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You can hear sinister whispering through this door of the calendar; skullduggery is afoot. Whoever is back there, you are fairly sure, is arranging for mortal harm to befall you. A believer in doing unto others before they can do unto you, you surge through the door with a dagger in hand, only to find yourself plunging into the breast of your uncle, the nine foot tall devil-worshipper who raised you. He had been praying to Satan, it seems, for your success in the upcoming war against Moravia.
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