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A small group of men and women shuffled forward. Exotica was shocked by
how humbled they seemed. These were some of the most powerful people in
Allaria, wielders of great magic. But now they came to her like a group
of cowed children.
“Where is your leader?” Exotica demanded. “Where is Urlathe?” “He is… vanquished,” Bertrand the Enchanter answered her, his voice thick and tremulous. “Vanquished? What do you mean?” Exotica asked, apprehension rising up within her. “He came to the castle when the disturbance began,” Bert explained, “as did the rest of us, awakened by nightmares in our sleep. Urlathe and those others who were the greatest of us cast a mighty spell, one that was hoped would cast out the forces of evil that besieged the King’s castle. But the spell failed. And then there was something like a voice, laughing, taunting. And a surge of malefic power reached out to grasp us. Some of us escaped. Those, like Urlathe, who did not escape were pulled toward the castle’s walls. And then… their bodies became like sulphur, flowing and bubbling with fiery heat. Their screams were unbearable.” Exotica bowed her head. “And so… they are dead.” Bert shook his own head in reply. “No my princess. Not dead. Look at the stones of the castle walls. That is where you will find Urlathe and your mightiest mages. And if you listen very hard, still their screaming can be heard.” The blood drained from Exotica’s face. The last vestiges of hope fled from her heart. Her father and his knights were trapped in the castle, playthings of the evil demon. The greatest wizards of the realm were reduced to a corrupt and putrescent slime, coating the walls of a nightmare castle from hell. And Exotica, touched by an unknown magic that she could neither understand nor control, felt completely alone and helpless.
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2/8/2006 11:03:54 PM
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