XVII: “Whoa whoa whoa, wait, Stygian what? Hold up!” As Farinfoor hoisted his axe to strike the terminal blow, the man closed his eyes, his pleas fading into a gentle but urgent muttering. Caring little for the prayers of some dark servant, Farinfoor brought his axe down. The blade’s path was true. It screamed towards its mark swiftly and without qualm. And then it stopped.