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Ashurek of Gorethria looked up amazed. The towers of Niankan-Siol soared skywards, all blue and gold and glass, seeming as light as air. Walkways, weightless and swaying, threaded between the pinnacles and spires, while winged creatures and air transports flitted and looped among the glittering heights. But Niankan-Siol was a living illusion. The towers were deep-rooted in the despised under-city where an enslaved people huddled in a midden of earth-bound decay. While beyond the teeming city the whole land was dissolving into Chaos and darkness as the swirling demonic energy of the Maelstrom tore the sorcery-doomed World of Jhensit apart. Prince Ashurek, grieving for Silvren, his lost love, looked up and shuddered...
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