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How fitting
Fri Mar 8 22:05:56 2002

As Septfoil stepped out of the way... it only caused him to fall face-first into the dirt.

That seemed to knock him back into realitiy.

He groaned again... muttering multiple curses under his breath. He blinked his eyes open, the shocked state of mind vanishing... and reality coming back into play.

The ground came into focus... as did the blood that was slowly consuming the area around him. He was sitting in a puddle of his own blood.

He slowly, shakily forced himself to stand, and turn to face Septfoil.

"How fitting." He managed to say. He breathed heavily again for a few moments before speaking again.

He nodded his head. "This... is the end of it... Sept-...* He was interrupted by a cough. He winced. It was painful for him to even breath. The effort to hold himself up and talk was incredible, and took more mental strength than he had ever required before in his whole life.

Perhaps he had been wrong. It was, of course, of no consequence now. And he would never admit it... not with his last breath. His pride would never allow it. The doings had been done, and now there would be a sure winner.

"You have... my blessing..." It became too much. His legs became shaky, and gave out underneath him. And so he layed there for a moment, recomposing himself, before continuing with... "To run this warren... as you see... fit."

His words were now slow, and spoke in a quiet voice, though still demanding audience, as he always had.