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@Everyone: Updates are going on in the discord, including a large conversation about updating Yuwanism with more details for the faction as well as environmental information about the far-eastern subcontinent. Willy will probably mention this soon.

I am also updating information about the Ouroborasian Civil War as part of Gold and my own agreement concerning the "Moral Greying of Ouroborasia" (Essentially making the conflict more neutral/grey vs grey rather than the current escalating good vs evil we have going).

Current Map:

@CypherRahl This is indeed still going. We are currently searching for Justinians in the mid-west, Yuwanists in the east and north-east and Red-pantheonists in the far north).

In particular, we are searching for an expert NRPer who can play a Justinian border-state, a crusader-orientated nation with an international army built up of other (Justinian) nations forces. It would be medium-sized and inhabit a magical nuclear wasteland (to explain: essentially that region of the world is constantly bombarded by magical WMDs from various factions). Otherwise, we are looking for nations to fill in the spaces in general.

I will PM you the discord link.

@Anyone else: We are actively searching for more players!
And the Summary IC Post is done. Remember folks, Sheets and IC Posts!

@Wernher Remember to post your NS, even if it's not fully completed as you can just add stuff in stuff later.
@Willy Vereb the same
@Publius I figure due to how you have your sheet planned you will take longer, you should focus on the main 'fundamental' sheet information though and then post it in the OOC for review, then if accepted post in the sheet thread and update it as you go along.
Turn 1 - World Events and After-Action Report
Month: Ostrob
Year: 300AWH

After-Action Report:

  • The Artium Confederacy tribal elders gathering at the Great Pines is interrupted by raiding skirmishers of the Aberysian Northern Campaign under the command of Phillip of House Nudden. Greatly underestimating the significantly larger Artium force at the gathering, Nuddens forces receive a major defeat. Phillip Nudden, the heir of House Nudden is maimed in the attack.

  • The Meeting of the Union’s Council of 13 concludes with reports noting the dangers of the encroaching Bloodied horde to the north as well as various other conflicts.

  • Current reports show the Unions subterranean forces and the defenders at Barby are under siege by the Riglers of the Vex’lir Swarm. A violent assault is underway by the Vex’lir following a catastrophic backfiring of a Union artillery piece.

  • Resident Orator of the Union, Gwendolin Sliverton is to march south, first to the Sacrosanctian Expeditionary Forces citadel at the Stage, then onward to relieve Union defenders at Barby.

  • A Lamashi relief force marches north, destined for Evernyx, hoping to reinforce the principality currently fighting in the three-way conflict known as the “Northern War”.

  • The Padishah of the Empire of Lamash, Zirgun Agazi-Haster and He Who Brings Benefits proclaims his intent to form a grand council of Yuwanist Powers to address the current state of the Sacrilege War and Yuwanist inaction. Messages are sent out to the East’s greatest states and asks them to attend this grand council at Oracheos.

  • The Battle of the Pripat Marshes concludes in East Ouroborasian victory. Western forces are routed while a minority are taken as prisoners. The overall conditions of the frontlines do not change. It is suspected that those taken prisoner by witches at the battle will likely be taken as familiars or otherwise transported to Solomonata.

  • A major gift-giving ceremony takes place in Göl Kasabi, the ceremony a prelude to the future marriage of Principe Synogchouta Daveithai and the Duchess-in-waiting of Vlachia, Cassiopeia Dragcumir. The best of luck to the ‘happy’ couple.

  • A host of Aberysians, including Gryph Knights, arrive in Western Ouroborasia through the town of Gryke. They are currently under the command of Her Holy Grace, The Princess Weshland, Champion of The Justinian. The reinforcements may be the much needed help that the people of Gryke have been searching for in these trying and ever darkening days of Ouroborasian history.

  • The Ghouls of Uudhin launch a major naval invasion from the Eudekesh Sea, many thousands of Ghouls rising from the coastlines waves to march onto the southern shore of West Ouroborasia. The navy of the Kasabioi also join the invasion, its ships attacking ships of the Excelsiorum Expeditionary Forces. The South may never be the same again.

  • The Kasabioi Navy, masquerading as Excelsiorum forces using commandeered ships from the earlier initial attack arrive at the island of Arban, allowed in by the defenders as they fly the flag of the Holy Domain of the Excelsiorum. As the morning fog settles, they begin to make their move...

  • Parchment pinned in the main hall of the Black Academy of Solomonata announces that Prof. Charlarensis is offering extra-credit for aspiring students, either witches or squire-blackguards that are willing to take part in a dangerous mission to persuade certain individuals to join the cause. For more information, report to Charlarensis’ chambers.

  • Gushwar-Ouroborasian Slave trading continues as normal.

  • Mountebank Knights of the TQLR arrive in Moramond, South-Eastern Aberys. They mostly are in small numbers and are spreading the word of their great turquoise master as proselytizers, while also performing random altruistic acts. Word of their presence, as well as their proselytizing, spreads quickly.

  • Attempts by the Aberysian forces to execute and later repulse the Mountebanks end in a humiliating duel, The Aberysians are soundly defeated.

World Events:

  • The Blizzards of the Far-Northern Subcontinent briefly subside, allowing weak rays of light to gleam down upon the permafrost and tundra.

  • Following the Padishah's declaration of forming a council concerning the Sacrilege War, the price of weapons and iron rises in the Far-east as speculators predict a high increase of demand in the near future.

  • The Eye of Justinian gaze turns southward, glaring now over Ouroborasia. [Divine intervention may interrupt IC posts in South]

  • In a small hovel, somewhere nobody really cared about, someone saw the end.


A Small Urban Hovel, Somwhere in Petrix, Archonnen

No, everything felt wrong. The light moving through the thin slits at the top of the wall was strangely faded, grey instead of golden. The room was a complete mess, paper, parchments, painting tools and canvas' scattered across the dingy room. Water had clearly flown down from the cheap alternative to windows, and judging by the thin but wide puddle of water stretching across the floor, someone had forgotten to change the rain-catching buckets. A price the inattentive paid for living in a basement room in the urban sprawl of Petrix. Whoever lived here must have left it for hours.

That someone, an adult human man with messy, curly hair was busy looking around his ruined living and workspace, wondering what Demiurgic force did this, remembering that he was indeed that someone and he did, in fact, live here. What was I doing last night... He wondered. He looked down at his hands, even with his sight blurred. They were shaking erratically, so much so that when he moved to pull himself out of bed, he slipped and fell to the floor. Dyes and chemicals had mixed into the water, forming strange swirls of colour.

'What was I doing last night'... he wondered again.

He crawled, then brought himself to his feet even if barely standing. While the morning light from the window was impossibly grey and faded, a bright, blue, light glowed instead from the other rooms entrance. The man, who then realised he did not even know his own name, knew something was deeply wrong.

A small part of his mind told him to flee, to go to the door that led out into the city street. But the glowing blue light was so beautiful and drew him to shuffle closer. he shuffled again, near the turn to the next rooms entrance. the blue light changed to gold in a flash, the light streaming through even stronger. He neared the turn.

He hesitated, filled with a sudden and overpowering sense of terror. Luckily, he remembered he lived here and everything was fine and walked into the light, now blue again.

The next room was even worse than the last. Paint covered the walls and furniture. The floor was littered with brushes and tools... and what seemed to be maps?

Dry blood covered the top of cabinets where a headless chicken lay. Some of the brushes and droplets of paint and blood seemed to be levitating, floating as they orbited an object on the far side of the room, immensely glowing in blue, gold and now red light. What ought to be peculiar if not an impossible sight was ignored, for the man knew that he was a mage. A mage and, and that's right! A mage and an artist.

The chicken was clearly a sacrifice. There must be some curse he placed somewhere last night. He didn't know if he even knew how to make curses though and couldn't see any anywhere. But he was certain that was why. As he drew closer to the glowing object more and more became clear to him.

He was an artist that lived in the city of... Pridos? or was it Petrix? He wasn't quite sure, but he knew he was an artist. He worked as a contractor for the clerisy. He was put in a team of artists, paid a commission to make a... Fresco. He knew now that the glowing object was a canvas. Justinian be blessed, his concept piece was something holy, even radiating light.

He was relieved. He did not know what happened last night, but he knew he was immensely stressed. He had little time and the Clerisy were not forgiving if he came up with nothing. He decided to use magic, looking back at the chicken. He played his strengths. Magic and, and...

and a one of a kind inspiration. One of the traders he met (ah, he must live in Petrix then!) showed him a picture. He said it was made using pigments from a place far to the south. Hypernot? Hyper, well he forgot. But it was a painting, unlike anything he had ever used. It seemed to move and glow even without magic... just like this one.

He smiled then, knowing that he had created a masterpiece. He ignored that what should have been a quick walk of a few seconds instead went on for a whole twenty minutes. He ignored that more objects, previously stationary had now begun to levitate as well. He ignored that beyond the room, perhaps the entire universe no longer existed.

The glowing canvas was covered by a thin sheet. The last barrier between the nameless man that no longer was and the perfect painting for those clerics Mural. The nameless man gripped the sheet, ignoring that his arm was see through and distorted, his fingers floating in mid-air. As he and the room faded away, he saw his painting.

To his horror, it was not the beautiful painting that the merchant returning from Hypernotei first showed him. That inspired him and gave him hope. Instead, it was a message. A message given esoteric and yet physical form. A message that perhaps only a single being in this entire world truly understood.

The nameless man could not possibly accept nor perceive this message, so instead, he only saw a swirling torrent of darkness, filled with the screams of endless souls.

@Klomster its Friday now (in Australia), so I will be posting the summary post either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Any IC posts before then are fine, you can do either.

I also need to talk to you about the environment in the far north and other things concerning that sub-continent.

@Aristo Very nice, I will wait for you to add military info before giving a proper response.
Note to everyone: A "Summary, World events and After Action Report" IC post is coming up, which will basically be an "end turn" for IC posts. It will include the current date, newsworthy summaries of players IC post actions, GM-generated world events (weather, god actions, etc) and a 'notable event' (a short IC post narrative concerning the myth arc/overarching story of the world).

This summary will be completed sometime by the end of this week, probably on the weekend. It will be a good way for players not yet in to catch up on whats going on. Players already working on IC posts should make sure to complete their post before the summary if they want to get on the news.
@Klomster Myst is currently considering if he wants to return or not. We have fixed the issue that caused him to resign, however, he will make the final decision do to so or not.

An important announcement concerning the IC: Henceforth (due to the realisation that we should probably record it), Sac War or that is to say Materia has a detailed calendar, historically based on the Aemerine months.

Context: The world does not have 12 months and normal 'seasons' don't function as the world is neither a globe in a real star system (the sun is an illusion and the stars are magical signals representing gods) nor does the environment work normally as gods can modify the weather in whole countries with sufficient influence. Instead, the months are based on the cardinal and ordinal points of a compass concerning the position of the illusionary sun in the sky.

As such, (The names being modified versions of the IRL words for the compass cardinal and ordinal points), the months are as follows:

Tramont, Grecon, Levan, Sciroccon, Ostrob, Libercon, Ponent, Maestrov. So eight months. Each month has 45 days each, thus a total of 360 days per year.

The current month is Ostrob (month 5, representing the cardinal direction of South) of the year 300AWH. When writing IC posts, please take this into account from now on.

P.S: The movement of time will follow two rules:
#1: Creative ruling, that is players can indicate the passage of time in their IC posts using day timeskips to allow events to move along. They can also enable short timeskips of weeks or (rarely) months but need the permission of a GM or Co-GM.
#2: GM ruling, this concerns mostly unifying IC post positions in time and accounting for major timeskips, if we ever agree as a RP group to have a major timeskip. The GMs can also dictate the current date when announcing world events.
Righty, the Gold/Serp IC post is done.

NOTE TO EVERYONE: Drunk is currently having connection issues with Discord (he is waiting for some kind of confirmation email), so if you need to talk to him you need to either PM him or hail him on the OOC for now.

NOTE TO EVERYONE #2: Can I have a general progress report on your sheets and IC progress?

NOTE TO EVERYONE #3: I am currently working on the NPC sheets for Sacrosanctia and the Justinian Mid-States. I will also promptly begin work on my next IC post.
Collab by Serp and Gold

Present Day -- West Ouroborasia
Ostrob - 300AWH

They always said Ouroborasia was a miserable place filled with mud, rain, and dead people. That it wasn’t a place worth fighting for. Looking over the battlefield, seeing the corpses half concealed by dirty swamp water and the muddy, sludge coated men hitting each other with any weapon they could find, Tatiana, forced to the front lines and having to endure this damnable weather had to agree. They were winning sure, but looking how close she was to the enemy, the price… the price was far too high.

“No, not that low you damn oaf!” The young witch almost yelled; the armoured familiar she was riding on almost lowering her into the swamp's water. The audacity of that damn bitch, sending her out here. When Solomonanţă sent its students to experience the ‘frontlines’, they did not mean literally metres away from the melee!

The oaf she referred to halted, almost unnaturally, before his body lifted itself ever slightly. The familiar was a large man. His dirty blonde hair and grim, depressed eyes barely noticeable between the mud stained Bucket helmet and Bevor. Apparently, he was once a sergeant of the imperial army. Even if he was somewhat rebellious, her control was near absolute, her small form riding on top of his shoulder would have been far harder otherwise. Anything to avoid getting wet after all.

For all the woes of my life, I am glad at least I was fortunate to not be born one of them. Tatiana thought, momentarily pitying him. A once proud man chained to her whims, his body forced as if on strings to do as she commanded. Even as a child, Tatiana was considered a genius with curses, particularly the Familiar Curse. Back at Solomonanţă, Tatiana was feared by her fellow young witch peers, the prodigy already possessing a small army of familiar slaves.

Turning back to the task at hand, from atop the kneeling man-turned-familiars shoulder Tatiana began chanting, no longer worried about getting wet. The injured soldier her familiar was holding down struggled frantically, his screams muffled by the leather gloves of her ‘faithful’ puppet.

‘Mmmmphhmm, mphhmm!’

Tatiana glared at the annoying man, seeing the tattoo on his left cheek. It infuriated her knowing that while she sacrificed this man, that corrosive, evil bastard of a god Justinian got something too.

She tried to concentrate. At first it didn’t work. The screaming, clatter of steel and distant explosions too much for her young, child mind. As mature as she thought she was and acted, biology couldn’t be helped. Looking up at the distractions, she saw one of the enemies actually blow himself up with his own grenade. Attempting to stifle a giggle, she squeezed her eyes shut.

'Just ignore, just ignore it. Focus on the sacrifice, you don’t want to die' she muttered to herself.

Don't want to die.

The melee of familiars and purple-trimmed enemies disappearing as she closed her eyes, quietly muttering her personal mantra of survival over and over. As her awareness of the outside world faded, she calmed and entered a trance. The occult Old Eudaz chant returned then, the blood painted on the panicking soldier now glowing.

Time slowed. Even as droplets of rain fell atop of her red hat and face, she remained unfazed. In but a few moments the ritual would be complete, the sacrifice dead and her theurgia recharged. She had her Familiar puppet raise his sword to complete the sacrifice ritual and,


An explosion of purple light, the blast forcing Tatiana to open her eyes and halting the sacrifice ritual. Sparks and particles of burning debris flew out from the purple explosion in wild arcs, including what appeared to be the burning remains of some unidentifiable body part splashing nearby.

‘What are they doing now? Can’t they see that the enemy is over there’.

Tatiana stopped as she saw that no, the enemy was not ‘over there’ fighting familiars, and to her sudden and horrified realisation instead was charging directly at her. The enemy looked frenzied. They were screaming as they charged, their leader a chipped sword wielding man bellowing at the others as he pushed a familiar aside, throwing the armoured man into the water to be trampled by the other charging madmen.

‘Get up! Get up oaf, They’re after us!’ Tatiana’s familiar stood up, using one armoured boot to pin the struggling soldier to the ground as he did, shifting his sword and shield to face the charging Justinian tattooed freaks. In that moment she saw one of the charging men throw a grenade directly towards her.

Using her last reserve of theurgia, Tatiana formed a ward in the air. The grenade’s explosion curved around the ward, and while blocked, the blast wave knocked Tatiana’s familiar down into the swamp's water and sent Tatiana herself sent flying backwards, also landing into the murky shallows. Drenched in the swampy water and her red dress and petticoats covered in mud, Tatiana pulled herself out of the water in time to look on in terror as the chipped sword-wielding leader rushed towards her.

Splashing through the water, the chipped sword-wielder was none other than Yarold, who charged at the young blue eyed girl in the red dress. The shimmerings of the ward hung in the air, faded and residual. Crumbs of dirt and water rained down from the explosion around it.

Fiery adrenaline pumped through Yarold, it was clear the child was a witch. His heart raced and pounded against his ears along with the blood-curdling screams of battle. He was almost hesitant to continue his attack, but the familiar energy of the battle flowed through him, cutting his mind off from his thoughts as he lowered his sword’s point at the enemy before him.

Tatiana, drenched and out of theurgia had barely enough time to even scream as the sword came right before her, inches of distance and less than a second away in time before her untimely demise. Tatiana closed her eyes as she flinched, preparing for an imminent death that never came.

Slowly opening her eyes again.

She did not see Yarold until she looked down into the water, the man having seemingly, tripped? A sensation of enormous relief rose through the young girl when she realised that her familiar had grabbed the mad charging man’s ankle, dragging him into the water as well.

While Yarold and the familiar struggled against each other as they both tried to stand up, Tatiana used this moment to try and get herself away from the madman, dragging her petticoats as far away as possible, that being a few metres or so.

Through the splashing water, Yarold heard the faint blast of a horn and his stomach swelled. The feeling rushed to his arms and with a swift elbow he knocked the flopping familiar off of him and straightened himself back to his feet, brackish rivulets running down his face. His grip tightened around the basket-hilt of his broadsword and with an urgent swing he brought the blade to the surprised familiar, the strike bouncing off a ready shield with a distinct clatter, lost to the sound of a retreating battle.

The familiar was slow to respond with water flowing from the gaps between the pieces of plate-mail, but steady, unnatural sturdiness keeping him up despite the drenching of water and mud dragged him down. Even in her panic, Tatiana knew to keep her familiar strong. Following Yarolds sword deflecting off his shield, the familiar struck back, using the shield as a weapon in an attempt to crush Yarolds throat, but the man was quicker as he brought his sword down suddenly.

Tatiana however, was too distracted to notice her familiar losing his hand, and yet still fighting on regardless. She was busy instead glaring at the approaching figure of the man she had almost sacrificed, having now stood up from the water, free from her familiar's boot. His chest was still covered in blood symbols, the sacrifice having been aborted at the last few seconds. Tatiana realised he had long since lost his sword, not that it changed anything.

The man had a spiteful, revenge-hungry smile creeping up on his face, knowing the child witch was out of tricks.

‘You look frightened, girl’ the man wheezed. While he was grinning, he was also tired and wounded. If it was not for the mud and lack of magic holding her back, Tatiana figured she could even outrun him.

This was not the case.

‘Ha! And you look dead you miserable pawn’ she spat back.

He, having walked up to her faster than she could step backwards, responded by punching her directly in the face. Flung backwards and back into the water, she survived the punch through virtue of having taken the man's gauntlets off before, meaning she now only had large bruising, split lip, blood and black eye rather than her face being torn off.

‘Looking a bit different now ya’little bitch. Not so strong…' he coughed, The familiar and Yarold were still fighting, the familiar somehow keeping Yarold back even with only one weapon, though Yarold was clearly winning, pushing the silent man back towards her.

‘After all…’ he coughed again, slowly approaching for a second punch.

Tatiana was up again, whipping away the blood on her face. She knew she needed to do something or she was going to die very, very soon. She needed a plan, it was what she was good at, the other students feared her because of it. Tatiana was a prodigy, she always won.

At that moment she had an idea. She started to walk, sideways as well as backwards, circling around the man, closer towards the fighting familiar and Yarold, the latter pushing the former towards the two circling enemies.

Tatiana laughed then, knowing this fool was falling for such a simple trick. Her laughter was silenced shortly thereafter as the grinning man caught her throat with his outstretched hands, picking her up into the air to choke her.

‘Why you laughin’?' was the man's final words as a sword pierced straight through his armour, the end of a sword poking out the front of his chest.

The man's grip slackened, then fell, with Tatiana landing on her feet as the man fell to his knees, gasping for breath as he realised he was dead. Entirely disarmed after pushing the sword through the grinning man’s chest, the Familiar was quickly defeated by Yarold, who swiftly beheaded the familiar, his head flying to the side.

The familiar's body stood upright even without a head, the Familiar Curse keeping the body upright in its final moments. Tatiana however, rather than defeated looked triumphantly at Yarold, an impish smile breaking through the girl's ruined face as she raised her arm up and hand out, directed towards the now dead kneeling man's chest, where the sacrifice symbol now had a sword piercing through it.

‘My goddess, I do hereby complete my sacrifice to you, the highest of all witches.’ Tatiana declared, her voice somewhat muddled as she was speaking as quickly as possible and speaking through a split lip. The symbol on the dead man’s chest was lighting up bright red, as was Tatiana’s eyes, an aura of red light gathering around her.

‘I beseech you, give unto me the power to smite this Justinian dog’.

Radiating light, Tatiana then walked calmly towards Yarold. Yarold, quickly realising what had happened let out a huff of breath and suddenly charged towards the girl, his legs under heated strain as he forced them through the water. Tatiana did not flinch or fall back, or even changed her pace this time, instead simply making a cutting motion with her arm. A creeping aura stretched across the water, sparks of energy discharging.

A sword came out from the edge of Yarolds periphery of vision, he only just reacting in time to block, the force strong enough that he had to sidestep as sparks flashed off his sword. There, to his side the Familiar stood, headless and glowing. An aura of red surrounded it, particles of red light flowing periodically out of its open neck like little wisps of light.
Somehow, the Familiar had managed to pull out the sword in the sacrifices chest fast enough to stop his charge. As he witnessed the beheaded familiar’s arm spasm, retracting its sword with inhuman speed, he realised how.

‘Why were you raising your sword at me? Your fight isn’t finished yet’.

The little girl witch in her muddy, dirty red coat was laughing as the battle had so quickly turned around with the simple addition of just a little bit more… magic. The headless familiar swung its sword in strange, mechanical motions and sudden spasms, with strength beyond human men. Strong, but sloppy. Each clash of their swords caused Yarolds already chipped sword to strain further, slivers of brittle steel being shaved off. This is why Yarold hated magic.

The girl witch was just behind the familiar, unseen except for the glow and her moving feet, her voice clear as she sung a wordless lullaby of some kind, her actions unclear as Yarold was too busy fighting off this bloodthirsty corpse.

‘La lala la’.

The familiar struck again, and again. Yarold tried to disarm the thing, but it seemed to react quickly whenever he tried to aim for its arm. The corpse seemed to care only to use the sword as a bludgeon, forcing Yarold back by the sheer force of its unnatural strength, invigorated as it was with the aura of magic.

Yarold, faster and more flexible than the thing tried to weave around it and its monster blows. A swing at his soldier was side-stepped, the familiar's sword slashing into the water next to him. He slashed at the familiar and it continued as if nothing happened. Yarold knew this was going nowhere; he knew what he had to do. Kill the witch, and the fight is over.

Dodging the Familiars strike again, Yarold pushed it to the side with his shoulder as he went for the witch, only to be intercepted by another corpse, this one physically leaping as it threw itself at him. It was the sacrificed man, now with occult symbols drawn on his forehead in blood, now also trying to kill him. Cutting through the leaping corpse, Yarold was able to right himself as the leaping corpse of the sacrificed man lost a whole arm from the shoulder before falling into the water.

The headless Familiar, sword dragged beside it was walking towards Yarold.

The one armed sacrificed man's body wriggled and spasmed as it got used to its missing arm, pushing itself back up.

Both were encircling Yarold and the witch; the witch seemed to be out of sight. A third corpse once again marked with occult symbols came forward, wielding the upper shaft of a broken polearm. In these apparent final moments, Yarold looked around; the battlefield was silent. There were no explosions or cries of pain. There was nothing but him, corpses and the swamp. He did not know how long the battle had ended, but it was clear he would be the last Justinian standing.

Yarold fought with the last sliver of strength he had. The sacrificed man gnawed at his shin. The headless familiar shattered his sword in half, even as he dug his sword into its shoulder, disabling its sword arm for good. The polearm wielder had pierced Yarolds thigh with the polearms spike before having its hand crushed by the frantic Yarold. A fourth and fifth corpse arrived. One a former heavily armoured familiar with a sword hanging half way through its neck and upper chest. The other was one of his own comrades, Agron, his former comrade burned horribly and missing an arm, his tattoos desecrated by the same occult symbols.

Yarold could not fight them all and succumbed under the weight of numerous animated corpses.

But he did not die, no, instead he looked up to see the monstrous little girl in the dirty red dress, her hat back on her head and a ridiculous, almost insane Cheshire grin on her face.

‘I hope you were aware Mr Justinian Dog. I always win.’

Yarold gritted his teeth, heated breaths blowing the water from his mouth as he attempted to thrash under the weight. The corpses were holding Yarold down, his movement entirely cut off. The maniacal girl reached out, placing her palm on his forehead.

“Don’t worry. You killed that oaf of a Familiar, and I’ll need to come back looking like I never lost one. Trust me, it won’t hurt…’

There was a bright red light then, shining in Yarolds eyes.

‘Much’. All went dark.
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