The Wistful Saga
The iron of your sword sings a high, thin note as it bites into the pommel of the man before you, a sound that cuts through the heavy, wet air of the forest like a scream held back. You are bleeding from a gash above your left eye, the blood hot and thick, running down your cheek to mix with the mud and the rain that has been falling for three days without cease. Your armor, once polished to a...
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