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Witherling

Posted on: Feb 27, 2021
About 5 years ago
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Crawling out from the pit of Soul Sand the lone figure cares not to cough up the bitter death from which it emerged. A fire has sparked within after eons of blissful sleep, a hunger and drive it had never known before urging it to act, bleeding outward from its cracked chest. But act it shall... like a puppet lacking strings to guide its motions, weak yet unchained in a world of heat, death, and long-buried history.
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