THE TESTIMONIAL OF P.T. LYFANTOD — The Guild

TWENTY ONE

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UNFINISHED BUSINESS           “Caird, is that—What the hell is going on?  Jesus Christ, your throat!  Oh my god.  Oh… Flint.”             Horse’s words, tumbling out as she realized, piece by horrible piece, what in fact was going on, washed over Lyfantod without reaching him.  His attention was held by the flickering blue flame that was now dancing around his killer’s head, providing the newly-arrived detectives with some much needed illumination of the grisly tableau.  And by the fact that several pints of his blood had leaked out into the snow.    ...

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TWENTY

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WAYLAID           Lyfantod was collecting snow.  If he was forced to stand much longer out on the sidewalk outside of Eroteme, they would have to dig him out of a snowdrift.  At the moment, however he didn't have much say in the matter.  He was locked in a silent showdown, exchanging glower for glower, with his old refrigerator-shaped friend, who was once again in a shirt several sizes too small for his bulging chest.  He had exchanged his Russian ushanka hat for a knit cap with snowflakes woven into it, now nearly lost beneath their non-decorative brethren.  There...

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FIFTEEN

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GUTTED           Flint and Monroe arrived just after sunrise.  He walked into the dark club out of the bright morning sunlight projecting an air of tired authority, she looking as relaxed as she could with a hand on the hilt of the longsword which still hung from her hip.  It was clear enough they knew that whatever had happened here was finished.  They were followed in by three other wary looking Strawmen, some of whom Lyfantod recognized.  Flint looked like he hadn’t slept in days.  He seemed unsurprised to find the Weird Sisters in shambles: bodies scattered everywhere,...

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