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The first time had been exciting, glorious, inspiring. Dozens of kills later Hjol was just going through the motions: the familiar heft of Wuuthrad lifted for a final strike; the fountain of crimson as it cleaved through flesh and bone; the roar of the dying dragon... both it and he drenched in blue magick and red blood.

Dozens of kills later, yes, Hjol was just going through the motions. But he remembered well: the first time had been inspiring. And so will the last.