Surely fortune is my strumpet, for my assassin, Rava, has progressed in reducing the incurable friction between the rise of my cult and the established cults of Neverwinter. Now there is doubt in the minds of the power brokers, and they are more likely to parley than resist. It is in time, time and the plying of gold that creates a mold, and the mold always grows into a general rotting of constitution. In this way, Rava’s cold-blooded murders transcend the physical, entering the metaphysical where anything can happen. For this I must say, excellent work, Rava.
Rava, meet Ilyania, a powerful assest to our cause. I mistakenly left her on another world, thinking it best to give her room to grow into her powers without my interference. However, Dark Fortune has played in our favor. While death is the general end to mortal and immortal, it seems…
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