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. Every few hours the ring
would send him off to a new place he'd never seen before. If
danger threatened, the ring would jerk him out of it and carry him
elsewhere. He knew that the ring was cursed and uncontrollable
and that he'd better find a way to stop the teleporting before he was
dropped into a volcano. At least, he was learning to swim quickly
enough.
It didn't take long before he noticed the distance between
hops was decreasing; eventually, he was tele-porting only a
mile or so at a time, though more frequently. By making a
mental note of landmarks, he also judged that he was
moving in a straight line; and this heartened him: the ring
was taking him somewhere. An adventure, indeed!
This pleasant feeling was lost completely when the giant
thunderhead came into view over the horizon. Below it,
illuminated by flickering lightning, was a vast and barren
mountain capped by a black stone citadel. He was heading
straight for it.
Tasslehoff said a word he'd once heard an angry
barbarian use. He liked adventures, but there were limits.
As if piqued by his comment, a second later the ring
teleported him to within a mile of the mountain itself.
Kender know no fear, but they know a bad thing when
they see it. Judging the thunderstorm, mountain, and citadel
to be such bad things, Tasslehoff scrambled over rocks and
debris in a mad attempt to flee. The ring flashed again, and
he reappeared within fifty feet of the pitiless walls of the
castle
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