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It took a while, but eventually he realized that the fires
on the hilltop were going out. It took a few moments longer
to realize that it was probably the doing of the elf wizard.
The goblin watched dumbly as a small fire in front of him
died away into a blackened smear of ash and smoke. Only
the much-weakened bonfire still burned with any heat and
light.
The goblin shivered as a violent chill passed through
him. He knew it was from both fear and the beating he'd
taken, especially from the bums. He had to find the sword.
He couldn't go on much longer. He moved forward on his
hands and knees, his body alive with pain, looking for the
supply pile.
As he did, he heard someone stumbling toward him
through the scorched remains of the camp. The goblin
coughed and looked around.
A blackened apparition in guardsman armor held out its
arms to the goblin as it approached. Its face was burned
beyond recognition, and its fingers were gone, leaving only
the black stumps of its hands. The figure walked stiffly
toward the goblin. The man was blind and unaware, trailing
smoke from the remnants of his smol dering clothes.
The goblin shrieked in terror. He couldn't even think of
fleeing or fighting; All he knew was that it was a dead man,
a dead man he had helped kill, and it wanted him
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