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(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

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"Long live the Empress!" they cry in unison. "One thousand years! Long live<br />

the Empress! One Thousand Years!"<br />

Beyond the threshold, <strong>do</strong>zens <strong>of</strong> loyal warlords, kings in their own right,<br />

drop <strong>to</strong> their knees, <strong>to</strong>uching their heads <strong>to</strong> the floor in deference as you<br />

pass them en route <strong>to</strong> the grand Imperial Throne.<br />

As you turn and face your minions, seating yourself upon the Imperial<br />

Throne, you allow a small, satisfied smile <strong>to</strong> creep across your carefully<br />

painted lips. There is but one thought in the forefront <strong>of</strong> your mind:<br />

...that the body <strong>of</strong> the young Empress, Wu Tsun Sha, lies broken at the<br />

bot<strong>to</strong>m <strong>of</strong> the Well <strong>of</strong> Solitude, and that you - Bai Hwa, a horse merchant's<br />

daughter - are at last poised <strong>to</strong> shake the Empire and the corrupt Wu<br />

Dynasty <strong>to</strong> its very foundations.<br />

‘Shock and a Rise <strong>to</strong> Seething Vengefulness.’<br />

You stand somewhere in the nether regions <strong>of</strong> the Planes, a sweltering place<br />

where the ground is <strong>be</strong>aten copper, and the sky is <strong>of</strong> brass. Here, the bodies<br />

<strong>of</strong> sinners - petitioners in this horrid place - are rolled amongst iron<br />

brambles and bronze scorpions until their bones are fine, gray dust.<br />

You squint at the horizon, the bone-dust rising with putrid-smelling gusts <strong>of</strong><br />

wind that carry with them the sound <strong>of</strong> agonized moaning. There is <strong>not</strong>hing<br />

but flat, metallic landscape as far as the eye can see. The dust is everywhere,<br />

in everything... it stings at your eyes, coats the insides <strong>of</strong> your mouth with a<br />

pasty film. You spit, wiping at it with your finger, but it's <strong>of</strong> no use: the<br />

stuff's taste has fouled your mouth completely.<br />

You look <strong>do</strong>wn at the 'key' in your hand... a minute platinum orb... and<br />

picture the man's face who solemnly swore <strong>to</strong> you the magical portal you<br />

just passed through - now gone, <strong>of</strong> course - led <strong>to</strong> the green fields <strong>of</strong><br />

By<strong>to</strong>pia. Someone, by all the Powers and their proxies, was going <strong>to</strong> pay for<br />

this one.<br />

‘Slowly Dawning Horror.’<br />

“How good could it <strong>be</strong>?" you think, regarding the burgundy liquid carefully.<br />

Across the table from you, the twisted old man smiles slyly.<br />

744

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