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But then the fire faded, and he stared in dull shock at the
charred bodies of the hill and gully dwarves who had been
unfortunate enough to be within the fireball's killing zone.
The stench of burned flesh carried past him on the breeze,
sickening him. He could not bring himself to believe that
those blackened, stiff shapes had ever been living dwarves.
The corpses looked like statues carved from charcoal.
Then Basalt saw more sparks, more light, explode from
the dark-robed dwarves. The hill dwarf looked up in shock
as crackling bolts of energy hissed and exploded over his
head. With horror he saw a pair of hill dwarves - lifelong
neighbors - fall lifeless, slain instantly by the strike of the
magic. Screams erupted from the line, and Basalt sensed
panic arising in his own heart.
The savants chanted a new sound, and hail erupted from
the clear skies overhead to pummel those on the breast-
work. Basalt clapped his hands over his head and pressed
his face into the dirt, waiting for this nightmare to end.
Large round stones of ice hammered his body, smashing
against his skin, numbing his hands, pounding a savage ca-
dence of pain into his skull
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