The scent of battle swept across the courtyard, past the tall statue of a man long dead. He stood with his massive stone arms leaning against a broad sword nearly as tall as him. A hood fell over his face covering his eyes and crown, the last true warrior king and the ones whose deeds they still sing of.
Cadrala sat on her knees with her own sword on the ground before her, wounds from the mornings battles covered with blood soaked bandages. “Grant me the strength on this day to uphold the sacred oath of the order; I will not surrender in the face of my own end as long as long as I have life in my hands to sacrifice to the true king.”
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