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The camp was quiet, but the old paladin was not.
“You can come out. I know it’s time… I’ve been waiting.”
The moon was new and the forest dark, had there been a fire it would have been helpless against the flowing night spilling out from the treelines. Broadways was cinching his last gauntlet, breathing even and slow while sounds—inhuman and uneven—spat and hissed and shuffled around him.
There were… twenty. Maybe more. His old campaigner’s ears knew their business, and the things in the dark were waiting. If they were autonomous, they’d either chatter or rush all together; if they were only minions of some central evil he’d be chiming in right about now…