The walls of the dining hall dripped with fresh, crimson
blood. Limbs were haphazardly strewn about, torsos resting on the floor with
entrails spilling.
The lone survivor was a man who looked like a hodgepodge
of the sentient, monstrous races of the continent. Swiveling eyestalks topped
his head; one arm was large, purple, and bulbous. He swayed through the room,
looking closely at the slippery piles of gore. He examined each limb with a
careful eye. Selecting one from soupy mess, he held it against the red, running
stump of his own arm.
“Drat, that’s not the right one either.”
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