The necromancer throws a flask to the ground. The contents begin to glow dull-red as they seep through the broken glass. The fluid rises into the air, glowing brighter as the grass around it shrinks and wilts. When it is almost too brilliant to look at, the ribbon of liquid streaks up the caster’s arm and into his chest. He turns to face you, rejuvenated, wearing a rictus grin.

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