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Salvo is not yet lost!

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"We killed like... three of these guys.

Yusuf Simon Basrid snorted, throwing the missive to the dusty ground.

"We're going to have to kill a whole lot more.

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The Zealot nodded to the merchant of plague, as a number of horrid, jagged weapons was passed over to him. In return, a gem was laid into the hands, one that sucked all of the color from the surrounding region.

Sickness was soon to spread, Death following.

Under his breath, as he toted the armory behind him, he muttered 


"Long lib Salvo"

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“Unsurprising that ye survived, Shamizir. Ye always found a way t’ weasel yerself out o’ a situation.” Aviel Roy hummed to himself as he twirled an end of his mustache in thought; having stumbling upon and read the missive. “Goes t’ show that the Eicherians will always be the true, cultural successors o’ the Old Republic! All ye bandits do is run an’ hide when the heat gets too much.”

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