It was at some moment during the seventh month of the year that Farek was smitten by the hand of every god that reigned in the sky.
The brigand burned.
He was stoned.
He was killed over, and over, and over, in ways nearly unimaginable by the sane.
After the final death, mutilation by his own blade, Farek's spirit was cast not to hell as some predicted he may go when he reached his day of reckoning. Hell was far too great for the dirty, rotten scoundrel to reside for eternity.
The brigand's soul was cast into a bottomless, depthless pit of nothingness where it would linger for eternity.
And as this short tale concludes the life of a miserable wretch, the words on a small rock mysteriously sprung from the sand aside the Tower of Water could be seen by those with an astute eye.
"Here lies Farek, a dirty rotten scoundrel."
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