The Faded Masquerade
The mud sucks at your boots with a wet, sucking sound that echoes in the hollow of your chest as you swing the heavy iron halberd, the weight of it a familiar anchor in the chaos of the night, your breath coming in ragged, white plumes that vanish instantly into the freezing air of the courtyard. You are not fighting for a flag or a lord, but for the thin line between the order you have sworn...
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