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. The plague that coursed through him never
rested. Oddly, it had been a part of him so long that he
probably would have felt lost without it.
The rusted armor creaked as the knight stumbled up a
small hill. Beneath the rust on his breastplate there could
still be seen a ravaged insignia marking him as a knight of
the Solamnic orders. He rarely looked down at the fading
mark, for it was a mockery of his life, a reminder of why he
had been condemned to this existence.
The price of being a traitor had been heavier than he had
ever thought possible.
As he started down the other side of the ravaged hill, the
knight caught sight of something odd, something out of
place in this wasteland. It seemed to glitter, despite the lack
of sunlight, and to the weary knight it was worth more than
a mountain of gold. A stream of clear, cool water flowed no
more than a few yards from where he stood.
He smiled - a rare smile of hope. The knight staggered
forward, moving as fast as he could manage, ignoring pain,
fatigue, fear. How long since his last drink of water? The
memory escaped him.
Kneeling before the stream, he closed his eyes. "My
Lord Paladine, I beseech you! Hear this simple prayer! Let
me partake this once! A single sip of water, that is all I ask!"
The knight leaned forward, reached out toward the
stream . . . and fell back in horror as he stared into its
reflective surface.
"Paladine preserve me," he muttered. Slowly leaning
forward again, he stared at his image in the stream
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