PREVIEW
... final curse. No surge of dungeon power rebelling against fate.
Just a broken kobold in the dirt, steam rising gently from the edges of her burned cloak.
The battlefield was holding its breath.
The fight was over. The war hadn't noticed yet.
Quicktongue stumbled forward with blood matted in her fur and soot painted across her face like war paint no one asked for. Her shoutline was burned. She couldn't call orders. So she didn't.
She climbed the trench, one ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE