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Columns of dementia

'Come on Pluf, we do not belong here and I think you'll be as happy as I will be once we are out of here.'

There is no familiar sounds to be heard, somewhere a piece of one of the towers crumbles and falls to the ground with an echoing crash.

The dark passageways gasp and yawn as wind sweeps through the barren land.

Wailing is heard somewhere in the indecipherable distance.