The Distant Blade
The sword hung by the hearth. It was an old blade. Rusted at the hilt. Dull at the edge. It had seen many wars. It had tasted much blood. Now it only gathered dust. Elias stood before it. He was a man of letters. A scholar of old tongues. His hands were soft. His mind was sharp. He held the sword in his mind, if not in his hand. He spoke of honor. He wrote of glory. But the steel was cold. His...
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