"I can't... keep up, even with... magic."
"Worry not, I help."
The giant grabbed Wraithvine, his young mage apprentice, Gikka, and the cat, put them on their shoulders, and kept running. Time was running out, that bad storm was getting closer, and safety was a distance yet. -- Anon Guest
Cikaros ran hell for leather, feet making craters in the otherwise blasted landscape. Normally, she would have to step carefully to avoid villages, hamlets, and isolated cottages, but nobody came to the Desolate Moors for a reason. Reason one was that the whole place was the result of a magical war in eons past.
Reason two was the storm that was gaining on them. One strike of Wild Magic could change someone's life forever.
There were things living in the Desolate Moors that owed their existence to the Wild Magics there.
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