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Wailing Seasons PROLOGUE pt.5

The crowd roared their approval, all edged on by the adrenaline of seeing a beheading take place. Usually not much happened in the quiet streets of Redwolfe, and when a ceremony like this did, it was hard not to be riled up as much as the townsfolk were.

Aaron turned his head, regarding the excited crowd with a callous expression set on his face, and gave a quick nod to a tall, sickly looking man named Tystram, before he merely adjusted his cloak and watched a look of horror twist on the man’s face as death slowly approached him.

Tystram, the Royal Executioner, heaved his heavy sword. The edge was cruely sharp and bleached of any colour except crimson. The blood of many dead mean still stained on the white Valaryian steel. The leather of his gloves creaked against the hilt of his sword as he hefted it over his shoulder and trudged through the leaves. Tystram faltered in his step, staring up at the sky as a sudden whisper of snow danced and spiralled from the dark purple clouds ahead.

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