Paddy sat down and with melancholy syllables began to utter a response.
"My home was Planet Leeds in the Mullingar district; before the Kusari Blitz," he paused, "But you don't want to hear a tale sorrow-laden of my passage from a distant Aidenn."
"Nothing is noble. Nothing which I have seen, in any case. Kusari destroys my home, Liberty destroys my ship, Bretonia is crumbling, and Rheinland instigates war. The Revolution, I am made to understand, is different; opposed to all the factors which cause such..."
He hesitated at the use of such a cliched word, but decided on its fitting use, "Corruption."
"They've taken everything. The Revolution is my last hope," he sighed in conclusion before quickly adding, "But... Trust me that I'm not simply some rogue, gypsy orphan with a grudge."
He blinked, unsure as to whether or not he answered the question. He fell into the black shawl of his mind and incoherently mumbled a verse from a poem, images of his home quietly haunting his mind;
"There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye-
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea-
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene."
