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A chill runs up Father Quadrial's spine.
"I suspect whatever direction we go will draw out the enemy we seek. It just depends on how quickly."
Opening his pack he takes out a bag.
Inside are six ridged rings each larger then the other.
Upending his staff, he drops each ring from the base to the top and tapes them into place.
What had once been a tool of light, a largely defensive weapon, was now a war mace.
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