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. The enchanted staff in Lodston's gnarled
hands seemed to be all that remained of his strange guest.
The hermit scrambled down the steep bank in the failing
light of dusk and retrieved the sack of provisions. When he
returned to the mine shaft, he slammed the door and slid the
heavy wooden bar into place to guard it from whomever
had come for the elven sorcerer. Then he threw another log
on the fire and fumbled among the large ingots of gold in a
basket beside the table for one to melt into a toy figure. He
saw the end of a parchment case as soon as he moved the
first bar of gold. It was one of the elf's scrolls!
"Ah! They left one behind!" he exclaimed aloud. The
familiar echoes of his own voice inside the mine's entry
chamber was a friendly, reassuring sound. Lod ston's
tension melted, giving way to excitement. The old hermit
fumbled clumsily with the scroll case, finally managing to
dump the neatly rolled white parchment into his filthy hand.
Trembling with anticipation, he pressed an end of the
scroll to the table and unrolled it beneath the light of the
lamp. There was a hasty line drawing at the top of the page,
just above some undecipherable characters in Dalamar's
flourishing script
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