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Featuring new cover art: “Swamp Relic” by Piotr Dura
A moment longer, Rallos watches in disgusted fascination as the vile man-beast's body twitches and lurches as he puts his muscles into grinding something in a large mortar and pestle before him. Reagents, no doubt, for some rite or malicious magick.
allos gives a curt nod. He knows when he's beaten, although it is a rare enough sensation and one that tastes like gall.
Most of the teeth in his jaw didn’t belong to him—after one-hundred and eighty years and a small mountain of corpses, he lied through other people’s teeth. He’d pulled them out of the mouths of other mages, mostly dead ones.
He had purposefully waited three years to answer.
From the Archives:
He knew there was more to the story he’d told Greta. Not just later, not just the forgotten ending.