The Wistful Witness
The iron key bit into the lock of the armory door, and you felt the cold metal bite back, a sharp pain in your knuckles that grounded you in the reality of the siege. Outside, the siege engines groaned against the walls of Blackwood Keep, a sound like the earth itself was tearing its own skin. You were Sir Aldric, thirty-four years old, a knight of the Order of the Silver Star, and you wanted...
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