The Wistful Skyline
You wake in the grey light of the keep, the stone walls weeping with the damp of a century, and the first thing you know is that your hands are not your own. They are thick, knuckled, scarred by the friction of sword and shield, and they tremble with a violence that feels less like fear and more like a hunger that has been starving for decades. You are the Warden of the North Gate, a title that...
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