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You're an adept enough corpse-mage, I'll give you that. Your skill lets you control, in death, what you couldn't in life. Friends, allies, enemies: it doesn't matter when all that's left is skin and bone. You wield this talent as a form of vengeance, to that end, taking from those unable to defend themselves. Sad, truly. And boring.

From my earliest memories, I've wielded undeath in one form or another, as a tool as much a part of me as my own hands or feet. It was never to prove a point, or to defy the will of creation. My craft is practical and in service to the living: hardly extraordinary or unhallowed.

So how will your faithless creations stand against one who's truly mastered our craft? There is honor amongst the living, sure, but have you left your risen with a shred of it? Of their inherited dignity? I have, and for that I fear you not.

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Catherine

I've got a party about to enter Axeholm, an old Dwarven fortress filled with ghouls & a banshee. I wonder if this would make it too easy ...