Bartholomew searched the Sand. Looking for the scriptures... He knew the Guard of the Puppet and the Goat is somewhere deep in the desert. He heard the prophecy about Wizard #2530. But he could not find them in time. The heat must have got to him. He felt the burn from the inside. A strange desire, after months in the Sand. But this must be it. This will be his way of finding them. Through the Secret Tower.
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Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the Soul slept in beams of light.
A Sacred Flame appears and lights
The worthy wizards who dwell in nights,
Transmute to a new form with luck
While the wretched turn to muck.
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