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The greasy grey body is naked save for a loincloth of filthy animal hide, soaked with the black blood that gushed from its wound. In a taloned hand it grips the blowpipe, rudely fashioned from a Meledorian’s thighbone. Odel curses this dead spawn of chaos and rises to his feet, clearly disturbed by what he has seen. He suggests that you head for Tolakos straight away.
