The Distant Affair
The blade catches the shoulder before you can speak. The pain is a white hot spike, followed instantly by a cold flood of blood soaking the wool of your tunic. You do not fight back. You have decided, in the quiet dark of the temple, that you will not fight back. The Captain’s sword is a heavy, honest thing, forged for war, not for the petty justice of a walled city. He swings again, but you...
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