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A discreet cough from one of the castle's many footmen interrupted Guðrún's ministrations.

"A Mr. Tamlin Lanfathingum is at the portal nearby, if I may be so bold. With your permission, I could-", said the footman.
"Send him away," said Guðrún. "Neither of us are in any condition to talk to him, even if we wanted to."

The room, which had been converted into a sickroom for the birth had been converted again, in considerable haste, to a magical workroom. A quickly-drawn circle surrounded the table on which Ragnarok lay unconscious, her body barely responding the pangs of labour. Vats of incense were placed around the edge, but the circle had been broken many times over by grimoires strewn randomly around it. Rows of crystal balls monitored the goings-on from a nearby table.

Guðrún sighed, and turned back to her patient.

Meanwhile, Guđrún is having difficulties The URL of this comic is