Hemlock
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Lace
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Theodred
General of Lavalles
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As victory was assured over the final resistance in Dunmeath, the celebratory roar of triumphant men rang against his ears so loud that it eventually drowned into naught but an idle roar. His arms felt heavy, the magic keeping them alive coming in sporadic bursts through the embedded metals that housed it. A long, hard battle, this was, and the relief that came with winning was hardly given time to enjoy in the following moments. Though this was preferred over the battled raged in shadows. He held no love for the manipulation behind the scenes, rather detaching himself from that part of the coven's affairs. In truth, he detested his ties to them all together, another reminder of that loathing echoing as he sheathed his blade, familiar pang of pain and unnatural sensation searing through the remnants of his live fingers. |