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A little ways from the beaked thingies, you find a naked, red-headed lady
sitting in the dirt. She's well muscled, a bit taller then you, dirty but
not wounded, tired but not starved. Thick chains, each the size of a man's thigh, trail off for several feet, turning into blasted, molten metal. There is some talking. You discover her name is Astra, from lands to the South. You surmise to yourself she must be named after the legendary warrior princess, whom everyone knows is nine feet tall, can shoot lightning out of her eyes and can summon the undead to do her bidding. More conversation happens, of little interest to the narrative because it goes nowhere and involves a lot of 'ums' and 'ahs', which never show up even though it's real dialogue, it's artistic man, stop smothering me. She doesn't trust you a wink but she explains she has little choice. You're her only hope for being freed of the large chains the dragon had imprisoned her in an hour ago. A Lawful Good wizard from somwhere (at that point, she didn't care from where) had blasted them free from the wall but had tripped a spell. The last she had seen of the man was him standing in front of a huge statue of a bearded, sitting man, done all in white. The wizard had said the clasps around her wrists were simple Denbolt locks, which required pressure to the left while having ungentlemanly like thoughts about the prisoner. The trick was to chain each limb, so as not to allow pressure. Stupid, really, but effective when you blew all your dungeon budget on swords that popped out of the wall.
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8/9/2006 5:41:16 PM
Extending Enabled
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