Blend walked into K’rul’s Bar and found it empty, save for the hunched figure of the historian, who sat at his chosen table, staring at the stained, pitted wood. She walked over and looked down at him. ‘Who died?’Duiker did not look up. ‘Not who, Blend. More like what. What died? More, I think, than we’ll ever know.
-Steven Erikson
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