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. Hissing smoke rose in small
clouds around half of the Aghar, who were doing a bizarre
dance of pain.
"How have you boneheads set yourselves afire now?" the
hill dwarf groaned, taking the bridge in four strides. He ran
the two hundred feet to where they stood around the oozing
remains of the giant carrion crawler.
Though surrounded by choking, putrid-smelling smoke,
Flint could find no signs of fire. Four of the gully dwarves
had drawn into themselves in fear, their big eyes peering
now and then over their shoulders at their screaming com-
rades.
Those five were covered in varying degrees with a black,
tarlike slime, which they were frantically trying to fling
from their bodies. Each time they managed to toss a globule
to the ground, it exploded on contact with a spark and a
loud "bang!" then fizzled into a noxious gray cloud.
"It burn my skin off!"
"Black goop make fingers bubble!"
"It like bomb!"
"I all sweaddy!"-
"It eat hole to my brain!"
"That your ear," Nomscul informed him calmly, looking
closely at the side of one Aghar's head. Nomscul had been
supervising the task. His shaman status helped him avoid
lapsing into hysteria with the rest of the Aghar
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