The Distant Temple
The obsidian tower does not rise from the earth so much as it bleeds upward from the dark, a jagged tooth of black glass that pierces the grey, weeping sky of the medieval citadel, its surface slick with a moisture that smells faintly of iron and old blood, and you stand at its base, your armor dented and heavy, the weight of your own betrayal pressing against your chest with a physical force...
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