The Dark City

The city towered above the tents and small hand-built structures dwarfing them in size. The muddy passages of this uncharted land lay strewn with garbage. A cruel wind whipped those in the streets, their clothing tattered and threadbare. The sky was darkened with the fury of the gods, and a mist had fallen over the depression in the land. On the hill above, smoke streamed comfortably out of chimneys and the light of lanterns shone through any storm. Figures in extravagant robes moved gracefully, the rain seeming to simply fall from their shoulders. Below, there was a stone stairway with two guards at a small gate, one of them prodding somebody with the tip of a spear. An anguished cry could be heard from the gate as the guards threw a man to the ground, the glint of metal obvious in the man’s hand as the stony-faced guards continued their duty unsympathetically. A lone figure stood on the outskirts of the unbalanced scene, his small mouth curling into a frown, small oak trees preventing the mist from reaching his pale face. He knew the city to be his enemy. He knew those below would suit his purpose. He knew he would complete the task that had been set for him, the odds a factor he paid no heed to. Soon, he would feel the glory of the Order.

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