Ulthuan

Ulthuan, Home of the Asur
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 21, 2014 7:55 am 
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Auctor Aeternitatum
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Always nice to see a bunch of dragons come in and save the day. And I suppose that the Nagarathi helped a bit too. I'm just glad Sentinel Atlan is still alive (at least, I assume he is). I'd hate for Spires to have to look for another elf to promote.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 22, 2014 8:53 pm 
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Aicanor wrote:
that was to be expected as they tell the chronicler what to write.


Sometimes at knife point! :shock:

rdghuizing wrote:
I'd hate for Spires to have to look for another elf to promote


I think Spires should spend more time working on his letter writing skills. (Another nefarious product brought to you by the City of Spires: standardized notes of condolences, complete with a 'the prince thanks you for your service' rubber stamp! :roll: )

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PostPosted: Sun Feb 23, 2014 2:34 pm 
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I was expecting the Shadow Prince, but Mal as well, that was a surprise.
Can't wait for the Epilogue now, even though it means an end to the Story.

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PostPosted: Sun Feb 23, 2014 2:57 pm 
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And now Spires got promoted to a Loremaster, just how did he pull that one off after this kind of disaster? :shock: :lol:

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 4:49 am 
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Aicanor wrote:
just how did he pull that one off


After many, many (many!) attempts, he was able to spell 'Nagarythe' correctly.

That was the final test. 8)



And congratulations to you for being made green. Now I have the delightful image of a certain princess seated on a log in the swamps outside Irian, banjo in hand, singing the 'Rainbow Connection'…

:D

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 6:10 am 
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Well played Sir
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Well played Sir.

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 8:14 am 
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Aicanor wrote:
just how did he pull that one off after this kind of disaster?

We won, didn't we. That's all that matters. (in case of winning it's always "we won", if you lose it's always "they lost")
Headshot wrote:
After many, many (many!) attempts, he was able to spell 'Nagarythe' correctly.

I just use a different spelling each time. In the end, the law of big numbers means that I was bound to get it right at some point.

You did find step one to rising to power though. Standardize everything. And then make other people do all the work for you.

Hmm, with my new found powers, maybe I should see if I can get my name changed... It may confuse people a bit though.

Rod

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 7:47 pm 
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Thanks as always for the great read. I wasn't expecting that! To be honest, it was a bit of a disappointment for me - I thought Tim was going to miraculously save the day himself, rather than rely on the shadow prince and that Caledorian show-off. I suppose it makes sense though - I couldn't really see how he was going to be able to pull it off by himself.

Still, I really enjoyed it and it's a shame the story's coming to an end. :cry:

;)

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 8:47 pm 
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rdghuizing wrote:
Aicanor wrote:
just how did he pull that one off after this kind of disaster?

We won, didn't we. That's all that matters. (in case of winning it's always "we won", if you lose it's always "they lost")
With so many to witness what had happened this might require some... compensations.

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... maybe I should see if I can get my name changed...
A name you can change, not the spots. :wink:

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 9:12 pm 
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@Eli

Ah I hear you, but that is all a part of the tragedy for me. Narrin'Tim has grown comfortable over the years into his role as second in the Host. The comfort based on a now unshakeable faith in the Shadow Prince: he'll always be there, and can overcome any odds. Yet we know something that Tim doesn't; in a few short years, Spite will lie slain on a cold stony beach in the distant north, and all of that responsibility will fall to Tim's slender shoulders. How he will manage that, I have no idea….

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P.S. And it was also fun to allow the Shadow Prince to shrink the House of Spires, just a bit, before the end. :wink:

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 24, 2014 10:06 pm 
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Epilogue –


“Why didn’t you tell me the army was coming?” Ailana asked. It was once more evening over the Arakis; the setting sun painted the western horizon ochre, rust and vermillion. She could feel its last rays of light warm on her face as she sat, weary, upon the steps leading to the tower entrance. All about her the courtyard was abustle with activity as Caledorian and Nagarathi warriors moved about with purpose claiming water and feed for themselves and the massive winged mounts that perched like raptors upon the walls of the bulwark. The spines of one great drake rustled with the sound of pinecones falling as she watched it shudder and stretch.

The Nagarathi Ranger turned that small frown upon her. “I did tell you,” he said innocently. “I told you that I was Nagarathi, and that the-“

“Nagarathi never leave a brother behind,” Ailana finished with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “You could have been a little more specific.”

“I said my brothers would come for me. The Raven-brothers were already searching for me, and once they carried word to the Shadow Prince….”

Ailana pursed her lips in thought. “I suppose we should be grateful that they arrived here in such time.” She did some calculations in her head. “Nagarythe is far from here.”

“Oh they did not come from Nagarythe,” Narrin’Tim responded. “Lil,” he said and gestured towards where a tall, striking elf maiden dressed in the garb of a warrior stood shouting at a Caledorian knight, “told me that they were in Cathay.”

“Cathay?!”

“Yes, waiting for the Caledorians to finish their siege.” The Romani leaned on his bow and chuckled. “Actually I heard tell that the Shadow Prince grew impatient with the progress of the siege and the Shadow Warriors slipped inside one night and opened the main gates. What with the dragons arriving from Ulthuan, the pirates in the city apparently surrendered quickly.”

“I see,” Ailana said and rubbed at her sore jaw and shoulder. Her eyes ran across the courtyard once more. She saw Lothello, standing under the guard of several armored knights, in one corner. “Treachery and fratricide out of greed,” she muttered darkly. “How could an Asur fall so far? Just for….”

She was going to say ‘just for ithilmar’ but stopped herself. She didn’t want to think how far she had gone, and would go, to get the precious metal for Saphery. But at least that wasn’t about personal gain! At least not entirely….

Instead she shook her head, and asked, “What will you do with him? Will the Shadow Warriors take him?”

“No,” Narrin’Tim answered with a shake of his head. “We would just kill him. The Prince thinks that is too good an end for him. So we will return him to Lothern with a note of his crimes - including how he tried to cheat Prince Elithmar out of a fortune in ithilmar.” Narrin’Tim’s eyes lingered on the forlorn looking Eataini across the courtyard. “I do not envy him his fate. It is said that Elithmar is…’creative’ in his punishments.”

Ailana nodded. “Still, after all this…he deserves it.” The Romani just grunted.

Ailana stretched and thought. “I suppose now it is back to Saphery. I will need to discuss…things with my cousin.” Another grunt. Ailana looked to the Nagarathi and saw his eyes turned upwards towards the tower’s peak. Far overhead, standing on the stairs winding across the tower face, she could see two tiny figures standing still, facing the sunset. She chewed on her lip for a second. “What do you think they are talking about?”

Tim took a breath, and then said, “At times like this, I am grateful that it is not ours to know….”

***

“Spires has grown bold,” Prince Malossar said, arms folded across his chest, and his one good eye fixed westwards, towards the setting sun…and the direction of the City of Spires. His helmet hung from a hook on his belt allowing his long blonde hair to flutter freely in the heights of the tower pinnacle, and for the fading golden glow of the setting sun to settle upon his features, tracing the horrible scars that ran across one side of his face.

His companion only nodded. So Malossar gritted his teeth, trying to control the anger that was always so quick to flare inside.

“He held your warrior in bondage for weeks! You would allow that affront to pass?!”

Finally, the black garbed northerner responded:

“What would you have me do?”

Malossar spat over the stair’s edge. “Seize him. Return him to the courts of Lothern. Let the Phoenix deal with him.”

The Nagarathi lord beside him shook his head. “To what end? He would certainly dissemble. Most likely blame the acts upon his minions and plead ignorance. Then gifts would be distributed, favors incurred…. and nothing would be done.”

“Fine then. Perhaps its best to leave the courts out of this,” Malossar grumbled. “Our armies are embarked on ships nearby. The dragons allied with my House are all assembled here….”

The Caledorian prince stopped to consider, then nodded. “Let us take his city. Break its gates and seize his palace! And instead of returning him to Lothern…take his head with the sword!”

The pale northerner beside him shook his head once more. “You speak of civil war between Asur, Malossar. That is a terrible thing to contemplate. Something that hasn’t been countenanced in many an age.”

“What of the Druchii?” Malossar countered.

“Spires is no Druchii.”

“Near enough!” The Caledorian prince snorted. “Fine. I say call him ‘Druchii’ and lets be done with it!”

Buried within the long strands of his black hair, the Shadow Prince’s eyes burned. “No, Mal. Despite his ambition and cunning, the City of Spires is nothing compared to the evil of the north. Its power and influence have waxed under Spires’ manipulations, but still it is but a shadow of the awesome might of the Witch King. A child’s imitation of the fleets and armies at the Great Enemy’s disposal. We must remain vigilant against the true threat to Ulthuan!”

Malossar considered that for a minute, before saying, “And what then happens if someday the cunning and ambition of Spires seeks to ally itself with that power? What if his calculations lead him to the belief that advancement for him coincides with currying favor with the north…as you suspect! What then?”

“If,” the Shadow Prince said slowly, “that day is to come to pass…. Then… if I am not there to see it done…. I would have Malossar of Caledor claim the head of the traitor.”

The two elflords fell silent, their eyes continuing to linger on the last final golds of the setting sun.

***

The Prince of Spires stood upon the burning desert sands. A contingent of his elite crimson garbed Bladelords stood watch at a respectful distance nearby.

The ancient elflord turned slowly, eyes drinking the environs. The hot afternoon sun shone strongly upon the white robes and silver mail he wore; his long hair framed his face loosely, kept in place by a single band of rare and priceless red ithilmar. Behind him one of the twin dragons chained to his beloved skycutter chariot bellowed in hunger. The massive chariot itself floated a few feet above the ground, kept aloft by a ballast of Nagarathi skystones. Those Chaos-warped stones were just as rare and precious as the ithilmar upon his brow – the savage tribesmen of Nagarythe refused to trade any of the stones from their kingdom, and promised those who dared to remove them with a swift death. And they were not to be found anywhere else upon the face of Terra. But Spires knew that with the proper application of silver in the ports of Tiranoc, that stones could be attained… through guile and stealth.

Spires shifted his attention once more to the scene before him. The sands of the desert had been baked black, cracked and torn asunder, and here and there in places, the very grains had melted and fused to a sheer glassy surface.

“This was all the work of the Shadow Prince?”

“Yes, my prince. Just as the Minister described,” the young Sentinel said shakily.

The Prince of Spires stepped forward, there amidst the desert ruin stood a twisted piece of blackened slag. The elf lord climbed the edges to stand upon the precipice. Looking down he could see a crowning mound of twisted metal, charcoal and ash in color. Rising from the hideously deformed lump was the slightest, barest hint of silver: the bent and melted head of a rose of pure ithilmar stood there, sprouting forth like a single tulip above a burial mound. The rose was twisted, like the mound beneath it, and yet somehow it still managed to maintain its shape. Even a touch of the elegance of its crafting. Even now he could see the sapphires sunk within its cold embrace.

His eyes shifted downwards, just a few inches. Within the metal he could make out the vaguest outlines of a visage: only half a face, twisted in agony, and yet he knew it. It was like staring into a grotesque mirror.

The elf lord’s lips curled ever so slightly at the corners.

“The price of betrayal, Vann,” he whispered in a voice that only he could hear.

The Minister and young Sentinel were standing just a few paces behind the prince now. Without looking he said, “You witnessed this yourself then, Sentinel?”

“Yes…yes, my lord. It was…it was like watching a story from out of the old legends!” the youth hurried to add. “Like watching one of Aenarion’s peers! I never thought to see such power!”

“Yes, the Shadow Prince possesses a power that few alive in these latter days can match….” Spires considered. After a moment, he said:

“Tell me, Sentinel. Do you read history?”

“My lord?” the youth answered, confused by the sudden query. “Why, yes. A little.”

“Then you would have learned of the Siege of Anlec,” the elf lord answered, in a voice filled with musing.

“That would be the First Siege of Anlec. There have been many in the eons since. Of this do you know?” The silence behind him was an answer. Spires continued, “In the time of Aenarion, near the beginning of the Great War with Chaos…. It was a time of great confusion and strife for the Ever Empire. The Four Powers had begun to open gates to our world, and from out of these gates poured the nightmare armies of the Chaos Realms, sowing death and destruction in their wake, as they rapidly spread across the world.”

“Yes, my prince,” the Sentinel seemed confused by a repetition of a story know to every child of Ulthuan. “Until the Phoenix Aenarion drove them back and the First Council created the Vortex to save our world.”

“Yes, but those events happened later,” Spires said, letting a trace of impatience into his voice. “It was a long and terrible war, and in the beginning years it seemed as if truly there was no stopping the might of the Enemy. No hope for anything but the end of the world.”

“And, it was during this time that the First Siege of Anlec occurred,” Spires mused. “Khorne, the Daemon Lord of War, had opened a massive gate in the plains before the city. It was said to burn as a red sun, and be as wide as the Anvil, but filled with even more fire. And from this hell-mouth poured the innumerable monsters of the Brass Legion: the most fell of the Daemon armies….”

“…And before them…only the Hosts of Nagarythe stood.”

The Prince of Spires stood silent in thought for a moment. “For seven days and seven knights the Hosts of Nagarythe fought the monstrous invaders. Alone and unaided, cutoff from the rest of the Ever Empire, the Nagarathi fought the daemon legions day and night. Fought them to a standstill.” The Prince of Spires shook his head. “Infinitely outnumbered, facing foes sometimes the size of giants….they stood their ground and fought, with nary a rest to be had. Body upon body; blade upon blade. Hour after hour…..”

The elflord took a breath as he tried to envision the conflict in his mind. “And, then on the eighth day…. A miracle happened… “

“The Nagarathi turned the tide.”

“Foot by bloody foot the Nagarathi pushed back, forcing the hell legions before them. Until the Hosts of Nagarythe fought with broken blades, tooth and nail, within the very bounds of hell itself. They cast the Daemon Lord of War’s legions back into its own poisonous realm of ash and burning vapors, and somehow managed to destroy the hellgate within. Sacrificing themselves in the process….”

Spires closed his eyes and tried to imagine the sight. Warriors in black and gold contesting with towering monsters of brass and crimson, in long lines of blades and spears. Finally, he opened his eyes and took another breath. “It is a victory not to be paralleled in the history of the Empire. The very Daemon Lord of War’s own armies had been cast down and defeated by the might of Nagarythe. It gave hope to the Asur, and allowed Aenarion the time to rally the defenses and begin the long counterattack.”

The prince finished speaking and silence fell upon the small group. After a few seconds though, the young Sentinel said:

“My prince? Forgive me, but why do you tell me this?”

“Don’t you see?” Spires challenged, another touch of irritation in his voice.

“That is the history of Nagarythe! Those that dare defy the Nagarathi are cast down and destroyed. Always! Time after time, the story is the same. The Hosts of Nagarythe roamed the world with Aenarion and wrote history in blood and flame, standing before all comers. And the outcome was inevitable! To face the Nagarathi in battle was to court defeat, utter and total. It is imminently predictable. The only variable being time.”

Spires paused to consider. “Perhaps it is one of Asuryan’s great ironies that the only foe that the Nagarathi have not been able to destroy are their own shadow selves to the north.” Another pause. “But then again, perhaps that too is merely a question of time. And some day, the Nagarathi will cast down their final enemy with the fellness of their rage, even as the world burns to a cinder around them.”

Silence once more descended upon the small group.

“My prince,” this time the Minister spoke hesitantly. “How can we…cope with such reckless hate and power?”

Spires smiled again. “With patience and love,” he said simply.

“With patience and…?!” the young Sentinel said startled and confused.

“Yes, love,” the elflord answered. “Just as the Yvressi train their griffons. Spurring the practices of the men of the continents or the hunters of Cothique that use drugs and hunger to break the great beasts. No the Yvressi use love and patience, a lifetime of care, to slowly bend the griffons to themselves. To forge a bond so powerful, that when need be, the beast will sacrifice itself – willingly and with terrible ferocity - for the master….”

There was no response to his words, but he hadn’t expected any. They couldn’t understand the care and extent of his plans. Looking down at the mound once more, Spires said:

“Tell me Minister. Have the Diviners finished their appraisal of the ithilmar?”

“Yes, my prince,” the shaven headed scribe answered quickly. “There is no more sign of the Chaos taint. It has been purged.”

“Excellent.”

The elf lord turned about and began to walk back to his waiting chariot, the two attendants behind him. After a moment the Sentinel spoke once more:

“My prince, if I may,” the youth began hesitantly. At a nod, he continued. “The seal of the four houses in the ithilmar temple below. The generals that bound the demon with their blood… They were all present among the houses that….you invited to the negotiations….”

“Yes. A remarkable coincidence,” the elflord said without looking. Then carefully added, “Isn’t it…Warden?”

The boy blinked and flushed at the new title. “Yes, my prince. And…thank you.”

The Prince reached the dragons before his chariot and pat one upon the shoulder. Then he swung himself into the waiting vehicle, standing alone and tall. The minister looked up to him and said,

“My prince, what should we do now?”

“Why now. Now, we harvest the ithilmar,” the Prince of Spires said with a tight lipped smile, and shook the reigns alerting the drakes to his will. As the beasts unfurled their wings, preparing for flight, the elf lord took one last look at the surrounding desert and the ruins of the battle that had taken place there. To the side he said:

“Oh, and Warden. Tell the hunters of the City that I offer a half-silver for every raven they bring me. Dead.”

The dragons leapt into the air. Carrying the Prince of Spires westward, towards home.

And the future.


***








And that is it for me. It is time for me to retire my chronicler's cap and board the ships bound for the West once more, leaving Ulthuan, and her stories, to the vision and imagination of others. Let me thank all those that stopped in to say 'hello' and offered encouragement during the telling of this tale. And to any others that may have enjoyed this story in silence, thank you as well! As always, if these tall tales were able to bring even a chuckle or two during some empty afternoon or sleepless night, then my ambitions were more than exceeded!

Finally, for those that wander the isolated coves and hidden glens of Utlhuan, straining for yet another sight of the White Hart, I ask you to direct your eyes northward from time to time, towards those snow-capped peaks of the Anullii, forbidding and grey, and know that beyond them, a vigil is kept, tirelessly and ferociously by your brothers in black, so that no enemy comes to your homes unchallenged!

Narrith lessa kynn'barr!

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 25, 2014 2:34 pm 
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Well played Sir
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Fare thee well great chronicler, thanks for shining your light upon Nagargythe and it's bitter defenders.

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PostPosted: Wed Feb 26, 2014 10:18 am 
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I hadn't checked this for while owing to a broken kindle, but that is just WOW!


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PostPosted: Sat Mar 01, 2014 11:29 am 
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Thanks for sending Lothello back to Lothern. I'll have fun torturing him.

...Er, I mean, I'll only punish him if I have to! :? :-$

I've really enjoyed reading this story. Thanks a lot for putting in all the effort to write it! I hope you don't stay away for too long. ;)

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PostPosted: Mon Mar 03, 2014 3:05 pm 
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Auctor Aeternitatum
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They'll drag you back kicking and screaming... You know how it is with those northern savages.

Of course, feel free to drop in every now and then even when you're not chronicling. We can always use some Yoda wisdom in these pages filled with WH enthousiasts. ;)

Rod

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Eirik wrote:
Please try to remember that, no matter how 'official' the source seems, rumours are basically just a dictionary combined with a random number generator

For Nagarythe: Come to the dark side.
PS: Bring cookies!

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PostPosted: Mon Mar 03, 2014 6:27 pm 
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We'll keep an eye on Spires for you. Although the Nagarathi will doubtless tell you it was all their work when you come back. I certainly hope it will not be long.

Now, I have to get good compensation for Ailana's troubles from Spires... :D

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PostPosted: Tue Mar 04, 2014 8:45 am 
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Aicanor wrote:
Now, I have to get good compensation for Ailana's troubles from Spires... :D

I'm sure I have a "Spires thanks you for your services" note lying around here somewhere for her. Also entitles you to a free coffee and lunch or diner in the city of Spires.

I'll see what else I can do for you. Perhaps I can even get her a week long all-inclusive holiday to the lovely, peacefull and idyllic dragon isles. Being eaten by a giant lizard is at your own risk though (and not covered by most travel insurances).

Rod

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Please try to remember that, no matter how 'official' the source seems, rumours are basically just a dictionary combined with a random number generator

For Nagarythe: Come to the dark side.
PS: Bring cookies!

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PostPosted: Tue Mar 04, 2014 2:58 pm 
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rdghuizing wrote:
Being eaten by a giant lizard is at your own risk though

Rod



Especially when Spires draws the gaze of Malossar...

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