"Funny, isn't it? How fleeting life is..." He muses. "Do you think you have
truly lived, Jiraishin? Or have you merely existed?"
0h, 3570m, 1692e, 20425w ex
The brand upon your brow sears painfully, emitting brilliant motes of violet
darkfire.
0h, 3570m, 1712e, 20425w ex
Ugrach wrenches upon your arm without waiting for a response, and the visions
cease; the world stills, and you find yourself before a throne of grisly,
yellowed bone. Immediately, Ugrach abandons your side and takes his rightful
place as the Curator of Death.