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It had been a difficult and exhausting journey. Zarion Bloodnail, scourge of the Sotha Wastes, defiler of Fruaq Ciliasan, sworn enemy of the Khalolies, had slain innumerable challengers to be here now, at this precise moment, to perform his annual vigil to the one — the only one — who had almost bested him. The blood of the last Llirid who'd stood in his way still dripped from Bloodnail's ancient battleaxe. Finally he was here, standing at the site of one of his fiercest battles, the sun's weak light barely illuminating his soul-black armour. The skeleton of Utto Nosk, a worthy Cuccerine warrior whom Bloodnail barely bested after hours of shattering combat, lay on the blasted heath. His mighty sword Soulrapier, now rusted and useless, was still where Bloodnail had impaled it in the cursed ground of Verm-Ont once Nosk had finally fallen. “Once more I stand above you,” Bloodnail said, gazing with some sadness at Nosk's bleached bones while remembering that fight, now decades in the past. “You fought valiantly and died with honour. I have never since encountered a warrior of your skill these past 30 years, and I regret that I never will again. People in this new age are weak and cowering. You, old friend, were of a dying breed, and I fear that I am the last of that breed. Our kind will never be seen again in this world once I am gone.” Suddenly, a fleeting vision crossed his mind, a vision that filled him with dread as he stood over Nosk's remains. Beneath his cloven helm, its eyeslits glowing with pale eldritch light, Bloodnail's brow crinkled in thought. “No. It cannot be,” he murmured, staring into the distance at the mist-shrouded Esternon Mountains. He concentrated, casting his mind back, trying to remember... “Did I leave the gas on?” EDIT: No one's spotted the Verm-Ont joke? (the figure is on an unfinished Vermont jigsaw)