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... armored figures approached. Their uniforms were sleek but rough, stitched together with dark purple fabric and glowing thread patterns that pulsed softly.

A strange energy clung to them, the kind that made Dune's skin prickle.

They were the guards of Dreadmarch.

One stepped forward, eyes scanning the group with a practiced ease. "First-timers," he muttered.

"Welcome to the shell-town," another guard said, voice calm but firm. "Before you explore, we need to place ...

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