Yrian the Wicked pulled the shroud from the corpse waiting in the center of the room. The creature was seven feet tall, crowned in eyes, and robed in red velvet. Its mouth was sewn shut, but it had a second gaping maw in its abdomen, lined with jagged, inhuman teeth. The legs were removed entirely. The wizard had grafted a writhing mass of purple tentacles in their place. It was a thing of monstrous beauty.
The room was oppressively silent.
“It’s a bit busy,” someone in the back finally said.
The necromancer sighed. He hated taking his turn for critique.

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