The Distant Blade
The iron gate of Oakhaven Manor did not creak when it opened; it groaned, a low, tectonic complaint that seemed to rise from the earth itself, announcing the arrival of something heavy and inevitable that had waited long in the dark to finally see the pale, indifferent light of a midsummer afternoon. I stood before it, my armor dented and stained with the rust of old blood and the mud of three...
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