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Crucible

Crucible hasn’t been wound in a while but since his squadron got eaten in Greymarsh he hasn’t had anyone to do it. That’s all right. He just needs his warhammer, his faith, and the next room in the catacombs.

He kicks in a door on yet more goblins. The goblins squeak.

“Prepare to be smitten–” he begins, and his heartspring clicks one final time, then stops.

The goblins wait, glance around, and then walk backwards out of the room, very slowly.

A few millennia later somebody gets curious and cranks his key.

“–in the name of Machina!” Crucible roars, spitting dust.

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