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. His fist, thrust into a pocket,
clenched the stone that he had collected some time ago and
admired ever since because of its smoothness. In an instant he
snatched the stone out of his pocket and threw it.
The Magus gasped and staggered as the stone smacked the
back of his skull. Stumbling, his hands clutching his head, he
stepped forward. A slippered foot scuffed over the pale chalky
lines that surrounded him.
The glowing runes and tracings on the floor went dark like a
candle snuffed out. Silently and easily, an oily tentacle reached for
the Magus and caught his foot. The Magus screamed.
"Thousands of years ago," said the thing, its voices trembling
with peculiar emotion, "it occurred to me that I would need a
defense against those who abused my status as Prince of Demons,
those who would use me as a footstool on which to rest their
pride. Some-day, something would be needed to turn the odds in
my favor should this ever happen."
The thing's tentacle lifted the Magus high in the air, turning
him around slowly as a man would a mouse caught by the tail. "I
devised many such defenses, but the one of which I am most proud
now is the ring you wear, kender."
Tasslehoff glanced at the ring. The emerald was glowing faintly.
"The ring," the thing continued, "only activates when I need its
services. It defends the wearer against death, though it may not
make the wearer comfortable
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