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:: An entity of oozing black ichor reaches a claw from the breach between worlds. As it grasps its way into this one, its form solidifies into an upright young man, a Cup seared into his palm. ::
What will you have us do?
💠
:: They are atop a spire. The Strands of Order and Sovereignty radiate through them to the four directions.
:: Sensing their hesitation, the Eye above opens, glaring down. The High Priestess must be found.
:: Though they struggle, it cannot be overcome.
:: They pull. ::
💠
:: An entity of oozing black ichor reaches a claw from the breach between worlds. As it grasps its way into this one, its form solidifies into an upright young man, a Cup seared into his palm. ::
What will you have us do?
💠