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A LETTER TO CELIA'NOR


Shmeepicus
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Though she frowned after signing the letter, the HIGH KEEPER nodded affirmatively before the crowd of gathered faithful. "A shame, that these vile servants of the Long Dark shall not be cast into the righteous fires of His indignation. Take heed, sons and daughters of the ALL-FATHER! I bid you ready yourselves for battle these coming days! For we will engage in the wanton slaughter of the forces of damnation!" She then raised a flaming sword before the crowd. "What matters is our will!"

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As the day set on the victory at Breakwater Keep, Ser Jose Fuentes looked out across the land and towards the heart of the League. As he set his sight northwards, he saw a gleam of light off a city of white. He silently prayed that the High Elves had the senses of their rulers of the past.

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The Knight sharpened his blade, not hoping for it to lay upon elven flesh during the next disaster upon Veletzian soil.

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14 minutes ago, Shmeepicus said:

If we find it on the field, our next campaign shall be in your lands, and every star shall be expunged from the night sky.

 

 

Haus spits out his tea as those star-drowned eyes of his scan over the publication. His gaze turns to the Yisar he rides atop of, in search of other problems plaguing the lands.

 

" 'You think they grasp the wastefulness of such a naivety, or have simply turned to the nearest poet?"

 

He inquires towards the abstract creature. It merely blinks back at him, and he shrugs - the paper stowed safely in a bag as he rides onward.

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"The Elves of Celia'nor ought see reason. Our conflict es niet and has niet been with them." The Duke of Vidaus remarked briefly while looking over the public letter, having taken a brief break from setting his war loot to use lining the Brotherhood of Saint Karl's armoury. No doubt the suits of armour would have to be re-fitted.

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Father Nerium critically analyzed the document, a favored past-time of his where he may acknowledge the good blessings and curses of any diplomatic effort, not for any other sake than the pure academic lesson of it. He valued this one to be a simple, passible form, hurt somewhat with no lucrative promises to be made to the Celia'norans. That was in itself something of another issue as well, he thought. The only promise that was made was the promise of violence should they not flee from the conflict, and he wondered if it were a show of weakness that they would cry this out now rather than before the Siege at Breakwater. Asking anyone to run with their tails between their legs was inherently insulting, all the worse done by the public medium with a guarantee of violence otherwise. Credit was deserved where it is due, "If we find it on the field, our next campaign shall be in your lands, and every star shall be expunged from the night sky," was a positively killer line. He judged this letter was indeed a threat, not all too cunning, but clear in its purpose without overextension or greater-than-average serpentry in affairs such as these. The point of, "They don't have to be there" was also a fairly common one, and truly it could be said by anyone, at any time, but now he was only nitpicking. 

He went to his filing cabinet and slid it neatly under the 7's, near the middle. A good 7.4.

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"Dame... Does that mean I will be able to visit my friends at Celia again? *Onon wondered... Staying rather hopeful of the fact his kin's hubris wont forsaken yet another city of the so rear eleven blood.* "MAY THR SILVER STAY SILVER." *Finished the Man... Not a fan of paintingu things Red.*

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Gob Ztabba-Zniffa takes the missive handed to him admits the ruins of the recently obliterated keep and squints "Mi nub kno how ta reed kommon." he says looking to the one who handed it to him in hopes of a translation, yet they have already disappeared into the crowd. The disfigured creature shrugs and continues to cut off elf ears,wrapping them in the missive for later to snack on!

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Ember placed her tea cup on the ship quarters as she pondered this letter, not recently has she visited The Dtar city, as those within Talar’nor began to immigrate to Celia’nor. However this turn of events made it wonderfully clear of what predictions may be true, the shaman luzxi must know more. 

 

“I wonder what Idril thinks” 

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Pale amber hues gaze upon the missive, and in the comforts of some place far from conflict, a dark haired elfess takes a breath and utters to no one but herself, "Let's hope they take this peace, otherwise- I fear the amount of elven blood that must be spilt..."

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