The Golden Master
The road into the valley of Ashwood was not a road at all, but a scar cut deep into the flesh of the earth, a ribbon of packed mud and broken stone that wound its way through the dense, weeping pines toward the keep that stood silent and grey against the bruised purple of the twilight sky. Sir Aldric walked with a heavy gait, his iron-clad legs striking sparks against the rocks, the sound of...
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