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The Making of a Prince


Aeus

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A bitter and jaded elfess sharpens her spear...

 

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The Baron de Wett awakes from his among his pile of sealskins, a glass of brandy forced into his hand by a servant.

 

"The wedding?!" shrieks the Baron, interrupting his own blustering with a deep draught, "The union of the Bright Flame of Tallernor and the Hymen of the West? What's happened, damn you?"

 

"I fear the wedding was days ago, my lord," offered the servant delicately, eager not to upset his lord and master.

 

"Curses!" bumbled the Baron de Wett, brandy spilling onto his nightclothes, "Well, I will have to pay my respects to the Red Flame and the Western Hymen... Prepare my Malinese sherwani at once. I will be appropriately dressed."

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