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Israfel lowered himself to the spotted furniture of a couch in the tent's solemn interior. He smelled a bit of Munirah myrrh when he sat on it; there was no dust, contrary to the location of the Canyon. He was calling it Camp Deathlie.
The sandstorm was now upon Helladeep, and in the deep gorge where Dementa's minions nestled, all the marauders had run into their tents, some of which were halfway up the mountains side, like giant creeping yellow ants. The heavens went da ...
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