. His glare only hardened in the next moment.
"Va ve Maan." 

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