"Oh. Well never mind then. Where are those zombies? It's nighttime already, COME OUT!" She chuckles.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Viper leans back and pulls out her daggers, eagerly awaiting more combat.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
She sighs and follows. "I guess we're going that way now."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"But you can't hit zombies from up there," Viper points out. "Well, you can with a gun or something, but it's not as fun."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"Why the language?" Viper inquires, flipping her daggers around in her fingers.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"They aren't zombies, they're undead," Viper corrects. "Zombies are raised by necromancers or mages. These aren't."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
She smiles. "I like you." Her head cocks. "Did you know that humans have approximately 5.5 liters of blood?"
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
And on the pedestal these words appear:/'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;/Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'/Nothing beside remains. — Percy Bysshe Shelley
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