The Shattered Spell

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It had held for many years. An entrapment paradox, a poison hex prison, binding the old orc out of time and out of reality. Long he meditated within the voidhold, working the threads of the spell, testing the the boundaries of his cage, and nurturing a deep hate for those who held him captive. Long his mind fueled the flames of his inner rage and the undying embers of his hope.

He bent the spellbind and warped the enchantment but it held and his mind turned in on itself. Folding back on time, he gazed long through the acidic smoke, the tears of his torment burning his eyes but deeply he gazed there into the sulfuric fog. As madness began to creep many-legged about the shadowed crevasses of his brain he found it- The Eye.

The Eye of Kilrogg. Or perhaps it found him? Followed the Eye he did on his sojourn through void, moving but never going anywhere- deep into the flames he waded, ignoring sanity and following his iconic savior.

In a tavern, in the wastes of the Barrens, the flames of the fire in the hearth surge and expand out into the room. The patrons are shocked and move back- but just a quickly as the event occured, the flames draw back to normal, revealing an aged Orc, in tattered robes has appeared.

He looks groggily about the room and seems a bit out of sorts. He licks his lips and smiles.

"Someone, bring me a cigar."

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