It used to be that when you were bored with paperwork, you would go distract yourself by sharpening one of your favorite knives, or give your most disapproving scowl through a fenestrated wall to survey the kingdom. But those were simpler times. There is only one cure for boredom befitting a demigod, and that is more senseless killing.

You consult your proud long snout for assistance with the hunt. You pick up the maddening scent of one of the young graveyard stuffers. You are sure it is the same one you slaughtered earlier, and yet his stench remains, confounding you from every direction. It is as if THE BREEZE which carries it deliberately seeks to obfuscate the odor's origin. Your thoughts become more murderous with each blustery taunt.