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A crow landed on the castle wall, its dark eyes scanning around. It saw several fishing rods leant against the crenellations and a flowerpot.
A lich swordsman clad in Soul Armor was sitting there, fishing intently, occasionally jerking the rod.
Empty, annoyed, ‘he’ cursed and swore. This must be Mayor Locke that the townspeople talked about.
This was a peaceful and tranquil little town where, according to the conversations of its residents, people had lived happily an ...
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