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- I allow my mask to disintegrate. The warriors watch wide-eyed as I form three small daggers from the metal.
- Then I direct them to hover at each man’s throat.
- “Rotting gods. You’re like a puppy,” growls Ostius as the men back away, forced to by the jagged ends of the metal. He turns to the warriors. “Is mian leis an draoi sibh a fhágáil go ciúin di.”
- The Strength of the Few Chapter 51
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