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Events of the 9th of Slate, 1091.
The Soulsmith sat, brooding, in the tomb of Baron Lorn. It had seemed an appropriate vessel to choose.
He was not pleased with how things had gone. The burning bonemen had been dispatched with far more power than he had estimated. And despite a valiant effort, his acolyte had been swamped by the Fortress guard.
Still, all was not lost. He was, after all, sitting in a graveyard full of bodies, old and new. He just had to wait for the dwarves to finish packing away the bodies into the stone boxes, and then begin his plan.