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Malika stalked away, caring little if the Orthael followed. She had no care for her own life anymore. Everything she had ever known and cared about had been stripped from her in a single night. She cared only for her grim purpose now -- retribution upon the monsters that had left her bereft.
Mistress, she heard Morduth say into her mind, are you certain this is a good idea?
She nodded once, curtly. She didn't know if the sword could perceive the gesture, but it said nothing else, and she sensed a kind of calm resignation in its demeanor. A moment later, the holy man fell into step beside her, his own strange sword still faintly glowing with that odd orange flame.
"I care not," she said by way of preamble, not bothering to look at him, "if you help me, though such aid as provide be most welcome. But be warned that you best not hinder me, else you face my wrath. Those who be not with me be against me, and I will cut down any who step into my path.
"I have but one purpose now -- death to the Deathless."
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A parishioner had requested aid against the Dead. The task of returning the dead to rest was beyond …Resolve and Passion
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