The Faded Alibi
The iron taste of blood is thick in your mouth, a copper coin dissolved in saliva, as you swing the mace again. The courtyard of the High Keep is slick with rain and the wet, sliding flesh of the fallen, the stone flagstones echoing with the hollow thud of your weapon against the helm of the Blackguard. You are not fighting for glory, nor for the banner of King Aldric, but for the small,...
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