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“You okay, boss?” his teammate Christoff asked him. “You’re looking… tense.”

The two were sat in the Split Granite, the newer of the two pubs in Cragwhistle. The tables were cleaner, the beer was… essentially the same watered down piss and the spirits were hard enough to scrape coal off a miner.

“What day is it, Christoff?” Gramble said, blinking into his cup.

“Hamarsday.”

“A drink to the God of Games!” Petri, the third team member slurred before he tosse ...

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