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My most beloved Knut,
I sense that we shall move out quite soon, perhaps with tomorrow’s dawn. I do not doubt the road that shall bear us hence leads us into the din of battle. Knowing this, I am compelled to set pen to paper, to write lines that may fall under your gaze, and speak to you though my voice may have long since fallen silent. Watch and Listen
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With an angry cry and a wet, meaty ‘THUD’, Ryson Stormbringer slammed into the ancient rock wall. The impact sent bits of blood, bone, and organ tissue spraying from the gaping holes in his adamantite breastplate. Desperately, Ryson tried to blink the blood out of his eyes long enough to focus on his attacker. He glimpsed a massive form looming over him and gasped, “Wai..” His words were lost as the blow tore him off the wall, crushed the side of his skull, and sent his broken body bouncing and skidding into the scorching embrace of a lava pit. His last thought before death claimed him – again – was, “Yeah, that went well…”
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“Standish? Standish? It’s Nielenoss. I got your message.” The dragon fanned his earfins out and turned his head from side to side, listening intently for a response from the depths of the biped building. Three blocks away, a group of bipeds and hatchlings, all newly Gifted, were walking towards the Dome and marveling at the small gifts and wonders the Wishgiver had bestowed on each of them. Nielenoss had no problems hearing them, so it should not be at all difficult for him to hear a gnome in the building next to him offer a greeting, an explanation, and perhaps a bit of shiny something as tribute in gratitude for not being eaten.
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The tiny hatching curled into her mother's side, sighing contentedly in the warmth that radiated both from her mother's body and from the floor of the lair. Surely this was the best life had to offer, she thought. Though many of her hatchling friends talked about how much they wanted to grow up, leave the hatchling nest and learn to fly, little Arante was content to stay nuzzled up with her mother's tail wrapped securely around her.
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In a dimly lit corner of the tavern sat a figure so small, so grey, that she might as well have been a shadow fading into the background. Whether she'd been there for hours or days no one really knew, just as none knew her story. And, truth to tell, none of the other tavern patrons really cared. She'd chosen this tavern specifically because people came there in order to forget, to blend in and disappear. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one, and deep in her mourning heart she knew this. So it was with a heavy sigh that she lifted herself from the stool, placed the last of her coin on the table, and left the anonymity of the tavern to head for Tazoon.
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Ellien is captured by the Withered Aegis and meets someone long thought lost since the Battle of Tazoon. Hear the tale told in her own voice, as she composes a letter to the Master Confectioner at Tazoon Academy: Listen
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“Quit gawking like a herd of moonstruck calves!” Terry ordered the tail of a long line of frail old townsfolk and awestruck children. “This is your last chance to run for your lives.”
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Tavern Talk
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