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... once imposing mass of bloodthirsty blue monsters lying smothered in its own ashes by my will, the prompt retribution doing little to make up for the many ruined farmhouses and utterly pillaged fields of Morrowind-borne crops behind it.

"Well" Savos whispers "The poor fools will make for fine fertilizer at least."

"Stone cold, Archmage." Marwyn drawls.

Said Dunmer gives the young lich a withering glare "Keep your sarcasm to yourself, I do not approve of this." He then turn ...

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