Suttree sits cross legged before a window of glowing phosphorescence, a great terror gnawing within his guts. Men and hosts have walked this path and returned, irreparably altered, flesh flayed from their sanctities. Sparks fly across his fingertips as he crafts the doom of the heathens.
[SPOILERS] There Can Only Be One Suttree - French Fredrick - LOL, Sut?
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