The Price of Iron
The wind in the Northern Wastes did not blow; it screamed. It was a visceral, predatory sound that tore through the wool and leather of the soldiers' uniforms, seeking the warmth of the skin beneath. General Valerius stood atop the ramparts of the Black Spire, the final fortress of the Frost-Kings. Below him, the valley was a sea of grey ash and frozen corpses, the remnants of an army that had...
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