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Viewing Single Post From: The Tragic Tale of Tyrius
Jack Mccloud
CDF Sergeant Major
Armsdell.

Out of the way, small, insignificant. To what end did this town serve to raid? What riches could a backwater hold?

Baltazar snorts in his helm. He sits on a hill several hundred feet from the town. He had spent the most of this miserable rainy day spotting the battlefield, watching the art of war play out on this day's chosen canvas.

"Of course it is you" He says aloud, holding up a piece of Manarock the size of a baseball. The pulsing metal serenades him with its usual response, silence. "Rip the village of its posessions, rip the ground of its riches."

Below him, his steed snorts as it stands beside his master. He is a fine horse, muscled and well fed. But his eyes betray the obvious misuse of magic. Of course the mane made entirely out of Electricity somewhat foghorns it as well.

He dons his zischagge, letting the lobster tail fan out over the back of his neck as he spurs his horse into town. There was no rule against after battle scrounging after all.
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