The general was an imposing human man, most men and women born on the northern continent of Mog were. He wore custom-fitted plate armor, that looked lighter and stronger than any armor that Silveryn had ever seen, a broadsword on his back and a short sword on his hip.
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The General looked to his subordinate, “Hello…” he cocked his weary head to better see the emblem signifying Silveryn’s status as a cleric, “…Cleric. The light keeps you well?”
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