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The explosion rocked the cavern. Dust rained down upon us. The vault door crashed to the floor, belching forth dozens of hissing crossbow bolts... There was a high-pitched scream behind me.We returned fire. I ratcheted the bolt action of my rifle, while Kottal fired his shortbow as fast as he could. Another bolt grazed his thigh, eliciting a grunt. He was a Rolen, near human but not human. I was supposed to look down on him, but I couldn't - not while we stood together and fought. Thorn shook his mane as he launched the last spear from his powerful hands. He knew this was it, our trip was over. We prepared ourselves as bandits came screaming out of the dust cloud, brandishing their shamshirs. The air began to weave, swirl, and funnel into razor-sharp clouds. Serpents made of minute debris struck mercilessly, removing skin, tearing muscle, and exposing bone. The air funnels swallowed the bandits whole, and then vomited their bloody skeletons to the floor. The magic force turning dust into devils let go, and the cloud puffed into innocent dust. Their advance stopped cold. We were free for a moment to breathe. The Maroc cradled the pierced, lifeless body of the dainty Syl - Ophil - tenderly in his arms. Tears welled from his right eye while rage sparkled in the Maroc stone imbedded in his left socket. "She was a creature of such joy." After all this time, the wizard had discovered empathy. Too bad it was too late. We had no time for him to mourn, "Alladar, is their Maroc still alive?" He nodded, the large Numid plates catching the light like trophy bones. "I can hear the screaming of his maroc stone - and he can hear mine." I swore "Ishmael?" I swore again, louder. "Ishmael?" the voice was silky-smooth, cultured. lt belonged to Ali Achbed, the bandit chief who had tracked us across the desert to this ancient complex. "Ishmael, tell me you are not hurt, Ishmael. That would break my tender heart. I have a bargain for you, my boy. Lay down your arms, then you and your survivors can leave." Thorn moved back to the two of us, his hooves clomping on the metal floor. "No otec is worth dying for." Alladar drew himself up, lightning arcing from finger to finger as he pointed at Ophil's still form, "It's about more than otec, now." I looked at Kottal, searching his sun-darkened face for any of his simple, barbaric wisdom. He shrugged, "You know what to do, Ishmael. Sometimes you must leap the fire to escape the flames." Achbed's voice came again, "Quickly Ishmael, even generosity has limits." I really hate that man. It couldn't end like this. Not here, not now. I hefted my axe, relishing the weight. Thorn picked up a shamshir. Kottal knocked an arrow. Alladar carried his power as a weapon in one hand, and the Syl's dagger in the other. Whether we would live to see home again hinged on the next sixty seconds of our lives. Succeed or fail, live or die, it would all come down to our skill, our instincts, our collective will. It was a risk, but we had no choice. I had to roll the dice. Welcome to the world of T'nah. This book is all that is required to play. Once you enter in, the level of detail will startle you. Over a dozen races, over twenty-five cultures, and more than two hundred occupations provide plot hooks, character creation options and a rich full world in which to advenure. Detailed character creation allows you to flesh out your character completely. Promised Sands uses the Trinary System. This easy to use, fast resolution mechanic requires only three ten-sided dice to play. (You might like to have one of each size of character generation, however). Welcome to T'nah: a world you never knew existed, but will never, ever forget. Are you the one to claim the Promised Sands?
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