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High Inquisitor Pious of Marignon went into his private chambers. The prisoners were driven to heights of rage. Assassins were in place to kill those admirals who stood against him. Those loyal to him were ready, and soon command would be his. It was a beautiful plan, but not his.
He sat heavily in his chair, head in his hands, as ghostly figures gathered round him, whispering madness. They spoke of revenge, whispered of dreams.