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Nugold Lodston chose to remain in the Hylar hills,
making cheap golden toys and baubles for local children.
He cherished the gleaming metal more than he had ever
loved anyone, dwarf or human. He also could not bear the
tedium of toiling over a blistering iron forge to produce
weapons and tools of burnished steel. Humans craving such
products of the dwarven metallurgists regarded Lodston as
a traitor, one who had critical skills but refused to use them.
Even the few of his own race left in Digfel spat on the
ground whenever he passed, a sign of ultimate rejection
among the Hylar dwarves.
"Dalamar! Come help me!" the hermit called from the
trail by the river. "I've carried these things far enough
already!"
Lodston waited, staring up the riverbank toward the
entrance to the mine shaft, but there was no sign of
movement. Then he noticed that the door was ajar. The
worried elf had slammed and barred the thick portal behind
him seconds after Lodston had left for Digfel. Why would
Dalamar be leaving the door open now?
Dropping the heavy cloth sack on the sandy trail, the old
hermit broke into a doddering run up the hill to his cave. He
sensed that some terrible event had befallen the elven
sorcerer even before he saw the footprints in the dirt outside
the shaft entrance
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