Visions of a horrific battle play out in the prophet Raknar’s mind. The elderly Kyrie lies still, his eyes glazed white, as he narrates the terrible scenario. He tells of a Dragon, and of an Elf on a winged steed with the head of a hawk. But his face grows pale as a new vision appears, and he stammers, grasping for words:
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| - Visions of a horrific battle play out in the prophet Raknar’s mind. The elderly Kyrie lies still, his eyes glazed white, as he narrates the terrible scenario. He tells of a Dragon, and of an Elf on a winged steed with the head of a hawk. But his face grows pale as a new vision appears, and he stammers, grasping for words:
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| - Visions of a horrific battle play out in the prophet Raknar’s mind. The elderly Kyrie lies still, his eyes glazed white, as he narrates the terrible scenario. He tells of a Dragon, and of an Elf on a winged steed with the head of a hawk. But his face grows pale as a new vision appears, and he stammers, grasping for words: "A wingless man, made of steel, enormous is his stature and girth. From his long arms flow smoke; his lifeless eyes show no mercy as all in his wake are destroyed and fall. Those who reach him with sword and bow find that they cannot pierce this giant’s metallic flesh." Then the prophet goes silent. Sheer terror contorts his face as he utters one last phrase, a phrase that makes little sense to the listener: " . . .Q. . .Nine."
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