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Deep in the heart of Mindosia, in the place where the world buckled, a faintly etched script pulsed with a pure white glow.

Did it tell of an encampment of goblins and orcs, a child from which was brought back after a fierce fight to shatter a minotaur’s heart’s personal and racial hatreds?

Did it speak of a band of trolls, ogres, and other fell beasts that were vanquished with beatings, arrows, and summoned earthen elementals?

Did it note how demons heralded the arrival of Mirabella on the back of a black dragon, the return of a treacherous sorcerer turned to shattered glass, and an antimagic sphere combined with a prismatic wall that delayed the pursuit of Amrit until he could abscond through his fiendish portal?

Did it detail how a minotaur loosed a prayer unlike any heard before, a self-sacrificial supplication that took his lanced, radiant out of the world while imbuing it with his light?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it revealed higher truths than mere history. The formulas for new incantations to survive a ruined reality. Links to call on the power infused into the very essence of Mindosia in times of greatest despair. Wisdom about the nobler purpose of all beings beyond their own lives. A plea to end pain, death, and doom.

Alternatively, it may simply be gibberish inscribed in forms merging common, giant, and celestial tongues. The last gasps of a dying mind made ever more complex through its journeys with friends, yet undone at the point of an illuminated lance. A testament to the impotence, the futility of all things.

None may know. Buried beneath tons of tons of rock, the words lie. Surrounding the site of the land’s deformation, the words lie. At the nexus of planes that threaten yet to devour the sanity and structure of all existence, the words lie.

In their truths, the words lie.

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Mindosia Puldren