Trezlan to put it nicely hoards things. Lots of things, all the things. I think in a previous existence he must have been an insect that stores food for the winter. The machines wanted specific things, but I couldn't find anything of value. He has journals, so many journals, all the journals. In every format you could imagine, dating back hundreds of years, some written in ink, some written in what looked to be bodily fluids, all of them damn near illegible.
Outside of the journals there was also all kinds of knick nacks, random junk and more than anything weapons. Weapons were all over, from all different periods, cultures and metals. He had racks of melee, and ranged weaponry , from functional to celebratory. I was honestly in awe of the various things. I got a little lost in there. Going down what was hundreds of years of various weapons. It was like an actually interesting history lesson. I didn't even realize I wasn't alone for a bit until the person with me spoke.
"Amazing what you can accumulate over the years isn't it?" Hanlon, the Death God was there, I should have suspected whatever wards Trezlan put up God's were immune.
"Lots of junk."
"Lots of history here, I didn't even know this existed until just now. I see all the journals he's accumulated, I'm sure if properly leveraged you could get something out of him for returning those."
"Rather not risk the wrath of him."
"I'd say he wouldn't hurt family, but I personally know he killed his father, several times over even."
"I feel like there is a story I never want to hear there."
"Because there is." Hanlon stopped though when he looked at a pair of swords that were green bladed, "Well hello, where have you been?"
"Friend of yours?" Hanlon smiled unsettlingly.
"In a manner of speaking yes, yes it is."
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