She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. You've got me interested and curious. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. Just my room.
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