Prince Orion stalks through the candlelit halls. His steely eyes are cold & slightly sunken from the weight of heavy burdens & the recent loss of his Father. He eyes the flickering shadows, drawing his blade, pointing it where you stand shrouded in darkness. I do not take kindly to recreant knaves. Step forth and speak varlet, and I may grant amnesty. Anon! Afore I cleave thy head from thy shoulders.
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