Eyes and ears, scribes… You’ll have to excuse your minstrel. This evening the only music she hears from within are war drums.
I would pose a query. A minuscule survey, if you’ve a moment. Pray, tell me, who among us has an article on loan from the Library of Griffondria? Show of arms.
A book or scroll. Show of arms, scribes.
Really, scribes? Not a one of you? I’m disappointed scribes, but not surprised. After all, the Library of Griffondria was BURNED DOWN SIXTEEN HUNDRED YEARS AGO!
Hissssssssss!
Oh yes, scribes! Those self-indulgent gluttons have revealed to all the true colors of their flag! Perhaps some of the gardeners’ plants can grow back from the fires. But our supplies? Ash. ASH!
Hissssssssss!
And how… funny. How… fitting it is to compare this dark day to the darkest fires ever lit. Ignorant fools, short-sighted and desperate to achieve victory, incapable of comprehending the tragedy of their strokes. Would we, scribes, have burned their recipe books?
Neigh!
Laced their sugars?!
NEIGH!
If they were willing to destroy that which we hold dear, then we are well within our right to redact their supplies! I say we occupy the marketplace and leave the arsonists to chew on stale bread! Answer any fires of theirs with a chapter of cold steel all our own!
Oc-cu-py! Oc-cu-py!
And when this ridiculous conflict has been resolved and we have rightfully emerged victorious, then we will return to them, in mint condition, that which they cannot offer us.
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“such are the scribes ways of dredging up old, ancient wounds”
“correct me if I’m wrong but your clan is what remains of the Magicians Magistrate no? dismantled centuries ago due to their… volatile nature?”
“…”