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You are cursed.

This much you can remember. Your existence has stretched back for countless centuries, marked by fleeting moments of wakefulness, of purpose, that are as hazy to you as a half-remembered dream.

You are Deathless, and while you have spent many years inactive, you have been called to the world once again.

The year is 1200 A.D. There stands now, at the head of the Adriatic Sea, the shining Republic of Venice. Its story is all too familiar to those who know the rise and fall of civilizations. The story of Venice is one of iron and gold— their navy is the most powerful in the Mediterranean Sea, and their merchants, who make up the city’s ruling class, are the richest in the known world.

But wealth builds a hunger within men that can never be sated, and it always comes at the expense of another. You have been the victim of a gross theft, the defilement of your very burial chamber. Your vestiges, vessels of your very essence, were stolen from beneath you as you slept among the dead, and what is worse, by the time you awoke, they were long gone.

You have followed the thief’s trail here to this cathedral to the material.

And you will make them pay.

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Iron and Gold Nightingale_