The Last Log Off
I. The rain in London does not fall—it accuses. Arthur Winchester III stood on the virtual balcony of the White Keep, watching the digital storm tear through the skies of Realms. His armor was dented. His sword had cracked in the duel with Lord Blackwood's champion. And his guild—his guild was gone. Not defeated. Not scattered. Gone. Because he had drunk the poisoned wine Blackwood's...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 6 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр