Muscles bulging, the Hero of Tyn-la-mar burst into the warlock’s sanctum. The air was thick with noxious smoke and the scent of scorched blood. The warlock spun in surprise pointed his hand at the Hero.
“I fear you not,” cried the Hero, “for you do not have my true name, and without that your spells are powerless.”
The warlock grinned and hissed a few words in a language never spoken by human tongues. The Hero felt his strength ebb away.
“How…?” he gasped.
“You have worn your mantle for too long,” said the warlock. “Truly, you are the Hero, now.”
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