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The Gates of Silverdale were made from blastiron, a heavy black metal that was forged specially to withstand explosives and demolition shells. They were thick and heavy and opened with a complex mechanism of weights and gears. On the inside, they were held shut by a pair of huge metal bars that slotted into mounts on the back of the gates and took ten people to lift. The wall rose up above them, high and strong, with a row of three cannons and two fire throwers sitting along its top. The Lord High Viser had also added a nasty surprise, a special blend of naphtha he had developed himself, mixed with the burning potion used by the Knights’ Academy Stainers. He had confiscated the stuff as it was being transported out of the realm during the exodus and it had inspired him to new heights of cruelty. The fire throwers were packed with his special blend, great wooden barrels filled and ready to burn.
Asten rode at the head of the militia, dressed in wardens’ armour and his new war crown. The rain still fell, and his horse, Gladefen, shook it from her long white mane with a loud whinny. Ahead, the white wall of Silverdale began to rise from the horizon, first the bloody trophies of the Lord High Viser, bodies hung from chains high over the wall, then the new red banners he had adorned the city with, replacing the old blue and white ones Asten remembered. It was only as he drew closer that he was able to discern that the red banners were not new, just changed. The blood from the traitors who hung above had washed down, staining the white walls and the standards that hung from them, so much blood Asten thought, that even if he did dethrone Wormwood, his deeds could never be washed away. He pulled Gladefen sideways across the road and the militia came to a halt. There was a low vibrating drone and Melody was standing at his side with the rain dancing on her rusty armour. She turned her expressionless helmet to him.
“I don’t think I’m ready.” he said so only she would hear it, “I don’t think I can fight.”
“I know. But it’s no bad thing.” she shrugged, “Just hang back and try not to get killed.”
Asten breathed in, then raised his voice to call out across the plains as loud as he could.
“I am Asten!” he roared, “Son of Enris! Prince of Silverdale! Heir to the throne of the Immortal Spire!”
A few heads appeared between the crenelations atop the wall, wardens looking down onto the road.
“I wish to talk with the usurper you call the Lord High Viser!”
Someone went to do something, to find him, or to raise the alarm, but nothing else happened.
“I wish to negotiate his surrender!” Asten tried.
For a long while, there was silence, just those few faces appearing and disappearing over the wall. Asten turned Gladefen and led the militia on towards the gates again. When he was close enough to see the confusion written on the wardens’ faces, he heard a sound like a great band snapping. Something flew overhead, a ball of brilliant burning light. Where it landed, the grasses burst into flames that flared for a moment then went out in the rain. The thing kept burning, however, a broken barrel with a thick tar-like substance that spread across the ground in bright gouts, the rain sizzling on it but failing to douse the flames. Another came a while later, landing on the road where the horse riders and the Aarouans on their stag beetles scattered to avoid its deadly fire as it came down among them.
Asten froze. He sat atop Gladefen, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of the sword he had been given. His hands shook, but he managed to draw it from its sheath. He looked to Melody for guidance, then lifted it high above his head so the militia could see it shining, the electric light glinting on the golden crescent at its cross guard. Though his courage failed fast, and his heart was not made for battle, for all who saw him he seemed a great warrior-king like those of the first age, ready to give his life for those who followed him. He turned and levelled his blade at the gates. There was a roar, and the militia drove forwards. Horses shot past him, whipping his hair and Gladefen’s mane and tail in the wind. Then the soldiers on foot began to catch up. He turned her to the side and brought her around in an arc along the back of the fighters. If he could not fight alongside them, he would inspire them.
The militia were still far from the gate when it began to open, just a crack. They cheered and surged on faster and faster. But all that happened was a great stream of wardens poured from the opening before the gates slammed shut again. The front row stood in a long line along the gates and the walls, wider even than the White Road. They lowered heavy steel shields with a single spiked stud in their centre, clanging them down against the flagstones. Then a second row knelt behind them, their halberds lowered into the gaps between each of the shield-bearer’s shoulders. Another row of halberds fell above, and then as the first riders drew near, a volley of arrows came from behind the shield wall, followed almost immediately by cannon fire from above. The heavy iron balls drove into the ground, digging up earth and splitting the white stones of the road. Horses and riders fell to arrows, and the militia still were not within striking distance. When the first spears clashed against the wardens’ shields, the ends of the shield wall erupted, wardens with longswords and heavy bladed maces came running from where they were hidden and swept around either side of the advancing fighters to draw them into a melee while the archers had a second shot and the fire throwers dropped their burning barrels again. One hit home, bringing a horse to the ground in an agony only stained knights would know. Its rider ran screaming as far as he could before he fell and burned to cinders with the naphtha sticking to his clothes and skin.
Melody’s engine roared, and in an instant she tore across the line of wardens, ripping shields from their hands until half the shield wall was exposed. As her engine cooled, she drew her executioner’s sword and held it with the flat of it along her arm. The warden she turned to face dropped his halberd and immediately turned to try to get back through the gates. She drove into the wardens, swinging her blade in an arc that split shields in two, snapped the long shafts of their halberds, and left the archers with useless pieces of wood hanging loose from their bowstrings. There was a moment of chaos when a few of the archers tried to leap on her to pin her down, but with a loud roar, she was standing again, with red along the edge of her blade and a pile of injured wardens on the flagstones clutching at their sides.
Asten rode around and around the battlefield, calling out encouragement to his militia, inspiring them to push on and on against the wardens who so outnumbered them. With the golden crescent shining on his crown, and the constant droning of a knight’s engine, the fighters felt unstoppable, a righteous force with nothing left to lose, and everything to fight for. The cannons fell quiet, and Asten looked to the wall to see what new weapon the wardens could be bringing up. His heart leapt when he saw the blue and gold of his father’s war crown.
“Wormwood!” he roared.
The Lord High Viser turned his gaze on the prince. He shouted something that was lost to the chaos of the battle, then stepped aside so the cannons could resume their assault.
“That’s him!?” Cirrus yelled across to Asten as she brought Clash up alongside Gladefen.
“Wormwood! He’s come to face me.”
“Will he fight?”
“No. He’ll hide behind that wall.”
“Then we need a way in!”
She pushed Clash on into the melee, his great mandibles sweeping the wardens aside while Sira’s meteor hammer swung in circles that threw them back, denting shields and helmets.
The beetles’ layered armour protected them from the few wardens brave enough to try attacking them directly. It was thick and curved into shapes that deflected blades and arrows with ease, preventing the enemy from bringing them down. Cirrus steered Clash further in towards the shield wall, pulling him suddenly aside to avoid a cannonball that crashed into the flagstones beside him. Elsewhere, Ki drove Ruckus through the chaos, with Dog behind her hanging off the side to swing his horseman’s pick at the wardens as she brought them around in a long sweeping turn so the side of Ruckus’ shell came close to the ground. They came past a dense knot of fighting where some member of the militia was surrounded. Ruckus drove his mandibles between the fighters, crunching on armour and bone as he tore the wardens to pieces with a violent twisting jerk of his head.
Blood sprayed bright across Grais’ corset, and as she swung her glaive across the legs of three wardens, bringing each to their knees, she looked up and grinned at Ki who gave a howl in reply then sped off again to fight elsewhere. Before any of the wardens could stand, she had the glaive twisted around so the blade faced the other way, and she swept it back across their necks. She spun to face a cry from behind her and drove the point of the blade under the arm of the warden who ran at her. His sword clattered to the floor as he fell on the white flagstones. She turned to move on, then cried in pain as something sliced across her hip. With a single flick, she brought the full weight of the glaive down on the warden before he could take another wild swing at her. She dropped the shaft and breathed sharply through her teeth as she pressed her hand against the wound. It came away red, and the blood soaked down her trousers. She felt weak, and fell slightly, forcing herself to remain upright. Melody arrived at her side, surging into vision across the battlefield. She pressed one hand against Grais’ hip and held her up with the other beneath her arm.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” Grais winced. “But I can still fight. Get me a bow.”
Melody scooped Grais up in her arms before she surged across the battlefield again. They found an archer, fallen early in the attack, who still bore a quiver filled with arrows. Grais picked up the weapons and laid them in her lap so Melody could carry her off again to safer ground from which to fight. When she left her, she was kneeling in the long grass at the edge of the road, leaning against one of the electric lampposts. She took an arrow and pulled it back against the bowstring. Her aim was slow and careful, and when she fired, she did so with an accuracy that brought the arrow’s tip directly between a warden’s shoulder blades, just above the top of his armour. He fell in a heap before the fighter he was attacking.
“Grais!” Asten shouted, leaping down from Gladefen to be with her. His hand hovered over her side, not willing to touch her where the wound still bled at her hip.
“Leave me.” She said, aiming another shot.
“Grais, go! I can find someone to take you back.”
“No.”
She fired, and another warden fell before her sword could find its mark.
“Grais…” He touched her shoulder.
She turned and pushed him away.
“Go, Asten! I’ll leave when there are no arrows left.”
He backed off and climbed back up on Gladefen, but he stayed by her side for a while, watching her draw back the bowstring again. He knew she was strong and stubborn, but he had never seen her fight before, never known her as a warrior. He could see how well she could handle herself, and decided his inspiring presence was more useful elsewhere.
Somewhere behind the white wall, the Lord High Viser was feeling uneasy. He paced back and forth before a warden who was wasn’t sure which side of the wall was less terrifying. When he stopped, he grabbed her by the neck of her tunic and pushed his face close to hers.
“How can they not be defeated yet?” he hissed, “Your wardens outnumber them ten times over! Use the special naphtha! Use chain shot in the cannons! Use your lives if you have to!”
He pushed her roughly away and climbed up the steps onto the wall, shouting at every warden he passed.
“Get out there! Go! Get those barrels loaded! Chain shot, now!”
He strode along the wall up and down as the cannons fired around him, and the fire throwers hurled their deadly barrels again. The bright explosions when they landed among soldiers cheered him enough to smile as he watched the figures dance and scream and burn away to charred black formless things on the white flagstones below. But still his wardens were falling, they seemed now to outnumber the militia with their dead. He cursed and grabbed at the warden who had made the mistake of following him up onto the wall. His metal claws pierced her tunic and scratched at her skin. He pulled her by the neck over to the edge of the wall and pushed her against the white stone until she leant out into the empty air.
“You see what you are worth!?” he yelled, his spit hitting her in the cheek, “You see what you wardens are capable of!? Nothing! Worthless! Worse than worthless!” He thrust her back further over the wall with each word. “You should pay with your life for the opportunities I’ve given you! You should- Uhhrgh!” His eyes widened and he stepped back, clawing at his robes just below the studded leather armour he wore. He cursed and spat. “You dare!”
The warden ran before he could grab her again, down the steps, pulling off her armour as she went. He fell back, sitting on the foot of one of the fire throwers whose operator pretended not to notice him and busied himself loading another barrel of naphtha despite one already sitting in the weapon’s claw. The Lord High Viser’s metal claws were red, and he had to remove them to get a grip on the little thumb dagger that sat pushed up into his ribs. It came away shining with blood in his shaking hand. He dropped it with a clatter and clenched his teeth to fight back the pain enough to stand. His gold fangs cut into his bottom lip and he spat blood as he stood leaning heavily against the arm of the fire thrower.
“So this is how it is.” he whispered, his voice shaky with painful breaths, “The whole world against me. So be it. If I cannot obtain loyalty through gold, it will be through blood…”
The wardens outside were flagging, they had mostly been pushed into the hollow of the gates, trapped between them and the remaining fighters of the militia. They hammered on the metal even as they fell, begging to be let back in. It seemed someone heard them, the gates opened a crack. A couple of them got in before more came out to take their place. And then a low vibrating drone tore through the narrow opening, throwing militia and wardens aside indiscriminately. Melody turned to see a great black form solidifying in the centre of the battlefield. As it rose to tower over everyone, it hefted a huge and heavy weapon up onto its shoulders, and a face turned to her. The head tilted to one side for a moment, then a deep and hollow laugh echoed out from behind the helmet’s pierced rubber visor.
“Rust Knight.” Vulcan laughed, “All fixed up I see.”
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The Saga of the Iron Gods - Wormwood
Chapter 43: Before the Gates of Silverdale
The Gates of Silverdale were made from blastiron, a heavy black metal that was forged specially to withstand explosives and demolition shells. They were thick and heavy and opened with a complex mechanism of weights and gears. On the inside, they were held shut by a pair of huge metal bars that slotted into mounts on the back of the gates and took ten people to lift. The wall rose up above them, high and strong, with a row of three cannons and two fire throwers sitting along its top. The Lord High Viser had also added a nasty surprise, a special blend of naphtha he had developed himself, mixed with the burning potion used by the Knights’ Academy Stainers. He had confiscated the stuff as it was being transported out of the realm during the exodus and it had inspired him to new heights of cruelty. The fire throwers were packed with his special blend, great wooden barrels filled and ready to burn.
Asten rode at the head of the militia, dressed in wardens’ armour and his new war crown. The rain still fell, and his horse, Gladefen, shook it from her long white mane with a loud whinny. Ahead, the white wall of Silverdale began to rise from the horizon, first the bloody trophies of the Lord High Viser, bodies hung from chains high over the wall, then the new red banners he had adorned the city with, replacing the old blue and white ones Asten remembered. It was only as he drew closer that he was able to discern that the red banners were not new, just changed. The blood from the traitors who hung above had washed down, staining the white walls and the standards that hung from them, so much blood Asten thought, that even if he did dethrone Wormwood, his deeds could never be washed away. He pulled Gladefen sideways across the road and the militia came to a halt. There was a low vibrating drone and Melody was standing at his side with the rain dancing on her rusty armour. She turned her expressionless helmet to him.
“I don’t think I’m ready.” he said so only she would hear it, “I don’t think I can fight.”
“I know. But it’s no bad thing.” she shrugged, “Just hang back and try not to get killed.”
Asten breathed in, then raised his voice to call out across the plains as loud as he could.
“I am Asten!” he roared, “Son of Enris! Prince of Silverdale! Heir to the throne of the Immortal Spire!”
A few heads appeared between the crenelations atop the wall, wardens looking down onto the road.
“I wish to talk with the usurper you call the Lord High Viser!”
Someone went to do something, to find him, or to raise the alarm, but nothing else happened.
“I wish to negotiate his surrender!” Asten tried.
For a long while, there was silence, just those few faces appearing and disappearing over the wall. Asten turned Gladefen and led the militia on towards the gates again. When he was close enough to see the confusion written on the wardens’ faces, he heard a sound like a great band snapping. Something flew overhead, a ball of brilliant burning light. Where it landed, the grasses burst into flames that flared for a moment then went out in the rain. The thing kept burning, however, a broken barrel with a thick tar-like substance that spread across the ground in bright gouts, the rain sizzling on it but failing to douse the flames. Another came a while later, landing on the road where the horse riders and the Aarouans on their stag beetles scattered to avoid its deadly fire as it came down among them.
Asten froze. He sat atop Gladefen, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of the sword he had been given. His hands shook, but he managed to draw it from its sheath. He looked to Melody for guidance, then lifted it high above his head so the militia could see it shining, the electric light glinting on the golden crescent at its cross guard. Though his courage failed fast, and his heart was not made for battle, for all who saw him he seemed a great warrior-king like those of the first age, ready to give his life for those who followed him. He turned and levelled his blade at the gates. There was a roar, and the militia drove forwards. Horses shot past him, whipping his hair and Gladefen’s mane and tail in the wind. Then the soldiers on foot began to catch up. He turned her to the side and brought her around in an arc along the back of the fighters. If he could not fight alongside them, he would inspire them.
The militia were still far from the gate when it began to open, just a crack. They cheered and surged on faster and faster. But all that happened was a great stream of wardens poured from the opening before the gates slammed shut again. The front row stood in a long line along the gates and the walls, wider even than the White Road. They lowered heavy steel shields with a single spiked stud in their centre, clanging them down against the flagstones. Then a second row knelt behind them, their halberds lowered into the gaps between each of the shield-bearer’s shoulders. Another row of halberds fell above, and then as the first riders drew near, a volley of arrows came from behind the shield wall, followed almost immediately by cannon fire from above. The heavy iron balls drove into the ground, digging up earth and splitting the white stones of the road. Horses and riders fell to arrows, and the militia still were not within striking distance. When the first spears clashed against the wardens’ shields, the ends of the shield wall erupted, wardens with longswords and heavy bladed maces came running from where they were hidden and swept around either side of the advancing fighters to draw them into a melee while the archers had a second shot and the fire throwers dropped their burning barrels again. One hit home, bringing a horse to the ground in an agony only stained knights would know. Its rider ran screaming as far as he could before he fell and burned to cinders with the naphtha sticking to his clothes and skin.
Melody’s engine roared, and in an instant she tore across the line of wardens, ripping shields from their hands until half the shield wall was exposed. As her engine cooled, she drew her executioner’s sword and held it with the flat of it along her arm. The warden she turned to face dropped his halberd and immediately turned to try to get back through the gates. She drove into the wardens, swinging her blade in an arc that split shields in two, snapped the long shafts of their halberds, and left the archers with useless pieces of wood hanging loose from their bowstrings. There was a moment of chaos when a few of the archers tried to leap on her to pin her down, but with a loud roar, she was standing again, with red along the edge of her blade and a pile of injured wardens on the flagstones clutching at their sides.
Asten rode around and around the battlefield, calling out encouragement to his militia, inspiring them to push on and on against the wardens who so outnumbered them. With the golden crescent shining on his crown, and the constant droning of a knight’s engine, the fighters felt unstoppable, a righteous force with nothing left to lose, and everything to fight for. The cannons fell quiet, and Asten looked to the wall to see what new weapon the wardens could be bringing up. His heart leapt when he saw the blue and gold of his father’s war crown.
“Wormwood!” he roared.
The Lord High Viser turned his gaze on the prince. He shouted something that was lost to the chaos of the battle, then stepped aside so the cannons could resume their assault.
“That’s him!?” Cirrus yelled across to Asten as she brought Clash up alongside Gladefen.
“Wormwood! He’s come to face me.”
“Will he fight?”
“No. He’ll hide behind that wall.”
“Then we need a way in!”
She pushed Clash on into the melee, his great mandibles sweeping the wardens aside while Sira’s meteor hammer swung in circles that threw them back, denting shields and helmets.
The beetles’ layered armour protected them from the few wardens brave enough to try attacking them directly. It was thick and curved into shapes that deflected blades and arrows with ease, preventing the enemy from bringing them down. Cirrus steered Clash further in towards the shield wall, pulling him suddenly aside to avoid a cannonball that crashed into the flagstones beside him. Elsewhere, Ki drove Ruckus through the chaos, with Dog behind her hanging off the side to swing his horseman’s pick at the wardens as she brought them around in a long sweeping turn so the side of Ruckus’ shell came close to the ground. They came past a dense knot of fighting where some member of the militia was surrounded. Ruckus drove his mandibles between the fighters, crunching on armour and bone as he tore the wardens to pieces with a violent twisting jerk of his head.
Blood sprayed bright across Grais’ corset, and as she swung her glaive across the legs of three wardens, bringing each to their knees, she looked up and grinned at Ki who gave a howl in reply then sped off again to fight elsewhere. Before any of the wardens could stand, she had the glaive twisted around so the blade faced the other way, and she swept it back across their necks. She spun to face a cry from behind her and drove the point of the blade under the arm of the warden who ran at her. His sword clattered to the floor as he fell on the white flagstones. She turned to move on, then cried in pain as something sliced across her hip. With a single flick, she brought the full weight of the glaive down on the warden before he could take another wild swing at her. She dropped the shaft and breathed sharply through her teeth as she pressed her hand against the wound. It came away red, and the blood soaked down her trousers. She felt weak, and fell slightly, forcing herself to remain upright. Melody arrived at her side, surging into vision across the battlefield. She pressed one hand against Grais’ hip and held her up with the other beneath her arm.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” Grais winced. “But I can still fight. Get me a bow.”
Melody scooped Grais up in her arms before she surged across the battlefield again. They found an archer, fallen early in the attack, who still bore a quiver filled with arrows. Grais picked up the weapons and laid them in her lap so Melody could carry her off again to safer ground from which to fight. When she left her, she was kneeling in the long grass at the edge of the road, leaning against one of the electric lampposts. She took an arrow and pulled it back against the bowstring. Her aim was slow and careful, and when she fired, she did so with an accuracy that brought the arrow’s tip directly between a warden’s shoulder blades, just above the top of his armour. He fell in a heap before the fighter he was attacking.
“Grais!” Asten shouted, leaping down from Gladefen to be with her. His hand hovered over her side, not willing to touch her where the wound still bled at her hip.
“Leave me.” She said, aiming another shot.
“Grais, go! I can find someone to take you back.”
“No.”
She fired, and another warden fell before her sword could find its mark.
“Grais…” He touched her shoulder.
She turned and pushed him away.
“Go, Asten! I’ll leave when there are no arrows left.”
He backed off and climbed back up on Gladefen, but he stayed by her side for a while, watching her draw back the bowstring again. He knew she was strong and stubborn, but he had never seen her fight before, never known her as a warrior. He could see how well she could handle herself, and decided his inspiring presence was more useful elsewhere.
Somewhere behind the white wall, the Lord High Viser was feeling uneasy. He paced back and forth before a warden who was wasn’t sure which side of the wall was less terrifying. When he stopped, he grabbed her by the neck of her tunic and pushed his face close to hers.
“How can they not be defeated yet?” he hissed, “Your wardens outnumber them ten times over! Use the special naphtha! Use chain shot in the cannons! Use your lives if you have to!”
He pushed her roughly away and climbed up the steps onto the wall, shouting at every warden he passed.
“Get out there! Go! Get those barrels loaded! Chain shot, now!”
He strode along the wall up and down as the cannons fired around him, and the fire throwers hurled their deadly barrels again. The bright explosions when they landed among soldiers cheered him enough to smile as he watched the figures dance and scream and burn away to charred black formless things on the white flagstones below. But still his wardens were falling, they seemed now to outnumber the militia with their dead. He cursed and grabbed at the warden who had made the mistake of following him up onto the wall. His metal claws pierced her tunic and scratched at her skin. He pulled her by the neck over to the edge of the wall and pushed her against the white stone until she leant out into the empty air.
“You see what you are worth!?” he yelled, his spit hitting her in the cheek, “You see what you wardens are capable of!? Nothing! Worthless! Worse than worthless!” He thrust her back further over the wall with each word. “You should pay with your life for the opportunities I’ve given you! You should- Uhhrgh!” His eyes widened and he stepped back, clawing at his robes just below the studded leather armour he wore. He cursed and spat. “You dare!”
The warden ran before he could grab her again, down the steps, pulling off her armour as she went. He fell back, sitting on the foot of one of the fire throwers whose operator pretended not to notice him and busied himself loading another barrel of naphtha despite one already sitting in the weapon’s claw. The Lord High Viser’s metal claws were red, and he had to remove them to get a grip on the little thumb dagger that sat pushed up into his ribs. It came away shining with blood in his shaking hand. He dropped it with a clatter and clenched his teeth to fight back the pain enough to stand. His gold fangs cut into his bottom lip and he spat blood as he stood leaning heavily against the arm of the fire thrower.
“So this is how it is.” he whispered, his voice shaky with painful breaths, “The whole world against me. So be it. If I cannot obtain loyalty through gold, it will be through blood…”
The wardens outside were flagging, they had mostly been pushed into the hollow of the gates, trapped between them and the remaining fighters of the militia. They hammered on the metal even as they fell, begging to be let back in. It seemed someone heard them, the gates opened a crack. A couple of them got in before more came out to take their place. And then a low vibrating drone tore through the narrow opening, throwing militia and wardens aside indiscriminately. Melody turned to see a great black form solidifying in the centre of the battlefield. As it rose to tower over everyone, it hefted a huge and heavy weapon up onto its shoulders, and a face turned to her. The head tilted to one side for a moment, then a deep and hollow laugh echoed out from behind the helmet’s pierced rubber visor.
“Rust Knight.” Vulcan laughed, “All fixed up I see.”
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A knight, given superhuman powers by a magical engine, a pack of wolf-like Aarouan pirates, and the missing prince of Silverdale travel across the world to reunite him with his dying father before it’s too late. But with a murderous stained knight on their trail, they unknowingly end up tangled in the strings of the Drowned King, an immortal being whose century-spanning plans they are now all a part of.
A knight, given superhuman powers by a magical engine, a pack of wolf-like Aarouan pirates, and the missing prince of Silverdale travel across the world to reunite him with his dying father before it’s too late. But with a murderous stained knight on their trail, they unknowingly end up tangled in the strings of the Drowned King, an immortal being whose century-spanning plans they are now all a part of.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 120 x 120px
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