Dark Magic


Caeldyr sat down.

The tavern was overflowing with patrons. This wasn’t unusual of course, because the Tipsy Tankard was the most popular establishment ever to have graced the cobbled streets of Graydale. The reason for tonight’s increased business, however, was not celebratory. The Tipsy Tankard had been full every night for the past few months, full of soldiers, mourners, and downtrodden individuals. War with the orcs had taken its toll on the city both in lives and morale. No end was foreseeable; then again, Caeldyr thought, is peace even possible with the orcs?

“Let’s hear some tales about the four heroes of the Eldritch War!” the bartender shouts, eager to cheer up his patrons. I nod his way, and the tavern’s clamor dies down. My lute fills the room with sound and, soon enough, everybody’s mind is transported back two and a half centuries…

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