Resolve and Passion
A parishioner had requested aid against the Dead. The task of returning the dead to rest was so far beyond import that it lay somewhere in the realm of the sacrosanct. Orthael inclined his head in acquiescence and summoned Judgement into his grip, though he declined its tantalising invitation. Now was the time to eschew the towering heights of the All-Consumer's direct intervention in favour of the attention of one of his lesser cohort. He breathed a whispered command, a question asked on the fading echoes of a blast of light, and sighed.
"It's close, isn't it? The parish of St Graphithas the Less or Nimier-sur-Varenne under the diocese of Varenniel, currently" - Judgement blazed brightly in outraged protest - "very much overrun by the Dead."
Unbidden but revealing his presence all the same, the High Angel Varenniel whispered further in Orthael's ear.
"Their presence occludes higher sight. You may come to regret your comment about the Unquiet Dead, for there is certainly one or more of their ilk waiting."
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At last Malika leaned away from the stranger, shrugging off his embrace like a cloak. She wanted her…Cold Fire, Hot Fury
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I've always loved this particular unique item in a game I used to play, mostly because of its flavor text:
Give of your heated passions.
Give of your cold resolve.
You will be repaid.