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On Traitors and Murderers

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erictafoya

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"When you take the time to listen, you tend to learn the most." The Scyfling spoke while hearing the Lord Palatine recite the words aloud of his missive before it being sent out.

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"Let my brother speak for himself." wrote back Josef, 

 

"No matter the charge you wish to place upon Andrey, there is no crime greater than fratricide. It is Marius' blade that will be bloodied with that of Barbanov blood, damning himself."

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"What the hell is going on in the capital?" Antonio Flavio stated from Isaakev, confused by the proceedings going on in New Valdev. The bannerman looked towards his lord, perking a brow as they sipped on morning coffee. "Your orders, Lord Ludovar?" 

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2 hours ago, ferdaboy said:

"Let my brother speak for himself." wrote back Josef, 

 

"No matter the charge you wish to place upon Andrey, there is no crime greater than fratricide. It is Marius' blade that will be bloodied with that of Barbanov blood, damning himself."


[!] Privately, the Lord Palatine wrote back

"For a man who was blessed to see what most men cannot, you have blinded your senses with uncontrolled rage. May the light preserve what it can."

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Marus Weiss leant aside at the public letter, taking a breath.

The king had failed to merit the Weiss any protections, and that softness had almost cost his life. He had trusted that man.
The Lady Kovachev had left him to die. He had trusted that woman.

How much longer could he continue to give? He was doomed, one way or another if he stayed as he was but... Marus had peace with that. He followed his heart, he did what was right when others failed. He would not fail, not for the sake of his freedom or his life.

His over-filled heart sat heavy, shackled in his own promises and principles. The letter was lowered in his hands, resting gently upon his lap as he cast a glance with his lone eye to the bandages that lay by his side. At least for all his gentle sin, he succeeded in what he wished: for the Lady Kovachev, his closest friend and most trusted confidant, to feel loved and to find freedom from that man to which she was shackled. A slave of vows and expectations, doomed to misery. As with any other, his support was full and of pure intent, if offered by as flawed a man as any other.

Chewing on his cheek, his gaze tore from the bandages to a basket of gifted lemon tarts. Even if two-ponged betrayal still stung deep, a small smile flitted to him. Was she remembering to smile?

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"Hrm, this-a sounds awfully familiar," Emilio the Roach clucked, "We-a are all the same after all-a I suppose, si."

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