The Golden Cellar
The iron gate groaned as you forced it open, the sound a low, metallic complaint that echoed off the damp stone walls of the cellar. You are the King’s Guard, or so the men in the high towers say, but down here, in the dark, you are just a man with a sword and a thirst that no wine can quench. The air is thick, tasting of moss and old blood. You know why you are here. You know what waits in the...
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