The Battlefield

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The day of the battle dawned shrouded in a heavy mist that clung to the ground like a blanket. The air was thick with tension, a palpable energy crackling between the two sides. On one side stood the coalition, a diverse assembly of warriors, spellcasters, and scholars, united by a common purpose. Their banners flapped in the chilly breeze, emblazoned with symbols of hope—a shining sun and an ancient tome, representing knowledge and resilience.

Across the field, Xalthor's army gathered, a menacing force of corrupted creatures and fanatical soldiers, their armor blackened and adorned with symbols of dread. The warlock himself, shrouded in dark robes, loomed at the front, his eyes glowing with malevolence, a staff of twisted wood held high.

The tension reached a peak, and with a thunderous roar, the battle began.

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