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You are in the twilight of your life; along with a scant few others as powerful and influential as you—including Vlad, the man who is now King (and who rules, at least in part, from a mandate you and your companions agreed to a quarter century ago), were once adventurers, caught up in a whirlwind of unrelated events that catapulted you all, through bravery, sacrifice and no small part of luck, to fame and fortune.

When your adventuring careers had ended, though, the cost was great indeed. Your foes were smashed, their strongholds pilfered and defiled, their plans thwarted—but one of your closest companions was dead, shattered, her soul devoured by the corpse of a dead God in that terrible black Cyst from which you only barely escaped. Vlad was pulled, gibbering and raving, bodily from the Cyst only moments before it shut forever, leaving the sparkling, cold shards of her body entombed forever.

It was then the group finally split apart. Though you all maintained civil tones with each other, even through the final honors ceremony, you all knew you would not remain together after this. The childless King chose Vlad as his heir-apparent, and the rest of you drifted into roles that your wealth and titles suited you best for.

And now, twenty-five years since the last King died and Vlad ascended the throne; now that your final foe, Time, looks you each in the eye and forces you to acknowledge your mortality—now is the time to meet, one last time, to right the wrongs of your youth and meet your ends in peace. The date is set, the place is the palace of the King, and, really, there is only one reply you can make.

Surely a quarter century is long enough to mend these wounds?

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Hail to the King morduun