[ Small spots of red decorate Isley's pale face, and the front of his cloak; the furred collar ripples like waves in the wind, like the waves he stands before on the coast bordering Anatole. ]
[ Golden eyes pierce the fog; his smile pierces the dreary atmosphere...ever inviting and soft, with the promise of a terrible sharpness beneath. ]Loss is
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[...] Not a breed.
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[ Awakened beings are somewhat gluttonous, you see, with appetites nearly impossible to satisfy... ]
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I could not keep you fed easily.
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[ ^_^ ]
But for now...I am more focused upon discovering a worthy opponent.
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[...]
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When?
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Before next weekend, but...following the day after tomorrow.
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Fine.
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...Well, I look forward to our arrangement.
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I will see you.
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