The Wistful Ashes
The iron sword of the Watchman, a blade forged in the ancient forges of the high peaks, sang a low, mournful note as it cut through the thick, suffocating fog that rolled off the blackened earth of the valley, the mist clinging to the leather armor of the man who stood alone at the center of the circular arena, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes that dissipated instantly into the cold,...
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