PICTURESQUE POETICS

That is the last of the amulets of my acolytes on the world that was taken. With such trinkets, they'd ensnare the souls of those who might otherwise have escaped me, who had the audacity to be virtuous enough for heaven (to use the local terminology.) With such a soul in hand, my acolytes walked, still living, down the winding steps into the fires of my domain, giving me their souls as well they should, and giving me their prizes to earn my favour, such as it was.

 

Do you seriously think I'll let you leave it festering in the weeds? No, no, we're going to need that, you and I. We're going to need the puppet man's soul.