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To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - Printable Version

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To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - Chev - 05-14-2012

ID: Unknown
Origin: Unknown
Signal Strength: Low, origin can't be tracked.


[Image: 2h350f9.png]

Io is dying. People with it.
Who's the killer and who's the criminal now?
In space no one will hear their scream. But echoes...
... Echoes will always remain.

Sincerely yours,
Smiley Face



To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - jammi - 05-14-2012

Evidently you've never heard of life pods. Cry me a river, malcontent.
~A defender.



To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - Chev - 05-14-2012

ID: Unknown
Origin: Unknown
Signal Strength: Low, origin can't be tracked.


[Image: 2h350f9.png]

Sometimes, a speed can be a greatest foe of man.
Sometimes, lifepods can be too far away.
Lives are taken and your ignorance will become your own shadow...
... one day.

Sincerely yours,
Vagabond



To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - jammi - 05-14-2012

Ah, my poor, ignorant conspiracy theorist - what do you think it is that the constabulary does to criminals? It doesn't leave them to sit in space, nor cull them because that's the easier option. When the crew evacuates via escape pods, they'll be placed under arrest by the local siege forces. From there, the Manchester BPA garrison may choose to hold them in custody and press charges, or release them on bail. It's all rather trivial, really.
~A defender.



To: Defenders of Bretonian Crown - Chev - 05-14-2012

ID: Unknown
Origin: Unknown
Signal Strength: Low, origin can't be tracked.


[Image: 2h350f9.png]

Conspiracy theorist? Sorry, that's not the one of my names.
Let me introduce, my dear Sir.

*Voice tone changes to some sort of poetic one*
Lying in a field of silk wildflowers
Touching the crystal dew upon their petals
I am a dreamer

Holding him in a tight embrace
My kiss is a warm whisper on his lips
I am a lover

A microphone in my hands
The notes flow from deep within my soul
I am a singer

Roaming the city streets,
Searching for a place to belong
I am a vagabond

Defeating ignorance and revealing truth
With a pen, paper, and a soapbox
I am a journalist

Staring into the eyes of my peers
Knowing who they are and what they will become
I am a visionary

Carrying a faded map in my hands
My compass is shattered; the needle spins violently
I am lost

Looking into a mirror
I see I am nothing like "them"
I am confused

Setting out on an adventure
Through the opaque forests and tempestuous oceans
I am an adventurist

With invisible light bulbs shining
And exploding with innovation
I am an inventor

Living this life for something more than myself,
Going beyond the limits society has set for me
I am a revolutionary

Sincerely yours,
The Poet