The Faded Shield
The rain hammered against the iron roof of the keep, a relentless drumming that drowned out the screams of the men below. You stood in the center of the circular hall, your armor wet and heavy, the mud of the battlefield caked into the grooves of your breastplate. In your left hand, you held the shield. It was a modest thing, oak and leather, stripped of its gilding long ago. It bore no crest,...
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