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"Everyone just marched out and left such a valuable
box behind?" An embarrassed silence enveloped the
room.
Hearing the word "treasure" seemed to have a rally-
ing effect on Denzil. He snapped out of his stunned fog.
At last, the object of his hunt was within his reach.
Never one to hesitate, the half-orc pushed and punched
his way through the kender until he stood before the
pulsing, multicolored portal. Casting one more look
around the room, he stepped into the purple and green
clouds that marked the gateway and disappeared.
"Say, is he going back to get the box?" asked one of
the kender in the crowd. "Who is he, anyway?"
Before Tasslehoff could answer either question, a ter-
rific gust of wind blasted out of the portal, sending the
kender smashing into each other in an even more tightly
packed clump on the far side of the chamber.
Once again, purple mist boiled out of the glowing
rectangle on the wall. But the mist darkened and grew
sinister, and felt cold to the touch. The kender crowded
away from it where they could and cringed where they
could not. Black lightning streaked through the void,
accompanied by vague sounds that resembled nothing
so much as shrieks and groans of torment. Everything
in the room was charged with electricity. The long
strands of hair from Tasslehoff's topknot stood out
from each other, and everyone was outlined with a
ghostly yellow glow. Then lightning crackled across the
compartment and struck the far wall, but it did not dis-
sipate. The bolt hung in midair, and was joined by an-
other, and another, all splitting and writhing in a dance
of impossible symmetries
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