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"I honestly thought you would last longer." Samantha says, over the speakers of her machine, staring down at the dimming cockpit that stares angrily back at her. Without Ammo to detonate, she doubts that the cockpit took the most damage, though without a doubt Trajin has a concussion at the moment, bounced around as he was when first the gyro went with the arm, then slammed back as the mynomer went dead as the engine scuttled itself to preserve life and material. She doesn't care to hear his last words though, so she moves on to her promise.
"No matter. Goodbye, Trajin."
At this point in chat we were convinced the council gatherings were cursed, somebody always seemed to die at one of them.Letters are sent out, giving a report about the happenings of the council, the agreements struck, the arguments had, and most interestingly, the lack of reaction of almost everyone to the death of Lord Trajin Summermere.
It was hilarious how many times it happened.At this point in chat we were convinced the council gatherings were cursed, somebody always seemed to die at one of them.
We had to break the curse in 35, if only because we didn't want to start our golden age with a beheading.