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Drops of mud dripped from his mace.
Ryan winced as he moved his shoulder.
Blood trickled from his mouth, to his lips, warm and metallic in taste.
Around him the rain continued its relentless assault.
Somewhere in the fog, Ryan could hear the clash of steel, grunts of effort. The wet thud of man meeting mud.
I need to help them.
Ryan tightened his grip on the mace and turned away from the blinded fighter writhing in the mud.
He moved f ...
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