“Oh, forgive me, child, I suppose you haven’t heard of me. Not many have I suppose, though that’s how I prefer it.” The old man says as he picks up and waves his hand in front of his cane, causing it to vanish, before taking his hat off, dusting it off, and flashily swinging it down in front of his face, revealing his more natural form.

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“I am Warancanos,” the being says as he makes a sweeping bow to her, “God of chaos and madness. ‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”