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The Crippled God
Dramatis Personae Pagination
"He was a soldier"
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
All the takers of my days
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7
To charge the spear
Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The fists of the world
Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13
A hand upon the fates
Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 16
To one in chains
Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20
Your private shore
Chapter 21 Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Chapter 24
Epilogue I Epilogue II
Epigraph

Dominant among the ancient races we can observe four: the Imass, the Jaghut, the K'Chain Che'Malle, and the Forkrul Assail. While others were present in the eldritch times, either their numbers were scant or their legacies have all but vanished from the world.
    As for us humans, we were the rats in the walls and crawlspaces, those few of us that existed.
    But is not domination our birthright? Are we not the likenesses of carved idols and prophets? Do these idols not serve us? Do these prophets not prophesy our dominion over all other creatures?
    Perhaps you might note, with a sly wink, that the hands that carved the idols were our own and that those blessed prophets so bold in their claims of righteous glory, each emerged from the common human press. You might note, then, that our fierce assertions cannot help but be blatantly self-serving, indeed, self-justifying.
    And if you did, well, you are no friend of ours. And for you we have this dagger, this pyre, this iron tongue of torture. Retract your claims to our unexceptional selves, our gross banality of the profane.
    As a species, we are displeased by notions of a mundane disconnect from destiny, and we shall hold to our deadly displeasure until we humans have crumbled to ash and dust.
    For, as the Elder Races would tell you, were they around to do so, the world has its own dagger, its own iron tongue, its own pyre. And from its flames, there is nowhere to hide.

Fragment purportedly from a translator's note to a lost edition of Gothos' Folly, Genabaris, 835 Burn's Sleep


Onos T'oolan and the T'lan Imass with him still stand among the corpse of the Barghast clan they slaughtered; all but Tool regret the deaths. After three days Tool leads them east, towards the gathering forces; apart from two who refuse his call.

The Trygalle shareholders need water. Faint tells the mage Precious Thimble to use her power to get some. Instead she rouses an ancient buried god, who kills Sweetest Sufferance before Draconus arrives and defeats him.

Silchas Ruin decides that Rud Elalle will need a sword and goes to find him one.

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