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<blockquote data-quote="Raven Crowking" data-source="post: 1826676" data-attributes="member: 18280"><p>“You have proved your valor in combat,” the orc said, speaking in the Dark Tongue. “You may go forward without paying a toll.”</p><p></p><p>The group looked at him in surprise.</p><p></p><p>“You think so?” said Gork, answering in the same language.</p><p></p><p>“I am Ragmar of the Black Skull tribe. I am only a soldier – I do not ask why I fight; only who, and what spoils are mine. I do not beg quarter. I am an enemy of your people. You will do what you must. I only ask, come one at a time, and let us dance a while before the final darkness.”</p><p></p><p>“We aren’t going to kill you,” said Firestar. “Leave this area, harming none, and you are free to go.”</p><p></p><p>The orc, Ragmar, blinked. “Truly?” When the party seemed to make no move to attack him, he lowered his weapon. “Then I will tell you this: I have no love for the Bonewardens you seek. They are found beyond the river…” he waved back the way he had come “…and to the north. They are deep in the councils of our chieftains, yet I fear it is unwise to trust in them. They drag down the honor of our people.”</p><p></p><p>“I hope you don’t mind if we cut off these orcs’ ears,” Locke said.</p><p></p><p>Ragmar shrugged. “Not if you treat the fallen with honor. We also despoil the bodies of those we defeat, but thereafter they should be buried or burned, that their spirits may descend to Morgâsh.” Orcs believed that their dark gods created the Fortress of Morgâsh to harden their spirits with dark fire until the end of time, when, led by demons, they would assail the heavens and throw them down in the final battle of the world.</p><p></p><p>The slain orcs had three short bows between them and a total of twenty-seven arrows remaining. They had five great axes and five suits of scale mail. One of the orcs had been carrying a clay pot of zurgâsh – there were five doses remaining. These the party took, along with the orcs’ ears, throwing the spoils onto their cart. Each orc also had a bundle containing food for three days (some form of greasy grey meat and rough bread), a wineskin filled with a pungent elixir (an alcohol of fermented mushrooms and meat, called morwine), and a bedroll. These the party left to be burned along with the orcs’ bodies.</p><p></p><p>Ragmar took a drink from his own bottle. It was very easy to get drunk with morwine, but it also removed fatigue and made one feel the pain of his wounds less.</p><p></p><p>They left Ragmar to mourn his companions in whatever manner he chose. When they finally rested that night, the reddish-brown forest ants again attacked them, during the second and third watches of the night.</p><p></p><p>“This is going to keep happening until we do something about the skunk stink,” said Desu.</p><p></p><p>In the morning, they woke up and began to break camp, pausing only long enough to eat something and pack their goods. Although they were growing accustomed to it, the smell of skunk still lingered on their cart and equipment, and may have at least been partly responsible for drawing creatures like the dire boars and the giant ants to them, as Desu had supposed. Skunk spray could linger for weeks, or even months, and they feared that they were destined to have some exciting times ahead! </p><p></p><p>In any event, they were quickly packed and moving.</p><p></p><p>At last they were passing away from the areas that had been cleared for timber and farmland. As you moved into the deeper forest, two great trees formed an arch over the road, as though to mark the boundary between settled lands and the wilderness. It was moving toward evening, but not yet twilight.</p><p></p><p>At various places along true roads in the Lakelands – such as that which they followed – travelers’ caches had been created to aid the desperate wanderer in the wild. These could be recognized as tall cairns of stone, often containing necessary supplies within them. These were free for the use of any who needed them, but it was incumbent upon travelers to make up for any loss at a later date. </p><p></p><p>Indeed, when travelers found an empty cairn they were responsible for leaving supplies if they could – for the untamed wilderness was vast and unexpected needs arose. These cairns were maintained by all, for the good of all, as a matter of honor and necessity. Typically, they contained a knife, blankets, and the means to create fire as a bare minimum.</p><p></p><p>They were also sureties that travelers were on the right road. The party sought sign of such a cairn as they traveled through the wilderness, but there seemed to be none.</p><p></p><p>After traveling for a few hours, they noticed that the new-budded leaves of spring had become thick and green, and there were blossoms in some of the trees. Although it was the cusp of nightfall, the air was still warm and sweetly scented. They occasionally catch glimpses of hidden forms darting among the tree branches – tiny humanoids, clad in leaf and moss, with or without tiny dragonfly wings. The occasional tittering reached their ears.</p><p></p><p>As true twilight came, the path – for the road had become a path – took them to a clearing where they could easily make camp.</p><p></p><p>Manveru looked about at the trees, and found a thicket of thorn trees beside the camp. He had the power, as a druid, to step into the Green and pass through such areas without harm. He wished to meditate without distraction, so now he used this power, stepping off the path into the thorny thicket, and disappeared from sight.</p><p></p><p>Soon after Manveru had gone, the rest of the group was approached by a slender gnome with ruddy skin and curly red hair that seemed to move as though by a breeze. He was dressed in red breeches and a bright yellow jacket. He wore no armor, but they could see a sickle hanging from his belt.</p><p></p><p>“Who are you?” they asked.</p><p></p><p>“You may call me Bryne of Lig,” the small man said. “Have you any food to share with a weary traveler?”</p><p></p><p>“I think we have enough to spare,” Nift said. They took out a share of food, and gave it to the small gnome. Instantly, it was consumed.</p><p></p><p>“Do you have any more?”</p><p></p><p>At first the party was reluctant to waste their supplies upon this being they did not know. Then one of them realized that this must be the “red-haired lad” the first calcified head in the well had told them about, and they gave Bryne of Lig more food. And more food.</p><p></p><p>When he had eaten enough for many days, Bryne of Lig smiled at them. “That was but a modest repast, but it needs repaying,” he said. “And so, I will tell you something to your benefit, and perhaps a bit more. Aware of it or not, you have Passed Over, and there are rules you need to be aware of. For you are no longer in the Middle World, but the Otherworld, which you may call the Spirit World or Faerieland, as you will. To aid you in your journey, I will tell you three things:</p><p></p><p>“First, even the most gracious of creatures can prove fell to the greedy or rude. Mind your tongues and your manners here, for the Good People are not all Good, nor even all People. Gifts and insults must be repaid in kind, so be wary.</p><p></p><p>“Second, neither eat nor drink, but of that which you bring with you. To taste the fruits of the Faerie Realm is to court disaster.</p><p></p><p>“Finally, and above all, <em><strong>stay on the path</strong></em>. The path will always go where you need to go, though it will take its own time in getting there.</p><p></p><p>“Now, because you will forget, or because you will stray, or because you will be tricked from your proper course, I will teach you this rhyme. Thrice you may call it, and if I hear I will come to aid you as best I am able. Call it a fourth time, and <em>you</em> will owe <em>me</em> a debt, which I shall surely reclaim. Ready?</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">“Come Bryne of Lig, Come Bryne of Lig,</p> <p style="text-align: center">By Branch and Bough and Tinder Twig.</p><p></p><p>“Let me hear you say it.”</p><p></p><p>They repeated the words several times. Bryne of Lig was patient with them, repeating the rhyme until he was certain that they had it memorized. “Good,” he said at last. “Then I shall depart as I came, with a hop and a pop and a burst of flame.” He leapt into the air, and disappeared in a flash of light and fire.</p><p></p><p>While they had spoken to Bryne of Lig, summer came into the trees, though the day did not seem to have progressed at all. They found that they could rest, and rest seemed to relieve fatigue, but any hurts they had taken remain as they were – neither healing nor growing worse. They were in a land of eternal twilight; the dawn would not come so long as they remained there. As magic in the Lakelands was tied to the passage of time, they realized that they had to make do with what spells they had, and what healing they carried.</p><p></p><p>It was then that Eden realized that disaster had already struck – Manveru had left the path! As soon as she spoke, the rest of the group realized the truth. They called for Manveru. He did not answer. Whether he did not hear them, or could not reply, they didn’t know. They knew only that they could not leave the path to search for him, or they would never find it again.</p><p></p><p>Immediately, they fell to arguing. Some said, “Call Bryne of Lig” and some said “No.” Some said it was Manveru’s fault for stepping off the path in the first place, though he could hardly know that they were in Faerie when he did so.</p><p></p><p>At last Firestar decided the matter: “Argue what we may, we cannot simply abandon him to his fate, and I am ashamed of you for even thinking it.”</p><p></p><p>They called Bryne of Lig. It was harder than they thought, for indeed despite his making them repeat his rhyme; some thought he was “Brian of Leg”.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, Manveru had found himself in a thorn thicket indeed. Miles of thorn trees stretched around him in all directions, without end. He could not find the path. When he called, he heard nothing in response, save the titter of diminutive fey hiding in the branches overhead.</p><p></p><p>Luckily, Manveru was a druid, and it took him a long time to panic. He had just reached the conclusion that he would be unable to find his way back by any means, and thus would never see his companions again, when a little red-haired man stepped from behind a thorn tree.</p><p></p><p>“Would you like me to take you to your friends?” Bryne of Lig asked.</p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“Then take my hand.” With Bryne of Lig’s aid, Manveru was able to walk quickly through the trees and into the clearing where his friends awaited. “That is one favor repaid,” said Bryne of Lig. “Now I shall go as I came, with a hop, and a pop, and a burst of flame.”</p><p></p><p>Many in the group could not help remonstrating Manveru for his carelessness in stepping off the path, though he had not known they were in Faerie at the time. Chief among these were Eden and Nift. In the case of Nift, this proved ironic indeed, for in the events that followed Nift failed to heed any of the warnings the party had been given.</p><p></p><p>After a time, they grew used to seeing lights and figures dancing in the trees, and off the path. Although the trees were once strong and vigorous with summer green, those leaves now turned red and gold as though the autumn was coming. The fall of them washed the path, rustling around their feet. The trees were heavy with succulent fruit, and berries were growing thick on the vines. </p><p></p><p>They had, of course, heard stories of folk who wandered into Faerie young, and came out ancient, though seemingly little time had passed. They had also heard tales of those who spent a single night in faerie revels, only to discover that the world had changed when they returned, and their grandchildren assumed them dead a century before.</p><p> </p><p>Whether the changing of the seasons here had any relevance to what was going on in the Middle World they could not tell. But it was troublesome. And still, the eternal twilight went on.</p><p></p><p>About three days seemed to have passed, and their path was going into ever-higher country. The waterskins that they filled before entering Faerie were much lighter; they were beginning to use the last mouthfuls available. There were many small rills and natural fountains, crossing or beside the path, where they could refill them. However, they remembered Bryne of Lig’s warning, and went on, parched instead.</p><p></p><p>Crouched in the wooded hills, they at last come to a house that was beside their path. Indeed, the path allowed them to continue up into the hills, or to go directly to the small cottage. </p><p></p><p>The last leaves had fallen, and there was a chill in the air. There seemed to be no fire burning, for no smoke came from the chimney. The wind tasted thick, as though snow were about to fall.</p><p></p><p>They went up to the cottage. Firestar felt the evil coming from within emanating out in waves. In answer to their knock, a thin, old voice answered: “The door is unlatched. Enter freely, and of your own will.”</p><p></p><p>This was the House of Bone. It was covered by a glamour that makes it appear to be of stone, but when they looked closely, they could discern that the “stones” were in fact the bones of men, animals, and giants.</p><p></p><p>They walked forward, and pushed the door open.</p><p></p><p>The interior of the house was shrouded in cold and darkness, as though winter itself dwelt therein. They could see a white cat curled up before the dead fireplace; it looked up at them with glowing green eyes. </p><p></p><p>“Come in, come in,” the ancient voice called from a farther room. “And close the door behind you.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you,” called Locke, “but we are quite happy here.” They chose not to enter, for they remembered the warning of the second head in the well. They were polite, for they remembered the warning of Bryne of Lig. </p><p></p><p>From a further room came the Old Bone Man, cold and white of skin, skeletally thin. His eyes glowed with a red fire. “Please, come inside.”</p><p></p><p>“No thank you,” said Nift, shivering in his summer attire. “It is quite beautiful out here. You should come out.”</p><p></p><p>The Old Bone Man made no move.</p><p></p><p>“We have wine!” They held out a bottle that they carried.</p><p></p><p>“That is not the good red wine,” the Old Bone Man said. His voice was as dry as the winter wind. He looked up at them with his red eyes, and they could clearly see his desire.</p><p></p><p>“He’s a vampire!” said Firestar, recoiling in horror. The Old Bone Man just grinned at him. “He wants our blood! We should not deal with this thing.”</p><p></p><p>“But we want the stick,” said Desu.</p><p></p><p>“There are many things I would trade for the good red wine. Name your desire.”</p><p></p><p>But, before they could begin negotiating in earnest, a fey mood struck Locke. As a jest, he said, “Spin around three times and bark like a dog.”</p><p></p><p>“Done!” the Old Bone Man cried with glee. He spun around thrice, and barked. “Now, give me what is mine.”</p><p></p><p>Locke scowled, for his jest had turned sour. “Very well,” he said. He took his dagger and sliced his arm, letting the blood drip into a cup. He gave it to the Old Bone Man, who drank it with relish.</p><p></p><p>“Now, about the stick…” began Desu, but the Old Bone Man merely laughed.</p><p></p><p>“I have gained what I wished,” he said. He tossed the emptied cup out of the House of Bone, and closed the door.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Raven Crowking, post: 1826676, member: 18280"] “You have proved your valor in combat,” the orc said, speaking in the Dark Tongue. “You may go forward without paying a toll.” The group looked at him in surprise. “You think so?” said Gork, answering in the same language. “I am Ragmar of the Black Skull tribe. I am only a soldier – I do not ask why I fight; only who, and what spoils are mine. I do not beg quarter. I am an enemy of your people. You will do what you must. I only ask, come one at a time, and let us dance a while before the final darkness.” “We aren’t going to kill you,” said Firestar. “Leave this area, harming none, and you are free to go.” The orc, Ragmar, blinked. “Truly?” When the party seemed to make no move to attack him, he lowered his weapon. “Then I will tell you this: I have no love for the Bonewardens you seek. They are found beyond the river…” he waved back the way he had come “…and to the north. They are deep in the councils of our chieftains, yet I fear it is unwise to trust in them. They drag down the honor of our people.” “I hope you don’t mind if we cut off these orcs’ ears,” Locke said. Ragmar shrugged. “Not if you treat the fallen with honor. We also despoil the bodies of those we defeat, but thereafter they should be buried or burned, that their spirits may descend to Morgâsh.” Orcs believed that their dark gods created the Fortress of Morgâsh to harden their spirits with dark fire until the end of time, when, led by demons, they would assail the heavens and throw them down in the final battle of the world. The slain orcs had three short bows between them and a total of twenty-seven arrows remaining. They had five great axes and five suits of scale mail. One of the orcs had been carrying a clay pot of zurgâsh – there were five doses remaining. These the party took, along with the orcs’ ears, throwing the spoils onto their cart. Each orc also had a bundle containing food for three days (some form of greasy grey meat and rough bread), a wineskin filled with a pungent elixir (an alcohol of fermented mushrooms and meat, called morwine), and a bedroll. These the party left to be burned along with the orcs’ bodies. Ragmar took a drink from his own bottle. It was very easy to get drunk with morwine, but it also removed fatigue and made one feel the pain of his wounds less. They left Ragmar to mourn his companions in whatever manner he chose. When they finally rested that night, the reddish-brown forest ants again attacked them, during the second and third watches of the night. “This is going to keep happening until we do something about the skunk stink,” said Desu. In the morning, they woke up and began to break camp, pausing only long enough to eat something and pack their goods. Although they were growing accustomed to it, the smell of skunk still lingered on their cart and equipment, and may have at least been partly responsible for drawing creatures like the dire boars and the giant ants to them, as Desu had supposed. Skunk spray could linger for weeks, or even months, and they feared that they were destined to have some exciting times ahead! In any event, they were quickly packed and moving. At last they were passing away from the areas that had been cleared for timber and farmland. As you moved into the deeper forest, two great trees formed an arch over the road, as though to mark the boundary between settled lands and the wilderness. It was moving toward evening, but not yet twilight. At various places along true roads in the Lakelands – such as that which they followed – travelers’ caches had been created to aid the desperate wanderer in the wild. These could be recognized as tall cairns of stone, often containing necessary supplies within them. These were free for the use of any who needed them, but it was incumbent upon travelers to make up for any loss at a later date. Indeed, when travelers found an empty cairn they were responsible for leaving supplies if they could – for the untamed wilderness was vast and unexpected needs arose. These cairns were maintained by all, for the good of all, as a matter of honor and necessity. Typically, they contained a knife, blankets, and the means to create fire as a bare minimum. They were also sureties that travelers were on the right road. The party sought sign of such a cairn as they traveled through the wilderness, but there seemed to be none. After traveling for a few hours, they noticed that the new-budded leaves of spring had become thick and green, and there were blossoms in some of the trees. Although it was the cusp of nightfall, the air was still warm and sweetly scented. They occasionally catch glimpses of hidden forms darting among the tree branches – tiny humanoids, clad in leaf and moss, with or without tiny dragonfly wings. The occasional tittering reached their ears. As true twilight came, the path – for the road had become a path – took them to a clearing where they could easily make camp. Manveru looked about at the trees, and found a thicket of thorn trees beside the camp. He had the power, as a druid, to step into the Green and pass through such areas without harm. He wished to meditate without distraction, so now he used this power, stepping off the path into the thorny thicket, and disappeared from sight. Soon after Manveru had gone, the rest of the group was approached by a slender gnome with ruddy skin and curly red hair that seemed to move as though by a breeze. He was dressed in red breeches and a bright yellow jacket. He wore no armor, but they could see a sickle hanging from his belt. “Who are you?” they asked. “You may call me Bryne of Lig,” the small man said. “Have you any food to share with a weary traveler?” “I think we have enough to spare,” Nift said. They took out a share of food, and gave it to the small gnome. Instantly, it was consumed. “Do you have any more?” At first the party was reluctant to waste their supplies upon this being they did not know. Then one of them realized that this must be the “red-haired lad” the first calcified head in the well had told them about, and they gave Bryne of Lig more food. And more food. When he had eaten enough for many days, Bryne of Lig smiled at them. “That was but a modest repast, but it needs repaying,” he said. “And so, I will tell you something to your benefit, and perhaps a bit more. Aware of it or not, you have Passed Over, and there are rules you need to be aware of. For you are no longer in the Middle World, but the Otherworld, which you may call the Spirit World or Faerieland, as you will. To aid you in your journey, I will tell you three things: “First, even the most gracious of creatures can prove fell to the greedy or rude. Mind your tongues and your manners here, for the Good People are not all Good, nor even all People. Gifts and insults must be repaid in kind, so be wary. “Second, neither eat nor drink, but of that which you bring with you. To taste the fruits of the Faerie Realm is to court disaster. “Finally, and above all, [I][B]stay on the path[/B][/I]. The path will always go where you need to go, though it will take its own time in getting there. “Now, because you will forget, or because you will stray, or because you will be tricked from your proper course, I will teach you this rhyme. Thrice you may call it, and if I hear I will come to aid you as best I am able. Call it a fourth time, and [I]you[/I] will owe [I]me[/I] a debt, which I shall surely reclaim. Ready? [CENTER]“Come Bryne of Lig, Come Bryne of Lig, By Branch and Bough and Tinder Twig.[/CENTER] “Let me hear you say it.” They repeated the words several times. Bryne of Lig was patient with them, repeating the rhyme until he was certain that they had it memorized. “Good,” he said at last. “Then I shall depart as I came, with a hop and a pop and a burst of flame.” He leapt into the air, and disappeared in a flash of light and fire. While they had spoken to Bryne of Lig, summer came into the trees, though the day did not seem to have progressed at all. They found that they could rest, and rest seemed to relieve fatigue, but any hurts they had taken remain as they were – neither healing nor growing worse. They were in a land of eternal twilight; the dawn would not come so long as they remained there. As magic in the Lakelands was tied to the passage of time, they realized that they had to make do with what spells they had, and what healing they carried. It was then that Eden realized that disaster had already struck – Manveru had left the path! As soon as she spoke, the rest of the group realized the truth. They called for Manveru. He did not answer. Whether he did not hear them, or could not reply, they didn’t know. They knew only that they could not leave the path to search for him, or they would never find it again. Immediately, they fell to arguing. Some said, “Call Bryne of Lig” and some said “No.” Some said it was Manveru’s fault for stepping off the path in the first place, though he could hardly know that they were in Faerie when he did so. At last Firestar decided the matter: “Argue what we may, we cannot simply abandon him to his fate, and I am ashamed of you for even thinking it.” They called Bryne of Lig. It was harder than they thought, for indeed despite his making them repeat his rhyme; some thought he was “Brian of Leg”. Meanwhile, Manveru had found himself in a thorn thicket indeed. Miles of thorn trees stretched around him in all directions, without end. He could not find the path. When he called, he heard nothing in response, save the titter of diminutive fey hiding in the branches overhead. Luckily, Manveru was a druid, and it took him a long time to panic. He had just reached the conclusion that he would be unable to find his way back by any means, and thus would never see his companions again, when a little red-haired man stepped from behind a thorn tree. “Would you like me to take you to your friends?” Bryne of Lig asked. “Yes.” “Then take my hand.” With Bryne of Lig’s aid, Manveru was able to walk quickly through the trees and into the clearing where his friends awaited. “That is one favor repaid,” said Bryne of Lig. “Now I shall go as I came, with a hop, and a pop, and a burst of flame.” Many in the group could not help remonstrating Manveru for his carelessness in stepping off the path, though he had not known they were in Faerie at the time. Chief among these were Eden and Nift. In the case of Nift, this proved ironic indeed, for in the events that followed Nift failed to heed any of the warnings the party had been given. After a time, they grew used to seeing lights and figures dancing in the trees, and off the path. Although the trees were once strong and vigorous with summer green, those leaves now turned red and gold as though the autumn was coming. The fall of them washed the path, rustling around their feet. The trees were heavy with succulent fruit, and berries were growing thick on the vines. They had, of course, heard stories of folk who wandered into Faerie young, and came out ancient, though seemingly little time had passed. They had also heard tales of those who spent a single night in faerie revels, only to discover that the world had changed when they returned, and their grandchildren assumed them dead a century before. Whether the changing of the seasons here had any relevance to what was going on in the Middle World they could not tell. But it was troublesome. And still, the eternal twilight went on. About three days seemed to have passed, and their path was going into ever-higher country. The waterskins that they filled before entering Faerie were much lighter; they were beginning to use the last mouthfuls available. There were many small rills and natural fountains, crossing or beside the path, where they could refill them. However, they remembered Bryne of Lig’s warning, and went on, parched instead. Crouched in the wooded hills, they at last come to a house that was beside their path. Indeed, the path allowed them to continue up into the hills, or to go directly to the small cottage. The last leaves had fallen, and there was a chill in the air. There seemed to be no fire burning, for no smoke came from the chimney. The wind tasted thick, as though snow were about to fall. They went up to the cottage. Firestar felt the evil coming from within emanating out in waves. In answer to their knock, a thin, old voice answered: “The door is unlatched. Enter freely, and of your own will.” This was the House of Bone. It was covered by a glamour that makes it appear to be of stone, but when they looked closely, they could discern that the “stones” were in fact the bones of men, animals, and giants. They walked forward, and pushed the door open. The interior of the house was shrouded in cold and darkness, as though winter itself dwelt therein. They could see a white cat curled up before the dead fireplace; it looked up at them with glowing green eyes. “Come in, come in,” the ancient voice called from a farther room. “And close the door behind you.” “Thank you,” called Locke, “but we are quite happy here.” They chose not to enter, for they remembered the warning of the second head in the well. They were polite, for they remembered the warning of Bryne of Lig. From a further room came the Old Bone Man, cold and white of skin, skeletally thin. His eyes glowed with a red fire. “Please, come inside.” “No thank you,” said Nift, shivering in his summer attire. “It is quite beautiful out here. You should come out.” The Old Bone Man made no move. “We have wine!” They held out a bottle that they carried. “That is not the good red wine,” the Old Bone Man said. His voice was as dry as the winter wind. He looked up at them with his red eyes, and they could clearly see his desire. “He’s a vampire!” said Firestar, recoiling in horror. The Old Bone Man just grinned at him. “He wants our blood! We should not deal with this thing.” “But we want the stick,” said Desu. “There are many things I would trade for the good red wine. Name your desire.” But, before they could begin negotiating in earnest, a fey mood struck Locke. As a jest, he said, “Spin around three times and bark like a dog.” “Done!” the Old Bone Man cried with glee. He spun around thrice, and barked. “Now, give me what is mine.” Locke scowled, for his jest had turned sour. “Very well,” he said. He took his dagger and sliced his arm, letting the blood drip into a cup. He gave it to the Old Bone Man, who drank it with relish. “Now, about the stick…” began Desu, but the Old Bone Man merely laughed. “I have gained what I wished,” he said. He tossed the emptied cup out of the House of Bone, and closed the door. [/QUOTE]
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