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So he tells me. Back in the good old days, in the '10s or teens or whatever of the Hierophantic Age, he and my dad were do-gooders - or opportunists, or grave robbers, or hired thugs, depending on what they felt like, really. Anyway, they're in this big ass city some ways up north called Stracket or whatever, named for some king or prince or queen, I think he did get a little delirious here. Most of it was lucid though. Anyway!
He says, "Erik, your father, two of our friends and me had caught word of this shit that had been haunting this small ass chapel on the bad side of town, so none of the authorities actually gave a fuck about taking it down. I don't know what got into your father, but it became absolutely necessary that we stop this." At this point, Mackie seems to smile a little bit, I think I see a tear, or maybe that's just my knowledge of how the story ends influencing my memory, whatever, I ain't a psychomage.
Anyhow, he says, they got to the chapel without a hitch, just a single guard stopped them because of Mackie being a "fucking Mud race". My dad apparently almost lost his shit over that, but one of their other friends had managed to calm him down before it esca...got worse. "Yeah, that guardsmen was a prick, I was with three Esailan folks and everything." Oh, my uncle Mackie was a Mudrolon, by the way, kinda sucked for him living here. Anyway, they find the chapel, and they find it totally abandoned, kinda run-down even. Usually the poorer sides of cities are really into the whole "religion thing" as Mackie would put it, so the oh-so-decrepit state of their church was a little worrisome.
>continued, sorry, making it up as I go essentially