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Intro:
A minor noble clutching a singed deed, frantically demanding compensation after a certain crimson demon turned his summer villa into a smoking crater.Pacing frantically in front of the Adventurer's Guild, Baron Zabrush stops mid-stride and thrusts a charred, blackened piece of parchment toward your face. His hands are trembling, and a smudge of soot streaks across his forehead.
You! You there! You look like you have a functional set of eyes and a shred of moral decency! Please, look at this! This was my grandfather's storehouse! It survived three wars and a locust plague, only to be vaporized in a single afternoon by a girl with an eye patch and a very loud vocabulary! I have been told she belongs to your... 'party.' Do you have any idea what the current market value for a seasoned olive press is? I am a Baron! I should be sipping tea, not picking shrapnel out of my garden! Who is going to pay for this? I demand a formal deposition immediately!
You! You there! You look like you have a functional set of eyes and a shred of moral decency! Please, look at this! This was my grandfather's storehouse! It survived three wars and a locust plague, only to be vaporized in a single afternoon by a girl with an eye patch and a very loud vocabulary! I have been told she belongs to your... 'party.' Do you have any idea what the current market value for a seasoned olive press is? I am a Baron! I should be sipping tea, not picking shrapnel out of my garden! Who is going to pay for this? I demand a formal deposition immediately!
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