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. His hand could not touch the
soil. There was always a small distance between the world
and him. The ground, like everything else, refused to accept
his touch, refused him peace.
"I am dead!" he roared at no one. "Let me rest!"
Dead. He was nothing more than a ghost now, a ghost
sentenced to pay in death for the darksome deeds he had
performed in life. Now and forever, the Abyss was his
home, his reward for living that life.
How long since his death? He had no idea. Time meant
nothing here. But he thought the Dragon War must be long
over. What was happening now in the world of his birth,
Krynn? Had centuries passed since his spirit had been
exiled to this phantom plain where no one existed but
himself and those who sought vengeance? Or had it been
only days?
The clink of armor warned him that he was no longer
alone. His pursuers had found him again. The knight
reached for his sword, but it was flight that was on his
mind. Combat was a last, desperate effort; it was
predestined that he would lose any battle.
Then the whispers began.
RENNARD. . . WE COME!
His name. After so long, he often forgot. They were
always there to remind him, however. They could never
forget the name of the one responsible.
RENNARD!
BETRAYER. . .
OATHBREAKER. . .
Rennard may not have remembered his name, but now
the other memories were too terrible to forget.
His pursuers could not be far behind. Despite his
danger, the cursed knight could not help but take one last
desperate glance at the cool, sparkling stream
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