Tempting to strike, way it's always been tempting. A gong, a skull, a hornet's nest. Reaching for the limb that won't hold. But Barrow slugs hard, and it's been a long week without much to show, and maybe graverobbing's just too far for Chantry.
So he leaves the bar. It hangs there, still picked under lid edge. Lazar dusts his hands and spits: Mouth smeared grey with sooty tomb-shite.
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Tempting to strike, way it's always been tempting. A gong, a skull, a hornet's nest. Reaching for the limb that won't hold. But Barrow slugs hard, and it's been a long week without much to show, and maybe graverobbing's just too far for Chantry.
So he leaves the bar. It hangs there, still picked under lid edge. Lazar dusts his hands and spits: Mouth smeared grey with sooty tomb-shite.
"What’s eating you?"