As is customary, you wear a blue-gray mantle with an elaborate labyrinth design whenever you are outside. Though it provides scant protection against the cold of early spring, your mother says that the braids that hold it shut came from Col himself–the satyr who ended the Sun and Moon War and then matched wits against Acamon, the god of destruction.
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"Be wary of trolls, my son!" Para calls as you shove open the wooden door to your house. "Today they come to trade, but yesterday they came to kill, enthralled by the dark ax Raun. Who can say what tomorrow might bring? They are not like people. Their souls are weak. They crave servitude, which is why we call them–"
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The servitor races, yes, yes. But the dark ax is gone, and the trolls are free, and your friend Gronput is waiting for you. You race through Hetch, the village of the Pine tribe–or rather, the town, as it has tripled in size since your mother became chieftain and lured hunters and trappers from the Thorn tribe to this small community of artisans nestled deep in the woods. You run across the new bridge, which is tall enough that small boats can sail under it, and head for the forest and Gronput and the ruins of the Impossible Empire.
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