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... to be your blade. I guessed, voice flat. A reasonable enough assumption.

You oppose this. Ironmoor remarked with a grunt, wiping his hands on a rag. Large for a human, wide of shoulder, with a grey beard and features tempered by experience. Poorly healed scars dotted the mans forearms and exposed skin beneath a utilitarian outfit. Expected. Your kind loves bloodshed, but on your own terms.

There was an almost empty apathy to the mans tone as he regarded me. This human was dangero ...

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