A swift wind brings with it the stinging pelt of an icy rain. The sun sets somewhere among the distant clouds, and the shiver of the coming night slips through the gaps in your armor. A hushed fear stalks the air, timid and unspoken but ever lingering — the last shuddering breath of gods long dead.

This is the city you traveled so long to reach; beyond its gates lie madness.


It’s an imaginary arrow

The Swordswomen Itinerant: a Planar Chronicle

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